Lin Carter - Zanthodon 5 - Eric Of Zanthodon

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Eric of Zanthodon

by Lin Carter

PART ONE The Fugitives

Chapter 1. THE HIDING PLACE

When the legions of Zar hurled themselves against the rearmost ranks of the corsairs, Jorn the Hunter

found the moment he had been waiting for.

The Cro-Magnon boy gave Yualla the signal. Then he whirled, turning on the Zarian legionnaire

assigned to guarding him, and kicked the astounded man in the stomach. As he sagged to his knees,

gagging, the warrior could not have told which surprised him the most-the unexpected blow, or the fact

that the hands of the youth were now free of their bonds.

In the same instant, Yualla had dispatched her own guard with her dagger. In the noise and tumult of

battle, with the full attention of the Zarian warriors riveted on their foes, the Barbary Pirates, none but

Murg noticed this burst of action.

Hastily stripping their guards of weapons, the boy and girl fled for safety behind tall boulders. From that

vantage, they glided into thick bushes, seeking to circle the scene of battle and rejoin the tribe of Sothar

from their rear.

As the two young people made their escape, Murg, who had been watching for just such an act, signaled

to Xask, who was happy enough to have a reason to fall back into the rear. War was not one of Xask's

favorite recreations. After all, people can get themselves killed when swords are flashing and spears are

flying!

As Zarys led her legions into the fray, Xask prudently retired to a safer position, well out of the way of

the flashing scimitars, the thrusting tridents. Accompanied by his entourage of personal guards, he

initiated pursuit of the escaping hostages. Along the way, Murg and his guard fell into step with them,

although Murg was no happier in battles than was Xask, and heartily wished himself far away from all

these brave, bloody events.

Having no way of reading Xask's mind, then or now, I cannot say with certainty what motives urged the

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sly little vizier to race in pursuit of the youth and maiden. Perhaps he intended recapturing them, in order

to trade their persons for my old friend, the Professor, whose brain held the secret of the thunder-weapon

(as the folk of Zanthodon name my .45 automatic). Or perhaps he merely wished an excuse to put as

much distance between his tender hide and the furious battle as could be done.

Jorn and Yualla, once safely out of the sight of their former captors, took to their heels with alacrity. The

handsome youth and his attractive blonde companion were young, their lithe bodies toughened by the

adventures through which they had recently passed, and the Cro-Magnons are a hardy, healthy people.

Hence it was not long before they outdistanced the men of Zar, who were smaller and less athletic and

who were, of course, burdened by their bronze armor and heavy weapons.

The three-way battle between the Cro-Magnons, the Barbary Pirates, and the Zarians, had begun in an

open, meadowy space at the mouth of the pass which wound its way through that soaring range of

mountains known as the Peaks of Peril. It is perhaps ironic that so many of our adventures had taken

place in the vicinity of this ominously and prophetically named range of mountains. The boy and girl

had intended to circle through the underbrush until they reached the sheer and cliff-like wall of the

mountains, then double back so as to rejoin their friends in the rear, where they stood embattled with

their backs set against the cliff.

Once Jorn's keen senses discovered that they were being pursued by armed men, of course, his plans

required swift alteration. The two struck out into the midst of the grassy plain, hoping to evade their

pursuers and probably, as well, hoping that the Zarians would give over the pursuit when it became

impractical to continue it, and return to join their comrades in the fighting.

The plains north of the mountains were level and featureless, and afforded the fugitives scant

opportunities for concealment. Once they had put a considerable distance between themselves and those

that followed, it occurred to Jorn the Hunter that they might manage to hide themselves in the tall

grasses. An act so obvious as that would not for long have managed to confuse the warriors or huntsmen

of his own Cro-Magnon tribe, for of course they were seasoned veterans, accustomed to the rough and

hardy life of the wilderness and the jungle, who spent much of their lives tracking beasts through the

woods in order to hunt and kill. Such as they could swiftly and easily have followed the trail left by the

fugitives in the disturbed leaves. and trampled grasses-as easily as you or I can peruse this printed page.

But the Zarians were sophisticated city dwellers, no huntsmen, and to their dulled senses the trail left by

the passage of Jorn and Yualla was all but invisible.

They had come to a shallow depression, where tall grass grew thick. It was here that the two sought to

conceal themselves from their adversaries. It would have been but the action of mere moments for the

two to crawl into the grasses, arranging the vegetation over them, and to lie still as rabbits seeking to

evade the scrutiny of hawks.

Save for the unforeseen ....

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Others had sought refuge in the shallow depression and had been hiding among the tall grasses, sensing

the approach of tramping feet. These now exploded from their places of concealment, panicked by the

two young people.

They were uld, small, edible, timid mammals resembling plump, diminutive deer. But deer they were

not, for Professor Potter has identified them as eohippus, "dawn-horse," the remote ancestors of the

modern animal.

Jorn snarled an oath, for the scattering uld would draw attention to their hiding place; and attention was

the last thing he wished at the moment, with half a dozen armed Zarian legionnaires on their tracks.

Even as Jorn had feared, the flight of the uld had caught the eye of one of the Zarians. He started,

pointing. Xask snapped a command and the guards fell into arrowhead formation, plowing through the

high grass in the direction from which the herd of uld had fled in all directions.

And Xask smiled thinly: it was only a matter of moments now before the fugitives were found and

became his captives once again.

Things have a way of falling out differently from what you may hope or expect, in Zanthodon as in the

world above. But only in Zanthodon could the next twist of fate have occurred.

For other eyes had sighted the flight of the panic-stricken miniature horses. Those eyes belonged to an

omodon, and a hungry brute of an omodon. Generally, such as the mighty cave-bear of the Ice Age lurk

among the rocky crags of the Peaks of Peril, but the lust to gorge its empty belly on raw red meat had

driven this particular omodon down from the heights, to prowl and hunt upon the plain.

The great bear had small, weak eyes, for which reason it generally avoided the light of day, preferring

the comfortable gloom of the mountainside cave it had seized for its lair. But its keen and sensitive

nostrils more than made up for the inadequacy of its vision, and it had sniffed the tasty uld upon the

wind.

The monster had been stealthily creeping through the tall grass to where it had smelled out the hiding

place of the herd of uld. Now, as they exploded affrightedly in all directions, it came roaring to its feet,

mad with fury and frustration.

And when the mighty cave-bear of the Ice Age rises to its full height, it is a fearsome thing to behold.

Heavier and higher than two grizzlies was the omodon, and its huge paws, heavy as hammers, were

armed with dreadful claws like scythes.

And this was the adversary that came bellowing and lumbering down on the place where Jorn the Hunter

and Yualla of Sothar had sought to conceal themselves from danger and discovery among the tall

grasses!

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Jorn sprang to his feet, clutching his small bronze dagger futilely. It was, in fact, an imposing weapon

filched from the guard he had felled, and long enough to hold at bay a human foe. But, against the giant

bear that came lurching down upon him, seemingly as huge as a hill, the blade seemed small and useless.

Nor was Yualla any better armed; now had both the youth and the maid good reason to regret not having

taken up the spears their guards had let fall.

At the time, they had hastily reasoned the cumbersome weapons were too large and clumsy to be safely

borne in flight.

Now they wished they had thought twice about that.

But now, of course, it was too late.

Chapter 2. AT THE BOATS

Intent on punishing the blond savages whom she believed to be the same host of barbarians that had

earlier defeated her upon the great plains of the north, Zarys of Zar led her mailed legions forward at the

charge, and assaulted the rear ranks of the Barbary Pirates who were also attacking the Cro-Magnons.

Who these other adversaries were, the Divine Zarys neither knew nor cared to know. It sufficed for the

imperious and prideful young woman that they were in her way.

Her well-disciplined legions carved their way through the rear of the buccaneers, who scattered in all

directions in surprise and consternation. The corsairs fell before the thrusting spears and tridents of the

Zarian legion in the dozen and the score. In less time than it takes to tell, the Empress had cut a red path

into the very heart of the strange, swarthy men who wore such curious and ridiculous garments.

As she did so, she came to the attention of Kairadine Redbeard, who stopped fighting and stared at her

with open mouth. She was certainly worth staring at, was Zarys of Zar: supple, half-naked, slim and

lovely, her fiercely lovely face crowned with a curling mass of golden hair, her wonderful body clad in

strangely shaped bits of gold-washed armor. High greaves, worked with scenes of the hunt and war,

adorned her slender, graceful legs; a breastplate, cunningly molded to fit her figure, clad her high breasts

and shielded her belly, and it was carven with mythological events and monsters. A sparkling, jeweled

coronet completed her riding costume.

But it was not the stunning beauty of the ravishing girl that seized the astounded eye of the Redbeard,

but the fact that he instantly recognized her as Darya, the jungle princess for whom he had conceived so

violent a passion as to pursue her in her flight to this very scene of battle.

I have elsewhere remarked upon the fact that the Empress of Zar bore an amazing resemblance to my

beloved Princess, despite the fact that they came of different races. Indeed, upon first laying eyes upon

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the Divine Empress of the Scarlet City, I myself had mistaken her for my darling Darya. So it is quite

understandable that Kairadine Redbeard made the same mistaken assumption.

He flung himself upon her without a moment's hesitation, battering down her blade and seizing her lithe

and supple body in his strong arms.

While he struggled to subdue the astounded and, naturally, infuriated young woman, Kairadine directed

his personal retinue of well-armed corsairs to engage the guards from whose midst he had seized Zarys.

These were quickly dispatched.

The midst of a battle was no place to try to take captives, and had Kairadine been less madly desirous of

the girl he held in his arms, this might have occurred to him. But the Prince of the Barbary Pirates felt a

violent and consuming lust for Darya of Thandar, and heretofore-quite maddeningly-she had managed to

evade his embraces. Now that he had her at last, the farthest thing from his mind was to let her go.

When, exhausted, Zarys finally ceased struggling against him, the Redbeard swiftly bound and gagged

the young woman. Then, turning abruptly to the amazed Moustapha, his second-in-command, who had

watched these actions without comprehension, he curtly directed his lieutenant to take what actions he

could to hold the corsair lines firm against their adversaries.

Without waiting for a reply, the Redbeard turned and began cutting his way through the confused and

milling battle toward the distant beach where his longboats lay concealed.

In the whirling chaos into which the three-way battle had degenerated, he vanished from the knowledge

of men and was gone, leaving the unhappy Moustapha to strive to hold together a rapidly deteriorating

situation, which soon because quite hopeless.

It had probably been in Kairadine's mind to leave his captive bound and helpless in the boats, returning

to take command again. And here you see demonstrated one of the disadvantages of inditing a factual

narrative, a difficulty not usually faced by the authors of mere fiction. This is, I have no way of knowing

what was in the Redbeard's mind and am only reconstructing the sequence of events from information

which has come to me long after these events took place.

At length he reached that stretch of sandy shore bordering a swampy area, where pools of stagnant water

were thickly grown with mangrove trees whose long and frondlike branches formed a veil of leafage.

Here it was the corsairs had dragged their longboats up the beach to a place of hiding in the edges of the

marsh, among the heavy shrubbery. They had chopped down with their cutlasses long palmlike leaves to

drape across the boats, further concealing them from chance discovery.

And when he reached this place, the Prince of the Barbary Pirates found an unwelcome and unpleasant

surprise awaiting him.

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This beach formed part of the shores of the Sogar-Jad, as the subterranean sea was known to the

Zanthodonians. And the waves of that steamy ocean are filled with innumerable varieties of marine life,

dominant among which are the great aquatic saurians of Earth's remotest dawn age.

Those who have perused the earlier volumes of these memoirs will recall the ferocious yith, or

plesiosaur, which inhabits the depths of the Sogar-Jad. This monstrous reptile, and veritable double for

the famous Sea Serpent of legend, had intervened in these adventures on two previous occasions. Most

recently, one had attacked the flagship of Kairadine himself, nearly biting off the right arm of the

Redbeard.

The monster which Kairadine found browsing among the boats with no yith. It was seven times the size

of the plesiosaur! Like a moving mountain of glistening, leathery flesh it was, with its slick hide covered

with scaly excrescences and a neck long enough to top the tallest of the prehistoric conifers which lined

the edge of the sandy beach.

Had Professor Potter been present, I imagine that the scrawny little savant would have identified the

lumbering monstrosity as none other than the brontosaurus itself, the largest mammal that ever walked

the world.

The Zanthodonians refer to the giant reptile as the gorgorog. I had yet to encounter a member of its

species during my own travels and adventures through this prehistoric world, for they are few and but

seldom encountered by men. The men of Zar had domesticated a smaller, lighter variety of the

brontosaurus, which they call the thodar. But this was surely no thodar! It would have taken three of the

smaller brutes to make up the huge bulk of this moving mountain.

Kairadine shrank into the shelter of the trees, snarling Moslem curses. The Prince of the Barbary Pirates

was no coward, but even his curved saber of shining Damascus steel would be as useless as a wisp of

grass against six hundred tons of meat and muscle.

The reptile, unknown to Kairadine, was no meat-eater but a vegetarian. It lumbered through the shallows

on four legs thicker about than treetrunks, dipping its blunt-nosed head into the tidal pools, gulping and

munching seaweed and other marine growths, as mild and harmless as a browsing milk cow.

As it lumbered through the marshy places, however, its huge and ponderous feet had heedlessly

trampled into matchwood three of the longboats, and others had been dislodged from their moorings and

were floating out to sea.

Kairadine was in a quandary! He could hardly leave Zarys in one of the boats, so near to the giant

reptile. Greatly daring, he might have gained one of the boats and rowed out to sea, where his ship lay at

anchor. But the gorgorog was too close to the boats for him to attempt this.

What, then, to do?

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The Redbeard narrowed his eyes, staring thoughtfully about. He noticed how the lazy washing of the

waves caused the loose boats to drift to and fro. The tides were not strong enough at this point along the

shore to suck them out to sea ....

I have never exactly understood why the underground ocean had tides at all, since, surely, the attraction

of the moon as it waxed and waned could exert no influence on a body of water miles beneath the

planet's crust. Perhaps that the Sogar-Jad had tides at all, no matter how slight, was due to centrifugal

force, caused by the Earth as it revolved upon its axis.

I do not know, and this is no place to inquire into such arcane matters. But one of the boats, freed of its

mooring, had been carried a ways off down the shore, and lay floating in the shallows some considerable

distance away from where the huge lumbering gorgorog browsed.

Kairadine transferred his wriggling feminine burden to one broad shoulder, and crept through the trees,

emerging from the cover of the trees at the point where the floating longboat was closest to the

shoreline.

I suppose it was the plan of the Pirate Prince to board the boat, deposit his wriggling burden aft, and row

her out to where the Barbary ship was anchored.

It was as good a plan as Kairadine could have devised, given the circumstances.

But not quite good enough.

For the stealthy figure of the turbaned corsair with the half-naked blonde woman across one shoulder

caught the glazed, indifferent eye of the brontosaurus.

Through what passed for its brain-a miniscule, atrophied organ probably no longer than a peanut-there

flickered a gleam of idle curiosity.

Doubtless, never before in all its days had the monster reptile seen a bearded, swarthy man in brilliantly

colorful silk pantaloons slinking along the beach with a struggling goldenhaired woman across one

shoulder and a saber flashing in one gemmed fist.

Mild wonderment entered the gaze of the placid reptile. Its endless appetite momentarily lulled to

repletion by the sea-salad which had served as its luncheon, the brontosaurus decided to investigate. A

casual stroll along the beach, after all, is good for the digestion after a hearty meal.

Over his shoulder, Kairadine looked and saw the great lumbering monster heading for him. Growling a

curse, he turned on his heel and sprinted farther up the beach, away from where the empty long-boat

bobbed up and down, so tantalizingly close.

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At a leisurely pace, which shook the ground underfoot only slightly, the six-hundred-ton dinosaur

followed inquiringly.

Soon both the pursuer and the pursued were far down the beach and out of sight.

Chapter 3. HUROK HAS A PROBLEM

While these things had been taking place, the battle had collapsed into a vast, noisy mob of confused,

bewildered, leaderless men-in which only the Cro-Magnon warriors managed to keep their wits about

them and press their advantage.

The corsairs had lost many of their number while trying to attack from the front and defend themselves

from the rear. When Kairadine Redbeard had vanished from their midst, many had lost heart and

prudently flung down their weapons to take to their heels. Moustapha could do little or nothing about

this, since even the leader of a host cannot be everywhere at once.

As for the Zarian legion, once their impetuous Empress had hurled herself into the van, only to disappear

as if the earth had opened to swallow her up, they, too, fell into a demoralized disarray, which was only

aggravated further with the discovery that the second-in-command, the nefarious Xask, had also

mysteriously disappeared.

The Cro-Magnon tribe, augmented by the timely arrival of mighty Tharn of Thandar and his own host of

warriors, found little difficulty in achieving the victory. The Barbary Pirates and the men of the lost

colony of Minoan Crete, already deserting in droves, now flung down their weapons and sullenly

surrendered.

Garth of Sothar and Tharn of Thandar, not wishing to needlessly encumber themselves with such a host

of prisoners, simply confiscated and surrendered arms and let the captives go. Perhaps the defeated

warriors would fall prey to the monstrous prehistoric beasts that roamed the wilderness, perhaps they

would, after long wanderings, manage to find their way safely back again to their homelands. That was

up to them, and, for their part, the Pirates and the Zarians departed hastily from the scene of their defeat.

The women and children, the aged and the injured, the twin tribes had sent through the mountain pass to

the relative safety of the southern plains. Now heavily armed with sophisticated weapons of edged metal

taken from the Barbary Pirates and the men of Zar, the fighting men of the tribes wasted no time in

crossing the Peaks of Peril and rejoining those that had gone before.

We made our camp on the plains of the south and rested and ate and took care of our wounds. Also, the

chieftains conferred in council as to future courses of action.

"With the recovery of the gomad Darya, your daughter, my brother," said Garth of Sothar, "no further

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reason exists to keep you and yours from returning to your homeland."

Tharn solemnly agreed. He said: "My only remaining wish could be that your own daughter, the gomad

Yualla, had survived the perils of the north, so that you could rejoice in the recovery of your child as I

do in the recovery of my own."

Garth thanked his fellow monarch for the sentiment, and said nothing further on this subject. At this

time, my reader will understand, none of us had any way of knowing that Yualla still lived, or that

young Jorn the Hunter had survived his dive into the mountain lake.

Once we were fed and rested and had bound our wounds, we departed, to cross the plain and enter the

jungles. As explained earlier in these memoirs, the tribe of Sothar were homeless, for their country had

been devastated by earthquake and volcanic eruption, precipitating them into hasty flight, followed by

long wanderings. The two tribes had joined together out of a desire for the mutual protection afforded by

numbers; since then, they had become close friends, and Tharn had offered them room in his country for

their living places, for the forested plains of Thandar were broad and much land lay empty.

So the host that headed south into the jungles was far more numerous than the host that had originally

marched north on the trail of the lost Princess Darya.

And to this number had also been added the many slaves who had fled with the Professor and me when

the mad god, Zorgazon, had destroyed the Scarlet City of Zar. These were men taken by the Zarian

slavers from other scattered Cro-Magnon tribes which inhabited the little-known northern parts of the

subterranean continent. Tharn and Garth had offered them a place among us, which they had gratefully

accepted.

Several of them, in fact, had volunteered to join my own company of warriors, for I had become a

chieftain high in the councils of the twin tribes. Among these were my stalwart friends, cheerful, merry-

hearted Thon of Numitor and that stolid but faithful giant, Gundar of Gorad, who had become my

friends during the time we were penned up in the Pits of Zar, awaiting the Great Games of the God.

Also among my company were gallant Varak and his mate, Ialys of Zar, who had fled with us, and

Grond of Gorthak and little Jaira, his mate, who had been slaves in the island fortress of El-Cazar.

These, together with the other warriors of my company, such as mighty Hurok of Kor, had swelled the

numbers in my service until we jestingly described ourselves as a miniature tribe, not just a company.

Each company seeks its own camping place, and lights its own cook-fires, and marches together. Hence,

as we entered the edges of the jungle, we were a little apart from the others and forced to make our own

path through the dense undergrowth and heavy foliage.

I was in the lead, of course, with Hurok the Neanderthal on my right hand, and Gundar on my left. The

Cro-Magnon gladiator was the only panjani (as the Neanderthal Apemen of Kor refer to us) who could

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compare, in bulk and breadth of shoulder, in sheer physical might, to my old comrade Hurok, and

venturing into the jungle I felt more comfortable with these two stalwarts at my side.

These jungles have many denizens, and among them are some of the most feared and savage beasts that

ever roamed the upper world, the lumbering grymp, or triceratops, the vandar, as the Cro-Magnons name

the dreaded sabertooth tiger, and the goroth (or prehistoric bull, known as the aurochs to science) are

among these, and not the least among them, as you can imagine.

But the commotion made by the entry into the jungle country of such a host of warriors and their

women, numbering over a thousand by now, drove even the more ferocious predators into hiding-a fact

for which we all had cause to be thankful.

Still and all, we trod the jungle aisles warily, senses alert for the slightest sign of danger, weapons bared

and ready in-

After a time, I began to notice that Hurok seemed unusually somber and silent, even for one given to few

words. I glanced at the burly form of my friend curiously. Finally I spoke up.

"Why are you so silent, Hurok?" I asked. "Is anything bothering you in particular?"

"There is a certain matter on Hurok's mind," admitted the Apeman of Kor in his slow, deep voice, "but

naught that concerns his friend Black Hair."

"Anything that worries the mind of Hurok, worries his friend Black Hair," I said. "For Black Hair and

Hurok of Kor are more than friends: they are brothers."

A gleam of pleasure momentarily brightened the small, dull eyes, buried under heavy neanderthaloid

brow-ridges. Then it was gone, but I knew it for his version of a smile.

"Perhaps at a later time," he said heavily, "Hurok the Drugar will apprise Black Hair the panjani of that

which is in his heart."

I was troubled by these words, and did not like the sound of them. For one thing, "Drugar" is the word

by which the Cro-Magnons call the Apeman of Kor, and it is more or less to be considered a derogatory

term. "Panjani" is the word the Apemen of Kor use for the Cro-Magnons: it means "smooth-skins."

It bothered me that Hurok employed these terms. I could remember earlier occasions when he found

himself unwelcome among the fighting men of Thandar because of his race, which they have good

reason to detest. Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon have been at war since first their remotest ancestors

found their way into the hidden cavern world of Zanthodon, and they remain blood foes to this day. But

Hurok had long since earned the respect and the friendship of the Cro-Magnon comrades by whose side

he had fought many battles and braved the perils of the wilderness.

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EricofZanthodonEricofZanthodonbyLinCarterPARTONETheFugitivesChapter1.THEHIDINGPLACEWhenthelegionsofZarhurledthemselvesagainsttherearmostranksof hecorsairs,JorntheHunterfoundthemomenthehadbeenwaitingfor.TheCro-MagnonboygaveYuallathesignal.Thenhewhirled,turningontheZarianlegionnaireassignedtoguardin...

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