Ylana of Callisto

Chapter 16 RED MURDER

WHEN Tomar crept away from the place at the jungle’s edge wherefrom Thadron and Jugrid watched the activities in the village of the River People, and began a circuitous route around the warriors of the Cave People, on his way to attempt his rescue of the jungle Maid, he was oblivious to the fact that another of the Cave People was also leaving the vicinity at the same moment.

It was Pandan, the least loyal of Thadron’s band, who now slunk furtively into the deeper brush, eluding the sentinels Jugrid had posted. But Pandan had no intention of doing anything as hazardous as striving to set Ylana free. Quite the contrary, in fact.

The one major flaw in Pandan’s character was that he thought too much. In this particular case, however, his ratiocinations had eventually resulted in a certain decision, that he now wasted no time in putting into effect.

Thadron had acknowledged the deposed and condemned Jugrid to be the rightful chief, and had yielded the command of his war-party to the former leader of the Cave People. It did not take long for Pandan to decide that this information would prove to be of enormous importance to the present chief of the tribe, and that this personage, Xangan, would reward with his favor the individual who was first to apprise him of this turn of events.

Eluding the sentinels, then, Pandan glided into the jungle on furtive feet, and headed north in the direction of the Cave People’s country, which was situated at the extreme verge of the plateau. Night had folded its black wings over the far side of Callisto, and it was easy for Pandan to melt into the shadows and vanish from his comrades’ ken.

To move through the jungle paths by night, of course, is neither a safe nor a prudent act, and Pandan knew full well the risks he was taking. For it is during the hours of darkness that the great predators awake and rouse themselves from their hidden lairs, to stalk abroad in hunt of living flesh to rend and tear.

But Pandan, despite whatever shortcomings or flaws of character he might possess, was no coward like Xangan. He was, in fact, a skillful and veteran hunter, schooled in all the jungle crafts, and the greatest of his virtues was a contempt for personal danger which, in another, would have been praiseworthy in the extreme. He well knew the ways of the beasts of the plateau, when at their nightly searches for food, and tested his cogency to the utmost now, as he eluded them, one by one.

He avoided the several small streams that ran through the underbrush, knowing that these would culminate eventually in water-holes to which the great predators would come to drink, or near which they would lie in wait for their prey. And he avoided the denser parts of the jungle, where thorny bushes grew thick and close, rendering these leafy barriers all but impassable, for there, he knew, many of the more dangerous beasts, like the mighty deltagar or the yathrib or even the great vastodon, as the dreaded elephantboars of the jungle Country are called, make their lairs. He also avoided, where possible, certain trees known to be favored by some of the creatures he wished most earnestly to evade, for on these long, heavy branches, which stretch out parallel to the jungle floor, certain of the predators lie in wait for game to pass beneath.

Even in the thick blackness of the jungle paths, where only fugitive gleams of the many-colored moonlight can penetrate the foliage, he did not lose his way. On swift, unerring feet the traitor Pandan traversed the jungle Country, guided by the instinct of the hunter and the cunning of the savage.

The way was long and difficult. Many times he was forced to seek a place of hiding, and to crouch in concealment, his blood congealed to ice within his veins, while unseen beasts ahead of him fought thunderously in that nightly warfare that is the predators’ way of acquiring their dinner. By great good luck, he evaded the mischance of supplying the main course, in his own person, at any of these nocturnal feastings.

By dawn he reached the northern margin of the jungles and made his way with all swiftness to the cave usually occupied by the chief of the tribe and his women. But Xangan was not there, he was informed by the slatternly shrew who served the chief in the capacity of housekeeper and general factotum. Before the hour of daybreak, he had been roused from his rest by the command of the Mind Wizard, Zhu Kor, who bade him attend the council of the Elders in that large and capacious cavern reserved for the uses of the ancient grandsires who were the actual rulers of the tribe.

Xangan had hurried to attend the council, the old woman sniffed, but tremblingly and with great reluctance, as he loathed and feared the cold-eyed yellow dwarf from Kuur as he loathed and feared naught else in the world. This was common knowledge, as Pandan knew, and he reflected for a moment on certain difficulties attendant upon the chieftainship to which he had never before given much thought.

If you must despise and live in terror of someone, thought Pandan uneasily to himself, it is at very least unfortunate if that someone happens to be a telepath, a mind-reader. For, of course, the dwarfish Kuurian knew full well the feelings of Xangan, and knew him as well to be a rascal and a coward, a bully and a braggart. Doubtless it amused Zhu Kor to bend to his uses so frail a reed as Xangan. The Mind Wizard, who had long ago foresworn almost all of the pleasures of the flesh, took a malignant, vicious pleasure in inspiring awe and terror in the hearts of others. It was virtually his only vice.

Pandan himself went in dread of the Unseen One who now dwelt in the midst of the tribe. The warrior would have avoided any encounter with the little yellow man if he could. Nevertheless, he made his way directly from the chief’s cave to the cavern of the Elders, to lay before them, and before Xangan, the facts of Thadron’s betrayal.

And, before the day was an hour older, there entered the borders of the jungle a mighty force of the warriors of the Cave People, led by Xangan himself, surrounded by his favorites and supporters, accompanied not only by Quone, the leader of the Elders, but also by Zhu Kor the Mind Wizard.

The turn of events reported by Pandan was exactly counter to the wishes of the Kuurian. Not only did Jugrid the chief and the boy Tomar still live, but they had gathered unto themselves a force of some strength. No longer alone and helpless, no longer the hunted fugitives fleeing from strong pursuit, there had occurred an unexpected turnabout. And, unless this rebellion were nipped in the bud, and swiftly, the hunted might become the hunters…

Especially if Jugrid were able to ally himself with Zuruk, thereby enlisting the fighting strength of the entire tribe of the River People on his side. A jungle war might then ensue, such as the great plateau had not seen in a generation. And it was chillingly possible that in the outcome of that uncertain and evenly matched conflict, the last living Mind Wizard of Kuur might lose his only refuge. The world of Thanator afforded no safer haven to Zhu Kor than this jungle plateau inhabited by superstitious savages. And he did not intend to lose his place here without a fight.

TOMAR cut Ylana free of her tether and led her out through the opening he had made in the rear wall of the hut.

Hand in hand the boy and girl crept through the almost-deserted outskirts of the village, thankful that still virtually every member of the tribe was gathered around the council fire.

At first Ylana seemed little impressed by Tomar’s bravery and daring in entering the camp of the River People alone in order to free her, armed with but his knife. The reason for this was that at first she did not realize that he had accomplished this feat unaided But as they approached the last few huts, and still Jugrid her father had not appeared as she had expected him to, she turned wide eyes upon her companion.

Her repeated questions on this point at length elicited from the reluctant lips of the boy the information that he had indeed performed the daring rescue by himself. “Daring,” of course, is an editorial comment by the humble narrator of these events. Tomar himself would have stammered and blushed scarlet, had he been so unthinking as to apply the adjective in description of his exploit. The boy felt it immodest to praise one’s own actions, and claimed no particular valor for the deed. But Ylana was impressed, and it was always her way to show her true feelings, and to yield to impulse.

Therefore, when they had almost reached a place of safety, and only a few steps remained before they could put the village of the River People behind them and seek refuge among her father’s warriors, she came close to where the boy was standing and looked up into his face with eyes suddenly shy and demure.

They could, in fact, be described as “starry,” those eyes. And there was an expression in them of tenderness and wonder, the sort of expression which may be seen in the eyes of any young girl when she looks upon a young man whose appearance or demeanor or conduct are not displeasing to her.

“Tomar,” she breathed.

“What?” the boy murmured absently, peering about, his keen eyes probing the shadows. In the light of the many moons, which floated in the sky like enormous colored lanterns, it seemed to Ylana that she looked upon him for the very first time. And perhaps the moonlight, gleaming upon the long and supple muscles of his bare arms and shoulders and torso, made him seem different to her. Certainly the moonlight bronzed his features very handsomely, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the height of his brow, and the alert and capable seriousness wherewith he examined the darkness and weighed their chances of flight.

“Tomar,” she breathed again. And this time he turned his head to look at her. Their eyes met, their gaze mingled, and it was as if suddenly, by a magic older than magic, older than the world itself, each of them was able to look into the other’s heart.

Without hesitation, the boy put his strong arms around the girl and drew her to him. She nestled against his breast, her cheek warm upon his heart, and she seemed to fit into his embrace so perfectly that it was as if the two of them had been designed for this moment.

No longer mocking or fiercely contemptuous, the eyes of Ylana looked dreamily into his earnest and probing gaze, and her being was suffused with an emotion so tremulous, so warm, so overpowering, that it was a revelation to her that she had never felt it before.

She raised her lips to be kissed and he lowered his mouth to hers and for a long, endless moment during which it seemed that time itself hung suspended, reluctant to tick away another of the world’s store of seconds, they clung together breathlessly, each feeling the tumult of the other’s heart, the racing of the other’s pulse, the heady drunkenness of the other’s emotion.

But the moment ended at last, as all such moments must if the world is to continue.

A nasty, snarling laugh sounded from behind them.

His arm still about the girl’s slim, bare shoulders, Tomar spun about, his knife held at the ready in his right hand.

But there was a spear in the hands of Charak, and there was red murder in his eyes.

Chapter 17 FIRST BLOOD

TOMAR FROZE, one arm encircling Ylana’s slender shoulders, his other hand clutching the knife wherewith he had cut his way into her hut.

The expression on the boy’s face was resolute, unafraid―but undecided. Charak grinned wickedly. Having caught the girl from the Cave Country in the act of escaping, and having also seized her accomplice, he knew, would reflect great credit upon himself. It might do much to restore him in the esteem of his fellow-tribesmen.

He expected no trouble, of course. For one thing, he was a full-grown man in the burly strength of his prime, while his opponent was a skinny, half-grown boy. And, for another, he was armed with a long spear, while the boy held only a knife.

He was in for a surprise, was Charak. For Tomar had just been kissed by a lovely young girl, and as every one of my readers who has ever experienced that thrilling emotion knows, he felt filled with fortitude. In his present mood he knew or believed himself to be unconquerable. He was in the mood to dare impossible dangers, to attempt absurdly quixotic deeds. In short, he felt like fighting dragons or giants. None of these were presently to hand, of course, being about as rare on Callisto as they are on our own planet. But Charak was to hand, and, as his bull-chested, beefy-thewed form towered impressively over the boy’s aver. age height, he made a passable stand-in for a giant.

Without the slightest change of expression or flicker of warning, he hurled himself at Charak’s throat.

With one forearm he knocked aside the spear. Its point grazed the smooth skin of his tanned breast, drawing a narrow scarlet line from nipple to shoulder. The sting of this slight wound Tomar ignored, if, in fact, he felt it at all.

Charak went over backwards, crashing to the ground, completely astounded. To his further discomfiture, the breath was knocked out of him by the boy’s unexpected leap. The spear went flying.

Tomar had just enough time to smash his balled fists into Charak’s heavy-jawed, ugly face―a belting left and a powerful right―before the burly hunter recovered his wits. Then, with a choked growl of fury, Charak exploded into action. His hairy arms closed about Tomar’s waist, as the boy locked his hands in a throttling grip about the older man’s throat. The two struggled to their feet, grunting and straining. Tomar felt the breath squeezed out of him by the other’s bearlike grip, but as for Charak, he was in somewhat more severe straits. For the wind had been knocked out of him by his fall and he had still not entirely filled his air-starved lungs before the boy clamped strong hands about his windpipe. Purpling with effort, gasping and half-strangled, Charak threw all of the massive strength of his beefy arms and shoulders into an allout attempt to break the boy’s back before his youthful assailant succeeded in throttling him.

In agony from the man’s crushing grip, Tomar in desperation did the only thing he could have done under the circumstances. He kicked Charak’s legs out from under him and down they went for the second time. Again Charak landed on his back, and this time the not-inconsiderable weight of his opponent landed on his belly.

What little breath he had went whooshing out as he thudded to the ground, measuring his length upon the beaten earth. His head swam and a red mist rose before his eyes to dim his vision. Then his powerful hold on Tomar’s waist loosened. Able to breathe again, and no longer suffering the excruciating pain of that crushing and viselike grip, Tomar threw all his remaining strength into a savage uppercut to Charak’s slack and gaping jaw. The impact of that crashing blow was clearly audible, like the sound a butcher’s mallet makes when it smacks into a side of beef.

Blood trickled scarlet from Charak’s mashed lips. His eyes glazed and rolled up into his skull, revealing the bloodshot whites. And the big man subsided with a groan, out cold.

Tomar staggered lamely to his feet, his own head swimming dizzily. He had only enough time to suck a little air into his lungs before Ylana threw herself upon him, starry-eyed, sobbing with relief, her cheeks wet with tears.

She hugged him and kissed him passionately. Aching in every muscle, and groggy as he was, yet the boy did not complain. He felt completely wonderful, very heroic and manly. And Tomar would not have been completely human, had he not been grateful to whatever unseen Fates may rule our lives, that they had permitted him a wide-eyed witness to his savage battle, in the form of the girl in whose opinions he was so singularly interested.

“However did you do it,” Ylana gasped, smothering him with wet kisses. “That huge, ugly brute! Ugh! And with only your bare hands!”

Surprised, Tomar glanced at his hands. The fingers of one fist were still curled tightly around the handle of the dagger. In the fury of the battle, he had completely forgotten to use the knife, and had stupidly attempted to stun Charak into unconsciousness with only his balled fist, when he could easily have driven the sharp point of the dagger into his hairy breast!

He grinned feebly, saying nothing.

He also decided never to explain to Ylana that the fine and manly art of fisticuffs had been something that he had learned from Prince Jandar, whose pugilistic prowess was unheard of on the jungle Moon.

Tomar was learning…

RECOVERING his strength, the boy―albeit with understandable reluctance―gently disengaged the girl’s warm arms from about his neck, and led her from the village into the darkness of the night. He feared that the sounds of his struggle with Charak might have aroused the villagers to pursuit, and wished to be across the river and into the jungle’s edge, where Jugrid and Thadron and the other Cave Country warriors lay in hiding, before their escape was noticed.

But the darkness of the night was no longer what it had been when first he had swum the racing flood and crept through the grasses into the lanes between the village huts. Now at least two of the gorgeous moons were aloft to lessen the gloom, and already the vast and ochre-banded globe of mighty Jupiter was part. way risen over the horizon. Soon it would occupy nearly one-quarter of the sky, and its orange and tawny golden glory would flood the entire landscape with a luminance almost as brilliant as the full light of day.

The boy and girl had crept only a little way from the edge of the village of the River People before the gloom of night was lit with golden illumination, rendering them quite visible to any eye that might chance to be watching in their direction.

And eyes, in fact, there were!

For the grunting scuffle of Tomar’s battle against Charak, while not particularly loud nor of very lengthy duration, had come to the ears of lonely sentinels. And these soon raised the alarm. In less time than it takes me to describe the scene, the hue and cry were loudly on the heels of the fleeing youngsters.

Swiftly turning from the council fires as the alarm of the sentinels split the night, the warriors and hunters of the tribe snatched up stone axe and club and flint-bladed knife and spear, and came pelting through the spaces between the huts to discover the cause of the alarm. Pausing but a moment at the but wherein Ylana had been imprisoned, it took them a single swift, all-encompassing glance to discover the girl no longer tethered to the centerpost, but fled into the night through the long rent cut by Tomar’s knife in the rear of the hut.

Then the hue and cry was raised in earnest!

At the edge of the village, they discovered the sprawled figure of Charak, bruised and beaten. It was Charak’s confidant and chief lieutenant, Ugar, who came upon the groggy bully first and raised him to his feet.

“That way;” mumbled Charak, gesturing. “Took m’ spear… “

“How many of them?” demanded Zuruk the chief. When Charak fumblingly explained in thick, halting words that the girl captive had been rescued by only one warrior, and that but a half-grown boy, the chief said nothing but raised his eyebrows in exaggerated amazement.

Several of the other men of the tribe, who disapproved of Charak’s belligerent warmongering and supported Zuruk’s peacemaking between the tribes, exchanged eloquent, mocking glances, and more than a couple of them laughed.

Ugar growled an oath and flushed, scowling. But Charak himself was still too groggy to resent the humor expressed over his humiliation at being so soundly thrashed by a mere boy.

“There they are!” roared Ugar, pointing. The others looked down the grassy slopes to the thick reeds along the edges of the river. In the golden radiance of mighty Gordrimator, the fugitive girl and her rescuer could be glimpsed, wading into the shallows.

Ugar led the pursuit. A howling mob swept down upon Tomar and Ylana, composed principally of Charak’s most vociferous supporters and some of the more hot-headed of the younger members of the tribe. Eager to seize the runaways himself, and thus redeem a portion of the vanquished Charak’s honor, Ugar imprudently waded out into the shallows after the two.

Tomar knew that he could not get across the river with Ylana to safety before the River People caught them. So the boy turned to face the angry Ugar. Cold water lapped to his knees and there was an empty feeling in his gut that he did not like. The taste of it against the back of his tongue was almost the taste of fear, and fear has a nasty taste. Tomar did not dare to flee; the only thing left to do was―fight!

Lunging forward, he thrust the blade of the spear into Ugar’s belly.

The man yelped―staggered―and sat down suddenly in the water, his face pasty white, his eyes blank. They were as glazed as had been the eyes of Charak when Tomar had knocked him unconscious.

Then Ugar fell forward face down, and floated, while the rushing water around him slowly turned red.

Tomar thrust out at the second man, who knocked his spear aside with his own, and closed with him, roaring. Suddenly Ylana was there, snatching the knife from Tomar’s waist-thong. She thrust out, drawing a jagged crimson furrow down the hairy forearm of the River warrior. He cried out and snatched back his arm, dropping the spear into the water. The current caught it and dragged it from his reach, but Ylana grabbed it. Then both of them were armed, and the mob of River People hung back a little, yelling and waving their spears, each trying to egg on the next man, while hanging back himself.

“Come on!” gasped Ylana, touching Tomar’s arm. The boy turned and followed the girl out into the middle of the stream. The current was stronger here, but the river was shallow enough at this point that the two youngsters could wade across, which they did, each holding their spears high above their heads so the current would not drag at their arms or their weapons.

Seeing the two were escaping made the war-hungry supporters of Charak angry enough to overcome their trepidations. They began to wade out into the river after the fleeing pair. Others from the village now came after the younger hotheads, and among these were both Zuruk the chief and Charak himself, now fully recovered from his fight with Tomar, and filled with bellicose rage.

The warriors came across the river, a dozen in the fore, but thrice that number following close behind.

By now Tomar and Ylana had reached the other side, brushing through the reeds that grew in the shallows, and scrambling up the far bank.

The distance from the riverbank to the edge of the jungle was not very far at this point along the stream, but it was far enough. Tomar grimly knew that the two of them would not be able to reach a place of safety before they would be attacked.

He also knew that even though they were both armed with spears, the two of them would be no match for a dozen angry warriors on equal ground.

FROM the screen of thick bushes at the jungle’s edge, Jugrid and Thadron had watched with bated breath the escape of the two young people. Several times during the tenser moments, Jugrid’s grip on his stone axe had tightened until the great thews stood out along his arm like cast iron. Each time he had been on the point of commanding the warriors of Thadron’s band to attack in order to defend his daughter and her brave young rescuer. Each time the crisis had passed without that necessity.

He knew that to order the attack would be to break forever the peace that he and Zuruk had built between the two tribes. Once broken, red war would flare out between their nations again, and this time the peace would be all but impossible to rebuild.

Now the decision was taken from him. Within moments he must order the attack or stand by with idle hands while his only child and her gallant young champion were slain. That would require a degree of statesmanship even Jugrid did not possess.

He raised his hand, futility in his heart.

The control over events had passed from him. It would be jungle war, whether he wished it or not. And besides, Tomar had struck down Charak, and slain Ugar.

In effect, the war had already begun. At least, first blood had been taken and shed. Nothing he could do now could alter that fact.

He felt the bitterness of despair. But his child was in danger, and there was nothing more to be done.

He dropped his hand and the first wave of arrows fell among the forefront of the enemy warriors and cut them down.

Chapter 18 ATTACK BY NIGHT

CHARAK, as it happened, was not exactly in the forefront of the warriors who were upon the very heels of the fleeing boy and girl, and thus it was that when the first arrows fell amongst them in a deadly rain, the sub-chief was spared. But the four men who had crossed the river in the vanguard, and who fell to the barbed shafts, were among the loudest and most devoted of his supporters.

The remainder of the force was caught in midstream when their comrades fell. They paused as if to think things over, but by then it was too late. Bows in hand, arrows nocked at the ready, Thadron and Jugrid and the other huntsmen appeared, melting from the underbrush at the jungle’s edge. They held the attackers at bay while friendly hands helped the boy and girl scramble to safety.

Then Jugrid flung his arm aloft and called out in a mighty voice, bidding his warriors stay their hands. Charak’s men slunk back out of the water, spitting curses, gaining the far bank where their leaders stood glowering beside the calm-faced Zuruk. It was a stalemate, and for a long moment war hung in the air.

“Is it war you would force upon us, O Jugrid, that you come thus armed into the River Country, visiting death from ambush upon my warriors?” demanded Zuruk sternly.

Jugrid shook his head.

“Not I, Great Chief, my brother, but you would break the peace,” he replied in firm and level tones.

“Why else did the warriors of your party seize and carry off a helpless captive this child of mine, your own granddaughter?”

Zuruk gasped and his eyes widened.

“It it Ylana, then, the daughter of Narda, mine own daughter? Alas, I knew her not, neither did I ex. change words with her…”

Jugrid’s stern gaze and grim and unrelenting expression did not change. “For what reason was she made captive?” he demanded. “Does one young girl alone in the jungle comprise a menace to the safety of the River People? Or do they now make war upon children, when they find them strayed far from the safety of their kind?”

Zuruk turned his gaze full upon Charak, who flushed guiltily, wishing himself elsewhere with all the fervor of his heart.

“Charak, it was you who claimed to have found the girl `skulking’ in the jungle and spying upon our village. Speak now, before all, and let your words be words of truth, for we have had a bellyful of lies and deceptions. Speak, I command you!”

Charak opened his mouth, furious at this debacle, cudgeling his wits for some way out of this dilemma. But before the surly chieftain could think of anything to say, Ylana stepped forward, hand in hand with Tomar.

“Zuruk my grandsire, father of my mother, I did not `skulk’ in the jungle, but was fleeing from danger, hoping to reach your village and the safety it might afford me, when this black-bearded villain took me prisoner. He did not find it an easy task, for I slew more than one of his henchmen when they sought to seize me. Is this a taste of the hospitality my mother’s people offer to her only child?”

And in clear, ringing voice the jungle Maid described every detail of her pursuit and captivity while Zuruk grew ever more stern of mien and more wrathful of heart, and Charak ever more furious and afraid.

When she was done speaking, even the most warlike of Charak’s faction, and those most partial to his cause, had edged away from his proximity, some with open contempt written upon their features, and others less obtrusively, but no less positively.

“Now give judgement, O Zuruk my brother, upon your warriors and my own, and let us hear from your own lips who has given the greater offense in this: your men, who did all that has been described here, or my own? Who are the guilty ones―the girl Ylana, who sought safety among your people, and was taken prisoner and cruelly used? The boy Tomar, who crept alone into your camp to free her, and fought only to protect his life and her own? My bowmen here, who struck only to protect these children in their flight? Speak your judgement, O Chief of the River People!”

Zuruk turned to look into the eyes of his warriors. In their eyes he read a judgement that coincided with his own, aye, even in the eyes of Charak’s supporters.

“My judgement is this, O Jugrid my son,” the old chief said slowly, “and it is with a heavy heart that I speak it. For it is my own people who have been at fault in this matter, and they alone who have given provocation. Charak, the ringleader, who seized the girl Ylana in full knowledge of her identity, could only have done so in hopes of causing war between our tribes. He is guilty of an act of treason against the peace that has long existed between us, and that has gone unbroken until this night. Guilty he is, as well, of disobedience to my orders, and of acts contrary to my oft stated will. The punishment for treason and disobedience is death. Will that satisfy the honor of the Chief of the Cave Country, or shall I make reparations in payment to my granddaughter for her suffering and the mistreatments she has endured at the hands of the traitor, Charak?”

“Enough lives have been spent already, I think, that no further deaths should follow upon this unhappy sequence of events,” replied Jugrid warmly, “but I will leave the punishment of Charak to your own decision. As for myself, I am satisfied. But I cannot speak on the behalf of the Cave People, for another has taken the chieftaincy from me, and I am but the leader of these men you see who stand here shoulder to shoulder with me. As for the discomforts my daughter has suffered at the hands of your people, she has, I trust, endured them with the stoicism and courage that is to be expected from one who is the daughter of the daughter of the mighty Zuruk, and has taken no great or lasting hurt therefrom. Any reparations you would bestow I desire to be given out to the widows or the orphans of those men whom my archers struck down. I have spoken.”

WITH the restoration of peace, all tensions relaxed and men of the two tribes exchanged tentative greetings. Zuruk commanded that Charak be bound and imprisoned in an unused but under guard, whereupon he invited Jugrid and his party to cross the river and to partake of the hospitality of the River People. This was done, and erelong Zuruk clasped his granddaughter to his breast and kissed her lovingly, exchanging the handclasp of peace with Jugrid and Thadron and young Tomar.

Although the night was well advanced, the visitors were ushered into the encampment of the River People and were invited to rest themselves before the fire while food and drink were prepared for their feasting. While Thadron and his warriors refreshed themselves, and rested from their labors, Jugrid and Zuruk conferred together over the disturbing turn of events that had dislodged Jugrid from his accustomed position of command, and Jugrid informed his father-in-law of the discomforting fact that a Mind Wizard had taken refuge among the caves. .

As it happened, the River People had never fallen under the awe and terror of the Unseen Ones. They feared and despised the Dark Lords of Kuur, but neither venerated nor obeyed the yellow dwarves. Tomar and Ylana were brought into the council-circle to lay before Zuruk and his chiefs the story of recent events. They described the expeditions launched against the citadel of the Mind Wizards by Jandar of Shondakor, Zamara of Tharkol, and Kaamurath of Soraba. They told of the battle against Kuur, of its fall, and gave the happy news of the destruction of the Kuurians and of their power. That only the lone Zhu Kor had survived the extermination of his hated kind was welcome news to Zuruk. That he had now come to dwell upon the jungle plateau, under the protection of Quone and the Elders, however, was grim news, and of dire foreboding.

Far into the night they conferred, and in the hours before dawn gave over the conference without reaching any decision as to the wisest course of action they might follow.

Weariness now lay heavily upon them all, for it had been a long and busy night. One by one they went to rest, and Jugrid was given a bed of honor in the very enclosure of Zuruk, with Ylana taking a place among the women. As for Tomar, he slept wrapped in a cloak among the warriors grouped around the dying fire.

But in the village of the River People, not everyone slept. Although Charak had greatly fallen from his former place of esteem, and although Ugar and two or three of his most ardent supporters had been slain, there were still a dozen or so of his henchmen who had cause enough to bitterly regret the recent catastrophic turn of events. Some of these were raw young men, untried in battle, ambitious for sub-chieftaincies, who were so generally disliked by Zuruk’s people that they had little recourse but to side with Charak, even in defeat. And there were, as well, a few older men who chose to side with Charak in sheer desperation. Lazy men, poor hunters, cowardly backbiters, jealous of other men in high positions, who were generally looked down upon by the cleaner, kinder, wiser men of the tribe, and were thus forced to band together for want of comradeship.

To such as these, Charak’s swift and thorough fall meant their own disgrace, as well. The failure of his cause was the collapse of all their hopes and ambitions. Muttering together, they decided upon a desperate course of action. They would free Charak from his bonds and, together, seek refuge in either the jungle or among the Cave People who were followers of this Xangan of whom Jugrid had spoke in such disparaging terms. His own cowardice, brutality and treachery, made Xangan sound like their own kind. And if he was truly in command of the Cave People now, perhaps they could join his service and find it more to their liking than that of Zuruk.

One thing was certain, at least. They had no longer any future here among the River People. Charak’s disgrace was complete, and in the disintegration of his plans they saw the complete destruction of all their hopes and schemes for the future.

DAWN was almost upon them when the last few followers of Charak crept upon the warrior who stood guard over their bound leader and struck him down with a cowardly blow from behind. Charak, who had spent the last hours in cold terror of imminent execution or exile, babbled with relief and joy as he recognized, among those who stole into his but to free him, the features of those who were staunchest among his remaining henchmen.

Wasting no time, and making as little noise as possible, they cut the blackbeard free, snatched up what weapons and provisions they could find, and left the village by stealthy and secret ways.

They crept down the sloping meadow, went through the tall rushes by the river’s edge, and waded shivering into the cold water of the shallows.

Beyond the River of the Groack lay the jungle, and safety, and―quite possibly―a rich, comfortable new life among the followers of Xangan, to whom their brutal and cowardly and treacherous hearts had already warmed.

Just as clean, brave, noblehearted men, when they meet, are able to sense their own qualities even in strangers, the same is true of the cowards and bullies and traitors of this world, as of my own.

Like cries out with eloquent tongue to like, despite all barriers of creed or race or birth.

They were halfway across the river, and already beginning to scramble up the further bank, when suddenly, and without the slightest warning, a howling mob of warriors came leaping out at them from the jungle’s edge, brandishing clubs and axes and spears.

Who these strangers were, Charak’s men had no way of knowing. But, whereas many of them would have greatly preferred to turn and run from a pitched battle, they had no choice but to stand and defend themselves. And so they fought, Charak among them, for the condemned traitor had been in the forefront of those who fled the village, thinking it the safest place to be in case Zuruk’s sentinels should fall upon them from the rear.

Instead―as often happens―the forefront was the last place he could have wished to be. For, when the unknown attackers swept down upon them from the edges of the jungle, he found himself in the front line of the battle. And so thick and heavy was the press of his own men behind him, scrambling at his very heels, that he could not, under any pretense, fall back and let the other men do the fighting for him, as was his natural inclination.

A burly and hulking fellow stood directly in his way, swinging a great, terrible club. He was trembling and pale, his bloated, ugly features wet with perspiration. And there spewed continually from his thick lips a cowardly bleating, mixed with a torrent of foul oaths.

Whimpering and snarling, knees trembling with terror, Charak fended off the stranger’s blows awkwardly, and thrust out with his spear. The stroke was clumsy, but driven with all the strength of panic. And, so stumblingly did the stranger swerve aside with a bleat of fear as the obsidian blade of the spear came flashing for his breast, that he tripped over his own feet and fell sprawling in the wet mud of the riverbank.

Charak growled a wolfish growl, leering. He wrenched his spear loose from the mud and drove it again at his assailant’s unprotected breast. Knifelike, the keen-edged blade sank into the stranger’s flesh piercing his heart.

Just then, as chance would have it, dawn broke in all its golden glory over the jungle Moon.

Blinking in the sudden light, Charak stared down into the dead face of Xangan, wondering who he was…

Chapter 19 THE JAWS OF DOOM

NEAR dawn, when the tumult of battle arose from the river, the warriors in the village of the River People awoke suddenly to a sense of danger. Snatching up their weapons, they ran out of their huts eager to discover what manner of menace threatened their peace. Tomar and Ylana, in their separate quarters, were rudely jarred awake in this manner. Hearts thudding with excitement, the boy and girl donned their garments and went to see what was happening.

Zuruk the chief had sprung so swiftly from his sleeping-place that he had not bothered to put on his kiltlike skirt. Clenching a long spear and war-axe in his fists, he stood naked in the golden daylight, peering around him keenly, every sense alert for the presence of danger.

He was surprised to see the warriors of his tribe struggling in the shallows with a strange war band. From the noise, he had drawn the conclusion that one of the river-monsters had attacked the sentries posted about the perimeter of the encampment. These giant reptiles, called the groack by reason of their characteristic, croaking screech, resembled an extinct Mesozoic species of aquatic saurian called the plesiosaur more than anything else, and grew to enormous size. In general, they preferred the deeper portions of the Cor-Az for their habitat, but it was not exactly unknown for an occasional predator of their kind to venture into the more shallow waters of the river. More than a few of the less cautious River People had, over recent years, fallen prey to their hungry jaws.

But the cause of the disturbance was not, after all, a groack, but a band of unknown savages, wearing―as Zuruk quickly observed―the typical warriors’ gear of the Cave Country.

“What has occurred?” demanded Jugrid, who emerged into the light grasping his powerful bow. In terse words, the old chief advised his son-in-law of the invasion. Staring into the battle, Jugrid saw and recognized some of the fighting men as warriors of his own tribe. In particular, he observed that they were among the more quarrelsome and restive of the younger Cave warriors―those who had taken the villainous Xangan for their spokesman and leader.

But it soon became apparent that the villainies of Xangan were at an end. For there at Charak’s feet the corpse of the troublesome chief lay, his slack-jawed features gaping up at his murderer.

Jugrid would not have been human had he not experienced a brief and fleeting sense of relief and satisfaction to discover the foremost of his scheming adversaries would trouble him no more. Then, however, this sense of vindication and grim triumph passed, to be replaced by a new and urgent sensation of anxiety. For, having but yester-evening narrowly averted an outbreak of hostilities between the River People and his own tribe, he now observed the newly patched peace imperiled yet again.

His keen eyes sought out and identified the cause of the new peril, for Pandan, whose inexplicable absence had, of course, ere now been noticed by Thadron, who had brought the puzzling matter to Jugrid’s attention, stood in the forefront of the attackers. Jugrid instantly surmised that the young warrior had not merely wandered off into the jungle to be eaten by one or another of the night-prowling predators, as he had first supposed, but had carried tales back to Xangan, precipitating this present debacle.

Among the attacking force of warriors from the Cave People, Jugrid could see none of the older or more responsible of the members of his tribe. Xangan’s war-party had been drawn exclusively, it would seem, from the more disputatious, dissatisfied, and less loyal tribesmen. Jugrid was relieved to note this, and hastened to apprise Zuruk of the fact. The attack thus mounted, he explained, was not a full-scale invasion by the tribe as a whole, but represented a more-or-less private vendetta by Xangan and his more disreputable cronies, among whom he noticed Xangan’s own grandfather, Quone, the leader of the Elders, who had long been the most vindictive and venomous of Jugrid’s adversaries.

“Think not, O Chief,” said Jugrid with a half-smile, “that it will particularly offend me if your warriors make mincemeat of their opponents. There are among them none whom I count friends or supporters of mine, and none whose loss will make me bitter.”

Zuruk cleared his throat, and grinned a ferocious grin of his own.

“I was about to remark upon similar lines, my son and brother! For I espy among those of the River People currently embroiled with your warriors, none but those who are the more vehement and rebellious of Charak’s faction, not one of which I regard as indispensable to my serenity, nor any whose loss I would have cause to bemoan. I suggest we refrain from any intervention on either side, and let them fight it out between them.”

“Agreed,” Jugrid chuckled. “Unless I am mistaken, those of your people involved in the fight were those pointed out to me as the most belligerent of the River People, who most desired war. Am I not correct?”

“You are,” nodded Zuruk. “Right now, they seem to be having a bellyful of it. Let us leave them to enjoy that which they so vigorously sought…”

RECOVERING from the duel with Xangan, who now lay dead at his feet, Charak next found himself facing the whirling axe of a burly ruffian named Rask, who served as Xangan’s chief bodyguard. It was luck, not skill, that enabled the cowardly River warrior to fell the heavier man with a spear in the guts, for Rask slipped in the mud underfoot and before he was able to recover his footing, Charak had thrust the spear into him. But then the River warrior found himself attacked by a scrawny old man whose wattled neck was hung about with beads and trinkets, his all-but-hairless skull adorned with colored feathers. Screeching in a foaming fury, this spindly shanked old dodderer launched himself upon Charak in a blind, choked rage.

It was Quone the elder, who had long schemed to dislodge Jugrid from the chieftaincy of the tribe in fa. vor of that spoiled and pampered grandson of his, the same Xangan whom the River warrior had killed just before dawn. Throwing caution to the winds in his mad fury, the Elder flung himself upon Charak’s back, a flint-bladed knife clenched in the bony fingers of one hand. Before the surprised blackbeard could brush the skinny old man aside, the keen stone blade had slashed deep into his throat.

Blood gushed from a severed artery. Cursing and staggering, floundering to his knees in the slick mud, Charak bewilderedly felt his extremities going numb, saw his vision darken. He coughed lurid oaths, choking on his own blood. Reaching around, he seized the bony neck of the old man between huge, strong hands and dragged his assailant from bestride his back. Then he began pounding the old man’s head against a rock that protruded from the mudbank conveniently to hand.

Just before death took him, Charak quite thoroughly managed to beat out the brains of Quone the Elder. Then his own corpse sagged and collapsed across the gaunt body of his murderer, whom he had just murdered.

It was not without a certain flavor of poetic irony, this scene, in which the more villainous elements in Jugrid’s tribe fought against the more villainous elements in Zuruk’s tribe, each slaughtering the other, and being slaughtered thereby.

FROM the top of the riverbank, Zhu Kor witnessed the carnage with acute displeasure. Events had triggered the Cave warriors into action so swiftly that the Kuurian had not been able to interpose his will in time. Now he viewed the battle with distinct unhappiness.

Xangan’s party had reached the edge of the river before dawn and were about to reconnoiter the encampment of the River People when a war-band, armed to the teeth, burst up unexpectedly from the river and were among them before either group quite realized the fact. To attack the stranger had been instinctive on both sides of the conflict; and now, bitterly, Zhu Kor observed the straits to which this unfortunate accident had brought him.

More than half of Xangan’s force were dying or already dead, Xangan among them. And, while they had managed to slay more than half of the River warriors, driving the remnant back into the shallows, there could be but one outcome to the conflict, and the malignant little dwarf perceived that this outcome could only be detrimental to his wishes.

For there, drawn up on the other bank of the river, armed and ready, stood nearly three score of the River warriors. As yet, for some curious reason, they had taken no part in the engagement. It did not require the unique abilities of a telepath, to hazard the guess that the force that had obviously crept stealthily by night from the encampment of the River People had been a gang of unruly dissidents or rebels.

Among the River People who stood ranked along the further side of the river stream, Zhu Kor spied Jugrid and Tomar and Ylana. Since they were not bound, and, indeed, bore arms, it was blatantly obvious to the little Mind Wizard that they were not prisoners, but had found a safe and friendly haven among the southern tribe. This did not bode well for the Kuurian: no matter which way victory fell in the conflict, whether to the handful of Xangan’s men who yet lived, or the eight or nine of Charak’s former supporters who remained, surely the River warriors, egged on by Jugrid and Tomar and Ylana, would destroy the survivors, or make them captive, and turn their hostile attentions, finally, upon himself.

Zhu Kor felt his blood run cold at the unpleasant thought. Alone and friendless, devoid of the host of warriors who had come hither with him, most of whom were now dead, he stood little chance of escaping his own demise.

But even the last of the vicious and cunning Mind Wizards of Callisto was not without certain skills that might tip the scales of fate in his favor. Chief among these was his uncanny power to control the minds of others. It was not impossible for him to so interfere with the vision of an ordinary man as to render himself invisible. That is, while the eyes of such men might observe him clearly, it was within the scope of his telepathic abilities to convince the vision-center of the brain that the eyes had seen nothing.*

Briefly, Zhu Kor considered this possibility, reluctantly deciding against it. While it was within his powers to so control the vision centers of human brains, only a few humans could be so influenced at one time. T’here were far too many ranked against him for him to control them all.

He turned his cunning and agile mind to other courses of action. What was required here, obviously, was something in the nature of a diversion. The bigger the diversion, the better, thought he.

He turned his shrewd and crafty gaze upon the river itself. This he knew full well to be the River of the Groack; and he was well aware that the name of the stream derived from the immense and predatory reptiles who at times infested its waters. Now, it was far easier for one of the Mind Wizards of Callisto to control the mind of a beast than that of a human. The reason for this lay in the fact that the brains of animals are smaller, and simpler, and far less alert and self-aware than are the brains of men.

Concentrating his telepathic organ, Zhu Kor now projected a tendril of thought-waves that ranged the length of the river as it meandered across the grassy plain from the distant shores of the Cor-Az. While thought-waves diminish in strength and intensity of focus in direct correlation to the distance they must traverse, Zhu Kor was able to reach and identify the typical mind-radiations of a monster groack not too far upriver. The giant reptile was browsing among a school of fish along the deeper portions of the river bottom.

Inserting a tendril of thought into the sluggish mind of the immense predator, the Kuurian insidiously implanted therein an irresistible urge to swim the length of the river to the site opposite the encampment of the tribe of Zuruk. Without pause or delay to investigate the origin of this overpowering whim, as a man or woman might well have done, the riverdragon left off his depredations among the small school of fish, and began to swim downriver with all possible speed.

BEFORE very long the members of Xangan’s band had slain to the last man the former followers of Charak. The few of the Cave People who survived the sanguinary contest now regained the further bank, to cluster about the hunched, diminutive figure of Zhu Kor the Mind Wizard, in lieu of any other more obvious leader to command them. It would have been sheer madness to attack the ranks of River men, and only in flight, they assumed, lay the slightest possibility of safety. Indeed, the turncoat Pandan, who had managed to avoid the battle, urged that they retreat into the jungle immediately, before Zuruk’s men could be upon them. This, however, was contrary to the wishes of the yellow dwarf, who lingered in full view of his enemies.

Zuruk and Jugrid now commanded their men into the shallows. In less time than it takes me to describe the scene, the warriors had crossed the shallow river and came scrambling up the further bank, prepared to slay or take captive the survivors of Xangan’s force and their Kuurian leader.

It was precisely then that an ear-splitting screech rent the air and they turned, stricken with horror, to observe the vast and wriggling and scaly bulk of the enormous groack as it came heaving up out of the water to hurl itself upon them.

Jugrid and Zuruk, in the fore, turned in consternation and found themselves staring into the very jaws of doom.

Chapter 20 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

THE huge river monster loomed up over the two chieftains, and it needed no mental prodings from Zhu Kor to spur the beast to the attack. The hunger that growled in the great saurian’s belly provided all the impetus it needed.

The great, wedge―shaped head swung toward the two man-sized morsels. Fanged jaws agape, it floundered towards them. With one accord, Jugrid and Zuruk came splashing up out of the shallows to gain the slick mud of the steep shore. There they paused, took their stance, turned and loosed their throwing spears directly in the face of the ravenous groack. The crude javelins thudded home, one burying itself in the base of the monster’s long, snaky neck, the second sinking deep within its rounded shoulder.

The groack shrieked deafeningly, as bright pain lanced through its minuscule mind. It swiveled its head to snap at the barbed sticks it somehow sensed were the cause of its torment.

But the uncanny power of Zhu Kor reached out again, grasping control of its dim, pain-blurred brain, and driving the monster up out of the shallows in pursuit of the two chiefs.

And at that precise moment, a diversion occurred.

A winged black shadow fell suddenly over the scene.

So swift and unexpected was this interruption that it jarred Zhu Kor’s concentration. His hold upon the tiny brain of the lizard snapped. He stared above him into the golden sky, with surprise, swift comprehension, and dawning fear.

It was the Jalathadar, come at last!

Lukor and Koja and Kadar of Tharkol leaned over the mid-ship rail, staring below.

What they saw eluded their comprehension, for the figures beneath their keel were diminutive, and, when seen from directly overhead, unrecognizable. In the confusion below them they sensed a confrontation, the aftermath of a battle, but little else. They watched the huge river dragon come heaving up out of the water, frightened by the sudden and enormous shadow of the flying ship. It forgot to be hungry, forgot even its pain, in the urgent desire to be gone from the presence of the aerial monster. Perhaps the groack mistook the winged shape for that of its only natural enemy, the immense, predatory flying ghastozar. Perhaps it was only spurred to flight by some dim flicker of the instinct for survival. At any rate, it came floundering and flopping up out of the river and plowed through the handful of remaining Cave warriors, who were trampled to red slime under the weight of its ponderous flippers.

A small, malignant yellow form darted before it, slitted eyes blazing with command. Blinding pain lanced through the groack as mental force struck and tore at its mental centers. Without thought―as carelessly as a man slaps out at an annoying fly without thinking about it―the groack struck out, snatched the little yellow man up in its jaws and broke his spine with a shake of its head. For a moment or two the dwarfish figure squealed and flopped, dangling from the great jaws. Then they came together with a crunch, and it moved no longer, shrunken limbs hanging lifelessly, dripping blood on the wet, trampled grasses.

The groack slid heavily into the underbrush and vanished within the woods. Later, doubtless, when it felt safe, it would emerge to slither back into the winding river again.

It would never comprehend the fact that it had been the curious destiny of a brutish reptile to slay in passing the last of all the Mind Wizards of Kuur.

THE Jalathadar descended, anchor-cables fastened to treetops. Spry, grinning Lukor came down the rope ladder to clasp young Tomar to his bosom and to be kissed resoundingly by Ylana. Kadar and Ergon and Koja and the others soon joined him on the turf, and were greeted by Zuruk of the River People and Jugrid of the Cave Country with all the dignity the two chiefs could command.

It was a measure of their courage and manhood that they stood fast and did not flee from the approach of the fantastic flying ship, as did their people. When they saw to their own satisfaction that the dwellers in the airship were, after all, merely men, and after both Tomar and Ylana explained their friendliness, the two chiefs gradually unbent enough to offer hospitality, and loudly summoned their people to come forth and greet the strangers from the sky. One by one, the savage warriors crept forth from hiding, to see for themselves that the sky-dwellers were ordinary men, although strangely dressed and curiously armed, and apparently friendly enough, they, too, gradually relaxed.

By midday a huge feast was prepared to welcome the visitors from the other side of the world, and the food and drink were plenteous and satisfying. Every. one enjoyed himself hugely, and had a chance to tell his story.

Lukor and the others were fascinated to learn of how the boy and girl had been carried off by the last surviving Mind Wizard, and in their turn explained how they had searched the jungle plateau and its surrounding plains and mountains for days, seeking some trace of the vanished pair. They were amazed to learn how their chance appearance had stampeded the river monster into sudden flight, thus bringing the long and evil life of Zhu Kor to an accidental, but swift, termination. Lukor swore by the Red Moon and the Green, and even somber and emotionless Koja expressed himself astonished at the ending of the adventure.

But it was not quite over yet. Xangan was dead, and so was Quone. The Cave People and their Elders were alike leaderless. As well, most of Xangan’s more disruptive and dedicated followers had been slaughtered in the battle at the river. As these individuals had comprised the more troublemaking and disloyal of the younger element, Jugrid felt assured that he could now regain the chieftaincy of the tribe, since most of those who remained had been the members of his own faction.

Zuruk, too, found that the battle at the river had disposed of most of the troublesome element in his tribe, and those who yet lived were heavily outnumbered by his own supporters.

“Amusing how Xangan and Charak served us by each slaughtering the other’s followers, thus purging both of our tribes of the dissident factions,” chuckled Jugrid grimly. Zuruk nodded.

“Aye, but they got their wish, didn’t they? War between the tribes and a chance for honor and glory and victory. Which leaves the rest of us, who were always happy to live in peace―in peace!”

THE next dawn Jugrid and Thadron and their party left for the jungle trek back to the Cave Country, to install Ylana’s father once again in the chieftainship.

Just to make doubly certain that his return to power was smooth and without bloodshed or dissent, Zuruk and a party of fifty warriors accompanied them, while the Jalathadar floated overhead, great wings lazily beating the brisk morning wind.

At their first glimpse of the incredible flying machine, the Cave People took refuge in their deepest and darkest caves. Long and loud did Jugrid call them to come forth, and, eventually, they emerged into the light no less timidly than had the River People. While Zuruk stood by, leaning upon his spear, and all his warriors behind him, Thadron firmly announced Jugrid’s candidacy for his former office. The ordinary tribesmen were pleased enough to welcome him back and to give him the chieftaincy by acclamation. Even the Elders, lacking the leadership of wily old Quone, and being themselves sharp enough to see how the wind was now blowing, did not dispute the results of the election.

While everything was running so smoothly, Jugrid seized the opportunity to explain that the last of the Unseen Ones had left for parts unknown, and that his last command had been to remove all but the vestiges of authority from the Elders, which authority was from now on to be vested solely in the tribal chief.

With a wary eye on Zuruk, who hefted his great spear meaningfully, and a glance at the gigantic aerial vehicle floating directly overhead, the Elders declined to dispute the reported wishes of their now-departed god. The old men had not survived to their considerable ages by going against the clearly obvious will of the majority. Only the cunning of Quone, and his ambitions for his grandson, Xangan, had been able to mobilize their influence against Jugrid’s faction. One sensed that, deprived of authority―and the tiresome responsibilities of that authority―the old gaffers would be content to laze in the sun, their vanity satisfied by being consulted on purely ceremonial matters.

Jugrid then surprised the tribe by announcing the impending nuptials of his daughter Ylana to the outlander boy, Tomar. Considering the length of time the two youngsters had been together in close and intimate proximity, the adventures they had shared, and the brave and resourceful actions of the youth in protecting, rescuing, and taking care of the girl, everyone seemed to think it was quite fitting that their attachment to each other should be solemnized by marriage. A glance at the starry eyes of Ylana and the burning cheeks and happy smile of Tomar reassured any last doubters.

Marriage, to the Cave People, was a ceremony so unadorned as to be simplicity itself. Before the full assembly of the tribe the two stepped forth, clasped their hands together, and declared themselves mated. Then the chief and the foremost of the Elders ratified these brief nuptials by a verbal consent, the two young people exchanged a kiss, and that was that.

Following the marriage, another feast was held in which the Cave People entertained the visiting River tribesmen, and in the presence of all the two chiefs formally reiterated the truce that had long existed between the two nations, and that had only recently become strained. Then, bidding an affectionate adieu to Jugrid and Thadron, Tomar and Ylana, and the visitors from the sky, Zuruk and his warriors began the long trek home to their own village.

Never again (the two chiefs solemnly vowed to each other) would hot young heads be permitted to fray the friendly relations between the tribes.

The jungle plateau was big enough for both of them.

IT became time for the Jalathadar to depart. Tomar and Ylana made their farewells of Jugrid and Thadron and the others, and clambered up the rope ladders to board the sky vessel.

Great wings lazily fanning the breeze, the aerial galleon climbed above the plateau and sailed off in the direction of Kuur.

Returning to the Underground City, Lukor saw the completion of the work assigned to the occupation force, took aboard the last of his men, and bade Haakon turn the prow of the ship of the skies towards distant Shondakor and home.

On the homeward voyage Tomar and Ylana shared the largest cabin, which had been that of the captain of the vessel, but which now be=e the “bridal suite”―if a warship of the clouds can, in fact, be said to contain a bridal suite.

The girl pinked and veiled her eves behind her lashes while relating this portion of her tale to me. Her reticence concerning what took place between the four walls of this cabin was only seemly. Some things are too private, too personal, even to be recorded in the pages of a sober and veracious history, such as this one.

Such matters concern two persons only, and are none of our business, surely.

But from the dreamy expression on Ylana’s lovely face, and the proud expression of the boy when he regarded her fondly, I believe we can assume that they had achieved the happiness they deserve.

AND so the Jalathadar sailed back again over the Edge of the World, and across the Great Plains of Haratha, and above the spires of Tharkol the Scarlet, and, bright and early one morning, came home to Shondakor the Golden, and to a hero’s welcome.

The death of the last of the Mind Wizards was a great relief to Darloona and me, as was the reconciliation of the differences between the two jungle tribes and the finding of the lost youngsters. Tomar’s father, Prince Thorak, was heartily pleased with his son’s choice of a mate. The two youngsters were married all over again before the twin thrones in the great palace of Darloona’s ancestors, in the presence of the full court and nobility, and this time according to the rites of the Shondakorians.

In the months since their return from the other side of Thanator, I have compiled this account from the very lips of those who partook in those adventures, although I have not hesitated to interpret this sequence of actions and events in the light of my own knowledge of the participants, and to read between the lines, so to speak. Now, at last this chronicle has reached its gradual completion, and soon the warriors of my retinue will bear it through the jungles of the Grand Kumala to that jade altar-stone that forms the Callisto terminus of the Gate Between Two Worlds. In time, I hope and trust, the manuscript will find its way into the hands of my amanuensis and friend, my fellow Earthling who is known here as Prince Lankar.

The affairs of Shondakor have occupied perhaps overmuch of my time of late, and in the span of these last months I have found little opportunity for leisure in which to complete recording this latest adventure upon the jungle Moon. Perhaps this is. fortunate, for it enables me to finish the story of Tomar and Ylana in a most appropriate manner.

Only this morning, in the 7th xapac of the 18th chore, ninth day of the fourth zome, was Ylana brought to bed and gave birth to twins.

The boy Tomar has named Jorad, after his grandfather.

The girl, Ylana has named Narda, after her mother.

And they are very happy.