The Return of Tharn Part 24

An hour pa.s.sed. Most of the camp was sleeping now. Four guards were moving slowly about the circle of fires; these and a group of five or six warriors talking about the ashes of a cooking fire were the only exceptions. Dylara was sound asleep, wrapped in a bundle of borrowed furs and lying well away from the nearest Ammadian.

A plan was taking shape slowly in Trakor's active mind. Why couldn't _he_ rescue Dylara? This was his big chance to show Tharn how well he had profited by the cave lord's teachings. How proud his friend would be when he awakened to find Dylara beside him safe and sound, rescued by the stealth and daring of his protege!

The longer Trakor thought about it, the better it looked. Impatiently he glowered at the dawdling warriors about the last fire. Were they to sit there gossiping throughout the night? At any moment Tharn might awake and spoil the whole thing!

Good! That last group was breaking up. One of them went over to the side of the sleeping girl, bent and stared at her, then straightened and called something to his companions. There was a brief sound of coa.r.s.e laughter, the warrior rejoined his fellows and all sought their sleeping furs.

Another hour inched by. It was an unusually quiet night. Only twice did Trakor hear the voices of the big cats and each time it was from a distance. The darkness was absolute except for the dying flames from the protecting circle of fire below. Heavy clouds, forerunners perhaps of the storm Tharn had forecast, obscured moon and stars.

Those four guards continued their casual pacing. Trakor, watching intently, observed something finally that served to crystallize his plans. At fairly regular intervals those four came together at a point well away from where Dylara lay. Each time they stood in a group for several moments while they exchanged pleasantries, breaking the monotony of standing guard.

With slow caution, lest he arouse Tharn, the young cave man slipped groundward. There he began a slow circling of the clearing, masked from the sentries by heavy foliage. When he reached a spot on a direct line from where Dylara lay, he gently lowered himself bellyflat in the ribbon of gra.s.ses between the forest and the protecting wall of fire and began to inch himself forward like a giant snake.

Luckily the gra.s.s was high enough to hide him. His greatest danger was that one of those experienced warriors might glimpse the manner in which the gra.s.s tops were swaying.

He was near enough now to feel the heat of flames. His heart was pounding mightily and his fingers seemed to be trembling as he dragged himself still closer. Did they tremble with fear, he asked himself? No; it was only excitement that caused him to react so--of this he was certain.

According to his calculations those four guards should be close to another of those brief meetings on the opposite side of the camp. Slowly he lifted his head until he could make out their, and his own, position.

He was a few seconds behind schedule: the four of them were already together and not quite as far away as he would have liked. But in his favor was the fact that he was much closer to where Dylara lay sleeping than he had expected to be.

There was no time for hesitation, no time to bolster his courage. Rising to his feet, his body bent into a deep crouch, Trakor sped with swift silence through a break in the fire wall. Beyond this, five hurried strides brought him beside the sleeping cave princess. He wasted no time in glancing around to learn if his daring move had been witnessed. He could feel the skin crawl at his back as he bent, shoved a fold of the girl's sleeping furs across her face to drown out any involuntary cry, and swung her up into his arms.

He wheeled to flee ... then froze in his tracks at sight of three spears leveled at his naked chest.

CHAPTER X

BEYOND AMMAD'S WALLS

The stifling folds of fur suddenly thrust forcibly against her face awakened Dylara from a sound sleep. So dazed was she by the sudden attack that her paralyzed muscles were unable to resist as she felt herself swung up into a crus.h.i.+ng embrace.

Then her momentary inertia snapped and she was on the point of struggling to free herself when the strong arms about her abruptly relaxed their hold and she staggered free.

With her eyes uncovered once more she saw a young warrior of the caves--a youth no older than she--beside her. Straight and tall he stood, menaced by three spears in the hands of three Ammadian fighting men, his strong, handsome, intelligent face reflecting fierce pride and deep chagrin. About his shoulders were looped a heavy blackwood bow, a quiver of stone-tipped arrows and a long gra.s.s rope. A flint knife was thrust within the folds of a loin-cloth of panther skin.

He stood there, a barbaric figure, eyeing those three spearheads leveled at his broad chest--eyeing them with a kind of dignified contempt that so reminded Dylara of Tharn, greatest warrior of them all, that she felt quick tears spring to her eyes. How truly magnificent were the men of her own kind when compared with these underdeveloped, almost frail, Ammadians!

Now came Ekbar, captain of Vokal's guards, pus.h.i.+ng his way roughly through the press of aroused warriors hemming in both captives. He shoved his tall, square-shouldered body in front of Trakor and took in the situation at a glance.

"Disarm him!" he barked.

Hands tore away bow, arrows, rope and knife. Ekbar moved closer, his deep-set gray eyes moved appraisingly over the youth's splendid frame, and the already surly cast to his countenance deepened under a scowl.

"So, barbarian," he thundered, "you sought to take your mate from us!

Only a stupid cave beast would expect to outwit Ammad's warriors. By what name are you called?"

"Trakor," said the youth, his voice emotionless.

"Trakor, eh? Where lie the caves of your tribe?"

"I belong to no tribe."

Without warning, Ekbar brought up a calloused hand and struck the young Cro-Magnard across the face, staggering him. "Another of your lies," he snarled, "and I turn you over to my men as a spear target. Where are your caves?"

Trakor made no attempt to reply. An angry red welt marked his cheek where Ekbar's hand had landed. His eyes were gleaming like sun against ice, but nothing else in his face betrayed the fury and hatred boiling within him. Truly, Trakor had come a long way since that day when Tharn had saved him from Sadu.

"How many came here with you?" Ekbar demanded.

"I came alone."

"Is this girl your mate?"

"No. I have never seen her before."

"Do you expect us to believe you risked certain capture to steal from us a girl you never saw before?"

Trakor shrugged. "You asked me. I do not care whether you believe me."

Ekbar's scowl deepened as he turned to Dylara. "You said you were brought here by Jotan. Was this barbarian one of his slaves?"

Dylara shook her head. "No. Nor have I ever seen him before tonight."

The captain chewed his lip uncertainly. "It is very strange," he complained. "I think both of you are lying. Well, if there are others who hope to take you from us, they will get the same welcome!"

He motioned to two of his men. "Bind this cave beast's arms and legs.

Put him and the girl together in the center of the camp and triple the guard. Vokal shall have two new slaves at least!"

An hour later most of the Ammadian camp was asleep once more. A dozen guards now patrolled the site and the fires were high again with additional fuel.

Dylara lay on her side, covered with sleeping furs to keep out the chill of damp earth and night air. Only a few feet away lay Trakor, bound and helpless, his broad back turned to her exactly as they had left him.

It was a good-looking back, she admitted--not yet fully developed since its owner was still quite young, but it was well-formed and muscular nonetheless.

What, she wondered, was the real reason behind his attempt to take her from the Ammadians? Was he a member of some neighboring tribe? Had he come to spy on the men of Ammad, caught sight of her and tried to take her for himself?

She flushed a little at the thought. Not given to false modesty, Dylara knew she was very beautiful. But beauty, it seemed, could be more curse than blessing. It was that beauty which had led Tharn to take her by force from her own people; that beauty which had brought Jotan to her feet and caused him to take her with him on his return to Ammad. And now it appeared this handsome young cave warrior had been drawn into a lifetime of slavery by a single glimpse of her!

Yet she was woman enough to feel a little glow of pride at this tribute to her loveliness. He was young and very attractive--in many ways like Tharn, although his physical development was far short of the latter's.

The thought of Tharn brought an image of his mighty steel-thewed body and G.o.d-like face before her mind's eye. Where was he this night? Were his bones dotting the sandy surface of Sephar's arena while Nada, his mother, mourned? Or had he won through against hopeless odds and escaped to return to the caves of his people. She did not know, of course; perhaps she would never know....