Lin Carter - Zanthodon 3 - Hurok Of The Stone Age

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Carter, Lin - Zanthodon 3 - Hurok of the Stone Age
Hurok of the Stone Age
by Lin Carter
Part One
DRAGONMEN OF ZAR
Chapter 1 THE DRAGON-RIDERS
Beyond the Peaks of Peril there stretches from the shores of the great sea of Sogar-Jad a mighty plain.
Under the eternal noon of Zanthodon observers might have perceived a strange and unusual party
traversing this grassy immensity.
In the first place, the party consisted of a herd of dinosaurs. Now, on the surface world this would indeed
have been remarkable, as the last of the great saurians of the Dawn perished into extinction long before
the first true men evolved from their marsupial ancestors. Here in the Underground World, of course, the
sight of the monster reptiles was commonplace, for it is here in the vast cavern-world beneath the Sahara
that survivors from forgotten ages have lingered on hundreds of millennia since the last of their kind
vanished from the Upper World.
While our hypothetical observers would not have found the giant lizards remarkable, in themselves,
there was that about them that would have astonished.
The first thing that was surprising was that the immense bronze-and-copper-colored dinosaurs wore
bridles, bits, and reins.
The second thing was that men were riding on their backs.
Now, the dinosaurs of Zanthodon come in two distinct varieties. One is the mighty predator, savage,
ferocious, hungry-terrible fighter of unkillable vigor.
The second variety are the more placid and amenable herbivores, slow-witted, ruminative, and no more
to be feared than we fear dairy cattle. Even these last, however, have never been broken to saddle-not
because of their ferocity for they lack any, but simply because their intelligence is too rudimentary for
them to learn to obey commands. As well, they are virtually walking stomachs, and must eat constantly
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in order to fuel their gigantic carcasses.
I could not identify the species of dinosaur into which the harnessed monsters may best be classified-if
my learned companion, Professor Percival P. Potter, Ph.D., ever named them for me, I am afraid that I
have forgotten-but I can assure you that these stalking monstrosities were huge beyond belief.
As for the men on their backs, there was nothing particularly remarkable about them, except that they
represented a species of humankind I had not yet encountered here in the Underground World. There are
the hulking and hairychested Neanderthal men (the "Drugars," as the folk of Zanthodon call them), and
the tall, lithe, blond and blue-eyed Cro-Magnons (or "panjani"), plus a surviving remnant of Barbary
Pirates fled here when the fleets of Europe were scouring the Mediterranean to crush the corsairs and
eliminate their depredations on shipping.
But beyond these, the Dragonmen, as the folk of Zanthodon seemed to call them, were unique. Small,
slim, oliveskinned, with silky black hair and flashing black eyes, dressed in high-laced sandals and
abbreviated garments of fine linens dyed yellow or scarlet or blue, they obviously were the children of a
higher order of civilization than any I had yet encountered in this fantastic subterranean world-with the
possible exception of the pirates.
They lived in a land called Zar, I had been given to understand, which lay inland from the coast, far to
the "east." I call the direction "east" because it is a convenient term; actually, here far below the world
where the steamy skies are perpetually illuminated by weird phosphorescence there is no way to tell one
direction from another. If you will think about this for a moment, you will realize that if you were
miraculously to be transported, say, to Mesopotamia, you could orient yourself (at least insofar as the
cardinal directions went) as soon as the sun rose or set
Zanthodon has no sun, and its luminance never wavers or dims. Hence "east" is a handy term, nothing
more.
Since first Professor Potter and I had descended in my helicopter into Zanthodon, we had made both
friends and enemies. Our friends were the blond and stalwart fighting men of the Cro-Magnon nations of
Sothar and Thandar. They are not only superb physical specimens, mighty warriors, fearless hunters, but
also fine human beings-brave, loyal, chivalrous, and honest
Together with a small party of these warriors, and my friend Hurok of Kor, one of the Neanderthaloid
Drugars, we had entered upon .these plains in pursuit of the Barbary Pirates who had carried off my
beloved Princess, Darya of Thandar, when we were surprised by the Dragonmen and quickly captured.
That is to say, the Professor and I had been captured. I had commanded my warriors to scatter and
disperse, and to conceal themselves, in order that the pursuit and rescue of Darya might continue even
though I was no longer there to lead it.
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And so we rode, mounted on the back of a gigantic reptile that stalked across the plains, great clawed
three-toed feet plowing through the swishing meadow grasses, like a thing out of nightmare. Our wrists
had been securely but not uncomfortably tied behind our backs, and we had been relieved of our
weapons. However, we were captives, and the free of heart find captivity rankling in the extreme.
Thus I chafed, jaw set grimly, inwardly cursing my fate. As for my scrawny companion, he was afire
with scientific curiosity. This was about the closest he had yet come to one of the monster saurians, and
he was enjoying the experience-yes, even the musky, reptilian stench which was thick and rank in our
nostrils, and the rasp of its pebbly hide against our bare thighs.
"Think of it, my boy!" he breathed ecstatically, eyes aglow with fervor behind his slightly askew pince-
nez, his sun helmet wobbling on his baldish head, his tattered and travelstained khakis mere rags by this
time, through which his bony fibs and skinny arms and legs protruded comically. "These marvelous
people have actually domesticated the dinosaurs!"
"I am thinking of it, Doc," I grunted a bit sourly. "And I'm wondering if we've been brought along to
serve as fodder when the critters get peckish."
"Nonsense!" he snorted. "Reptiles of this size would regard the two of us as a mere morsel, not even a
snack, and in no way to be considered luncheon."
"That's a relief," I commented.
"And a marvelous people they are, or were," he amended, studying the slender limbs and naked backs of
our captor, who was seated directly in front of us. "The Minoan civilization of ancient Crete was one of
the wonders of antiquity! When even the Greeks were still chasing reindeer and hitting each other in the
head with rocks, the Cretans had developed their civilization to astonishing heights. Their palaces had
flush toilets and hot and cold running water more than fifteen centuries before the Romans-and their
cities possessed a sewage system which not even the Romans ever equaled!"
"Terrific," I snapped. "But what the hell are they doing down here?"
"Oh, Galloping Galileo, my boy, stop being so snippy!" he said. "Relax and enjoy the unique experience
we are having, about which we can do nothing, anyway. As I-ker-hem! As I was saying . . . Oh, you
asked a question? Yes, well, let me see . . . their island civilization was virtually destroyed at its height
overnight when the volcanic island of Thera blew its top in one of the most gigantic explosions this side
of Krakatoa. Knossus was shaken by the impact and partially burned; the tidal wave raised by the
explosion demolished the Cretan fleet and drowned the capital. The Minoans never recovered from that
devastating cataclysm, and dwindled into legend. But it would seem that a remnant fled the island and
found their way here-but whether they had already left Crete before the explosion occurred, or after,
remains a moot point."
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"Our friend Xask seems right at home," I commented sourly, nodding toward the enigmatic little man
mounted on the next dinosaur. Although his wrists, like ours, were bound behind his back, the wily and
cunning former Grand Vizier of Kor maintained an unruled demeanor. His aplomb was superb acting,
for the Professor and I were well aware that the Empress of Zar had long ago exiled him, banishing him
from the kingdom, never to return on pain of instant execution. And here he had been captured as
well . . . for, although Xask had not been one of my party of warriors, he had been stealthily following
us across the plains, for mysterious motives of his own.
Catching my eye, Xask smiled a cool, thin-lipped smile. I scowled and he glanced away serenely.
From time to time, the Dragonmen conversed among themselves, their leader, whose brows were bound
by a filet of odd coppery-red silver metal, giving orders and directions. Whenever this occurred,
Professor Potter listened closely.
"I can almost make out what they are saying," he murmured to me. "My theories on the nature of
Minoan as it was spoken are triumphantly vindicated! Very close to some of the archaic Greek dialects
of Ionia, yet with a large percentage of Mesopotamian loan-words with strong Semitic roots . . . ."
I grunted; actually, I've knocked around that end of the Mediterranean long enough, mingling with
Greeks, Turks, Armenians, Arabs, Copts, and the like, to have picked up more than a smattering of all
their various lingoes-and, as I still retained quite a surprising amount of my college Greek, I could make
out some of what they were saying myself. But then, I've always had a knack for picking up languages
easily, which has saved my hide more than once.
We had been riding due east across the plains for what seemed like two hours. I was hungry, thirsty,
tired, and in a dangerous mood. Spoiling for a fight. All I wanted was to get my hands free and tackle a
couple of the little brown men. I was heartily sick of being captured, and the weeks or months I had
spent in Zanthodon (and it had become damned hard to figure out how much time is passing when time
is no longer divided into days and nights, but just consists of one endless and interminable afternoon!)
had been nothing but one captivity after another.
First, the Professor and I had been captured by a band of Drugar slavers, which was bad enough. More
recently, we had been taken prisoner by a weird underground race of strange, vile little men who
worshiped as living gods a ghastly species of gigantic and vampiric leeches; these had designated us as
offerings-walking bloodbanks, you might say, and involuntary ones, to boot. We had only just gotten
free of the cavern-folk, when the Dragonmen of Zar had chanced our way.
You never miss your freedom so dearly, I have found, as when you have briefly enjoyed it, only to have
it snatched away again.
In a word, I was keeping my eyes open, trying to figure out a way to escape with the Professor. As for
Xask, let him save his own hide, if possible. I owed the treacherous little Machiavelli nothing-and, come
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Carter, Lin - Zanthodon 3 - Hurok of the Stone Age
to think of it, he had taken me prisoner once, too!
If I'd had my .45 automatic in my belt, it would have been a different story. The slugs probably wouldn't
have so much as dented the hides of the dinosaurs, but they would have put the fear of Colt into the
Minoans!
But the gun was long gone, curse the luck, and I'd been having a lot of bad luck recently.
Just then the leader of the party gave a brief command and the advance halted for lunch. As if in
obedience to some unheard order, the monstrous reptiles came to a halt and began hooting and honking-
for all the world like a herd of cows mooing to be let out of pasture.
The captain-his name seemed to be Raphad-snapped brusque commands. The dinosaurs were
unharnessed, saddlebags unpacked, and fires lit in portable charcoal braziers. The delicious odors of
roasting steaks caressed our nostrils.
"Look!" breathed the Professor. Far across the plains we spied a herd of huge elk-like quadrupeds.
Honking hungrily, the saurians went galloping off in their direction, and about the time we were
enjoying our luncheon, they were having their own. Which put my fears at rest concerning the purpose
of our having been captured, anyway: whatever it might lead to, we were obviously not designed as
dinner for the dinos!
Raphad saw that we were untied and permitted us to relieve ourselves-two hours of riding a galloping
dinosaur can do brutal things to the human kidneys, I assure you!-then ceramic bowls of a sort of spicy
vegetable mush were handed to us, complete with wooden spoons, leather jacks of a sweet red wine not
unlike Mavrodaphne, and hunks of sizzling steak speared on wooden sticks like shish kebab.
We fell to hungrily, and before long I felt a lot better.
Captain Raphad himself came over. Squatting on his heels, he regarded us with not unfriendly curiosity.
"Can you understand my speech?" he inquired.
"About one word out of three," I admitted. "And please speak slowly."
He smiled understandingly, then nodded to where Xask sat alone, fastidiously devouring his own lunch.
"Are you the friends of the Prince?"
"Not us," I said emphatically. "As a matter of fact, he's done us dirty more times than once, and I'd love
to take a poke at him."
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The captain looked blank for a moment, then laughed. "Your colloquialisms are a trifle obscure," he
chuckled, "but I think I take your meaning. You were, however, in his company . . . ."
I shook my head. "On the contrary, he was following us-I don't know why. Listen, can you tell us where
you are taking us?"
He blinked. "But I thought you knew!"
"We don't. We are strangers to these parts, and have barely even heard of your people or your land."
He regarded me with a strange expression in his bright black eyes.
"You are being taken as slaves to the greatest city in all the world, there to be offered as living sacrifices
to the immortal goddess," he said.
This astounding statement was made with a straight face.
I have to admit, it took my breath away.
"Well, just so long as we know," I said weakly.
Chapter 2 A DIFFICULT DECISION
As the herd of giant dinosaurs dwindled into the distance, the long grasses which clothed the level plain
stirred, and men rose to their feet, staring after the reptiles.
For the most part, they were tall and stalwart fighting-men, dressed in little more than a scrap of hide
twisted about their loins and sandals on their feet. Some were bearded and some clean-shaven; all save
one were tanned, lithe, blond, with clear blue eyes and handsome faces.
One, however, although blond, had scraggly hair, mean little eyes and a skinny frame. This was the wily
Murg, a cowardly little Sotharian who had accompanied us, albeit reluctantly, since there was nothing
else to do.
The other man was a hulking monstrosity, compared to the smooth-skinned Cro-Magnon warriors. He
stood nearly seven feet tall on his splayed feet, and his huge, sloping shoulders and long, heavily
muscled, apelike arms were thatched with dirty russet fur, as was the breadth of his massive chest. He
had an underslung prognathous jaw, dim little eyes buried under thick shelf-like brows of protruding
bone, a painful inch of brow under the tangle of his matted hair. His body was wrapped in dirty hides; he
clenched a long, stone-bladed spear, and a stone axe, heavy as a sledgehammer, dangled from thongs at
his waist.
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His name was Hurok.
The youngest of the Cro-Magnon warriors was a handsome boy named Jorn the Hunter, one of the
tribesmen of Thandar. The youth stared after the herd of reptiles as they vanished in the distance, and his
strong young jaw was grimly set as if to belie the unmanly tears that blurred his eyes.
"That we, his warriors, should stand idly by-nay, should hide in the grasses like cowardly uld!-while our
chieftain, Eric Carstairs, is borne away by the Dragonmen of Zar is a disgrace to our manhood!" the boy
cried, his voice shaking a little with the intensity of his emotion.
Varak of Sothar clapped the youth on the shoulder, companionably.
"I know, boy," he said. "We all feel miserable about it, not just you. But, remember, the last order which
Eric Carstairs gave us before his capture was that we do just as we did."
"Aye," said another warrior, one Parthon. "And had we not, we should all have been taken prisoner-or
been slain."
"Better to die defending our chieftain and our honor than to live like cowards!" spat Jorn the Hunter
fiercely.
"We live," said a deep voice from behind him in somber tones. "And thus we may follow and rescue our
chieftain and his friend."
Jorn turned to look Hurok of the Kor up and down. If he had not been so upset, I strongly doubt that the
boy would have uttered the phrase he uttered then.
"What does a Drugar know of honor?" the youth snarled.
Hurok blinked as if he had been struck; then his face darkened and his mighty hand curled about the haft
of the heavy axe which hung at his side.
"As much as any panjani," he growled. "And perhaps more-"
Varak stepped between the two, his hands raised to mollify.
"Let us not quarrel! Are we not comrades-Drugar or panjani? There is much in the words Hurok has
spoken: we have saved our lives, and our freedom, by behaving like cowards, even as Jorn has said. It
now remains for us to employ our lives and our freedom in a cause which will redeem our lost honor."
"It was the wish of Eric Carstairs that we pursue the men-that-ride-on-water, and rescue the Princess
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from their hands," murmured Ragor of Thandar. His comrade, Erdon, nodded in agreement.
Jorn's eyes faltered and fell. "That is true, I had forgotten," he whispered in a low voice, ashamed of his
outburst. Ragor clapped him on the back.
"We are all distressed that our chieftain is gone, boy," he said. "It now remains for us to decide which
course of action to follow. What say you all, friends-shall we follow the track of the Dragonmen and
seek an opportunity to rescue our chieftain and the old man, his companion-or shall we continue on in
the path along which Eric Carstairs was leading us, to the rescue of Darya of Thandar?"
Each of the warriors eyed the other, no one wishing to speak up first. Either course of action was equally
dangerous, and neither was certain of success.
Jorn spoke up at last.
"As for myself, I will devote my honor to the Princess," the boy said stoutly. For much of her recent
adventures, Darya had gone championed by Jorn, who was a youth of her own tribe, and the lad
regarded her with unselfish devotion.
Varak studied the Apeman of Kor with inquisitive eyes. The Sotharian warrior, one of those I had
rescued from hideous captivity in the cavern-city, knew that Hurok was among the panjani only by
sufferance and because of his close friendship with Eric Carstairs.
"What is the decision of Hurok?" inquired the Sotharian.
The mighty Drugar regarded him in silence. Then he spoke.
"Hurok will pursue the Dragonmen and give his life, if needs he must, to help his friend," he said
stolidly.
"Well spoken," nodded Varak approvingly. "But-what if the rest of us choose to follow the Princess?"
"Then Hurok will go alone to save Black Hair from the men of Zar."
Cringing little Murg now had gathered enough courage to speak his mind. "Would it not be wiser for us
to return to the main body of the host, and to apprise the High Chiefs of Sothar and of Thandar of what
had chanced to occur?" he whined. "Then a mighty band of warriors could split, half to pursue the stolen
Princess and the other half to rescue Eric Carstairs!"
"To do so would lose the advantage," said Hurok. "Even now, the Dragonmen recede from us rapidly,
for their beasts can stride more swiftly than a man may run. Ere we could return to the host, they would
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be very far away. The warriors must decide now what they will do."
"Then let each man speak in turn," suggested Varak. "As for myself, Varak of Sothar will follow the
spoor of the great beasts and attempt to rescue Eric Carstairs."
One by one, the little band spoke its mind. Murg wished to return to the safety of the host, while Warza
and Parthon wished to aid the Princess. Ragor and Erdon were mightily inclined to that mode of action,
as well, feeling that the cave-girl needed their help more urgently than did Eric Carstairs or the
Professor, who were, after all, men, and therefore presumably-according to the manly code of this harsh,
prehistoric world-able to fend for themselves. Jorn stoutly determined to seek the Princess.
"Very well," said Hurok. "Hurok of Kor will go his way, then." And without further words, the hulking
Neanderthal began to truss his weapons securely to him, binding the spear across his broad shoulders
with thongs and strapping the stone axe against his hairy thigh. It was obvious that the Apeman intended
to run after the Zarian party, so as not to permit them the advantage of drawing even farther ahead.
The Cro-Magnons watched him with uncertainty in their hearts. It was true that they yearned to rescue
their chieftain; also, it was tantamount to desertion to permit the lone Drugar to go off into the
wilderness, somehow to stage a one-man war against the feared Dragonmen. They rather felt as if they
were deserting him-and Eric Carstairs, as well.
As Hurok prepared to depart, Jorn laid one hand tentatively upon his massive arm. The Apeman peered
down at the handsome youth inquiringly.
"If Hurok permits," breathed Jorn fiercely, "Jorn of Thandar will accompany him. Two fighting men
may succeed, whereas one man, however mighty a warrior, would certainly fail."
"It will please Hurok to have Jorn the Hunter at his side," said the Apeman with simple dignity.
Varak sighed. "And, surely, three will have a better chance of success, than two," he said resignedly,
stepping to join them.
Hurok grunted and his lips twitched. The moody Neanderthal almost smiled, but not quite.
The others looked at each other with indecision. Finally, Ragor, Erdon, Warza, and Parthon stepped
forward to join the party.
"When we are so very few already, it seems foolish to divide our numbers," said Parthon
philosophically.
Only Murg wavered, fear visible in his dry, twitching lips and bulging eyes. With every fibre of his
miserable little being, the scrawny Sotharian yearned for the safety of numbers. And yet he feared to
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traverse the plains, the savage jungles, the mysterious promontory, and the hills alone.
Finally, snuffling hopelessly, he shuffled after the others.
It was Hurok who set the pace. It mattered little to him whether he went after Eric Carstairs alone or in
the company of the other warriors. For he had intended all along to pursue the Dragonmen and to do
whatever could be done to rescue the first panjani who had ever treated him like a friend and an equal.
The splay-footed Neanderthal was not exactly built for running. Hurok must have tipped the scales at
three hundred pounds, and the best runners are lightly and trimly built-Jorn, for instance. But Hurok had
strength and iron endurance and enough grim, single-minded determination to make three other men.
And the pace he set, while a grueling one, was not beyond the powers of any of his comrades, save
possibly Murg, who very soon fell behind, whining and snuffling and complaining.
"Varak could wish that Murg had chosen not to accompany us," admitted Varak to Hurok who trotted
along at his side.
The Neanderthal grunted noncommittally.
"Surely, he will only slow us down, and when it comes to fighting, and it will certainly come to that in
the end, you know," chatted Varak, who was a bit loquacious and of a humorous, mischievous bent of
mind, "when it comes to fighting, he will be even more of a hindrance than a help. What is the opinion
of Hurok?"
The huge Drugar grunted sourly and spat.
"It is the opinion of Hurok," he said, "that Varak would be wise to save his breath for running, not waste
it in talk."
And with that, he drew ahead of the Sotharian warrior and forged on in the front.
"Um," said Varak lamely, wincing. Then he stopped talking and saved his breath for running, as he had
been advised.
Chapter 3 THE MYSTERY OF THE CIRCLET
As we ate, I pondered gloomily our chances of making an escape. If we were to attempt it, now would
seem to be the time, for we were both untied, although our ankles were tethered, and the Dragonmen
would be hampered in their attempts to pursue us as it would take them some time to round up their
reptiles again.
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