Jongor- the Complete Tales Read online

  There was feasting in the ruined city. Every day Ann was exhibited before the revelers, as the girl who was to be the bride of the sun. The day of the sacrifice was to be a tremendous festival. For many years the Murians had found no maiden fit for their god; and now that they had found one, the occasion called for prolonged feasting.

  Ann Hunter shuddered. Always she watched for an opportunity to escape. But none came. Then she watched for a chance to snatch a dagger and plunge it into her own breast. But the guards were watchful.

  She saw nothing of Varsey or Hofer. At first she hoped that they might aid her to escape. Then she realized they were probably also held as prisoners: Or they might have been killed. She tried to question her attendants but they could tell her nothing. Or would not.

  Alcan she saw many times. The Murian tickled his chin with the tip of his tail, and eyed her hungrily. Several times she caught a speculative glint in his eye. Alcan wanted her. She knew that. But she was reserved for their god, and the Murian did not molest her.

  Many times Ann thought of Jongor. Against all reason, she found herself hoping he would come and rescue her. But the days passed, and Jongor never came. Her hope died . . .

  THE sacrifice to the sun would be made at high noon. The night before the day of the sacrifice fell. Ann’s last night on Earth I Tomorrow she must die!

  There was the sound of revelry in the city. There was a great feast somewhere, given by the king, at which Ann Hunter’s attendants were preparing her to be exhibited. Hurrying feet passed down the corridor outside. Alcan entered, looked hungrily at her, and hurriedly departed. Ann knew it was hopeless. Wan and pale, she let the attendants bathe and dress her. They signaled it was now time for her to appear before the feast of the king.

  She stepped into the corridor, guards in front and behind her. As she neared the banquet chamber the sounds of feasting grew louder.

  Suddenly, from the banquet hall, there came the sound of a rifle shot!

  The girl’s, heart leaped into her mouth. A rifle shot! What could it mean? Rifles had been taken away from the three whites when the Murians captured them. The monkey-people had ho guns. Who could be firing a rifle here in-this lost world?

  The gun spoke again, the second shot following quickly on the heels of the first. And then it roared a third time.

  There was no mistaking the sound! Somebody was firing a rifle. What did it mean?

  Instantly the noise of the banquet was stilled. There was a moment of silence. Then a Murian screamed in a voice harsh with fear. Pandemonium broke loose.

  A madly fighting tangle of Murians poured out of the banquet room. At first, Ann thought they were attacking someone. Then she saw they were—fleeing! They were fighting to get out of the room, to get away from something. They poured through the doorway in a screaming flood. Some of them raced down the corridor toward her. Others ran in the opposite direction. They ducked into rooms, raced to the windows and leaped out to the trees growing outside.

  Ann Hunter had learned a few words of the Murian tongue. She heard what the fleeing Murians were screaming.

  “The king is dead!” they were shouting. “The king has been killed! Thunder came and killed the king!”

  SOMEONE had shot the king! Someone, with a rifle, had slipped into the banquet hall, and had killed the king as he feasted! Who could have done it? Had—Ann’s heart leaped at the thought—had Jongor somewhere secured a rifle, and had he then slipped in and killed the king in order to free her? Was that possible?

  Wild panic surged through the Murian palace. Ann Hunter’s guards were caught up in it. They forgot their duties, and fled with their fellows.

  The girl crouched against the wall. Out of the throne room, smoking rifle still in his hands, came Richard Varsey!

  He had fired the shot. He had killed the king, and saved her life. Richard Varsey, whom she had despised as a weakling and a coward, whom-she had not trusted, had somehow managed to escape from the dungeon where he had been confined, and securing a rifle had saved her from becoming the bride of the sun!

  Ann ran to him.

  “Dick! Thank heaven you managed to escape in time! Come on! Let’s get away from here before these creatures recover from their panic.”

  She was so glad to see him that she almost kissed him. The racking tension that had been with her for days began to relax. In spite of herself, she began to cry. But the tears that came into her eyes were tears of pure happiness. She was safe! She would not have to go out under the sun at noonday tomorrow, and yield up her young life on an altar of naked stone before a screaming throng of missing links avid for blood. She was safe!

  “Oh, Dick, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you! Please forgive me,” she begged. “And let’s get on our way while we have a chance.”

  He avoided her eyes. “There’s no danger,” Varsey said. “When I knocked over their king, the Murians were scared so badly they’ll never stop running. We’re safe enough.”

  “How did you manage to escape, Dick? And where’s Mr. Hofer?”

  “I don’t know where Hofer is,” he answered evasively. “They separated us soon after you left.”

  “But how did you get away? I’ve tried every way to find a chance to escape, but they watched me like hawks.”

  “I had help,” he answered.

  “Help? Did Jongor help you? Did he slip into the dungeons and release you?” asked the eager girl.

  “No, it wasn’t Jongor.”

  For the first time, she noticed Varsey was not looking at her. And his manner was so evasive that it sent a sudden chill of fright through her.

  “Dick!” she questioned. “Is everything all right?”

  Before he could answer, a Murian came out of the banquet room. It was Alcan, and his guards were with him. He came rushing toward them. Ann saw him. Her scream rang through the building.

  “Dick! They’re after us! Shoot them! Quickly!”

  Varsey did not lift the rifle.

  Alcan came rushing up. His monkey face was flushed with victory.

  “Shoot!” Ann hissed.

  Varsey did not move.

  A chilling premonition struck the girl. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Varsey’s refusal to shoot showed that much. And Alcan’s manner showed something else. The Murian was panting with eagerness. And he wasn’t looking at Varsey. He was looking at her!

  He grabbed at her. Ann leaped away.

  “Dick, protect me!” she begged.

  VARSEY shoved her toward the Murian!

  “There she is,” he said. “Take her. I told you if you would release me and find my rifle for me, I would shoot the king. Then you could be king. And you could also have the girl. Well, I’m keeping my bargain. Here’s the girl.”

  That was how Varsey had “escaped” and had so easily found a rifle! He had conspired with Alcan to assassinate the Murian king. And as a part of that conspiracy, Alcan was to have Ann Hunter!

  “You devil!” she hissed. “You yellow coward!”

  Varsey quailed before the fire in her eyes.

  “It was the only way to save your life,” he muttered.

  “To save your own, you mean. You rat! If I had a gun, I’d kill you myself. I’d rather be dead than belong to Alcan. Do you hear that? I’d rather be offered as a bride of the sun than belong to the creature you’ve given me to!”

  There was cold, bitter rage in her voice. And fear. Ann had thought she was safe. She had thought Varsey had saved her. And he hadn’t. He had betrayed her.

  Gobbling, hoarse gutturals, Alcan leaped toward her. She doubled up her tiny fist and struck with all her might. The blow struck the Murian right on the tip of his nose. His eyes blinked in startled surprise. He did not know what a fist was. And the blow jarred him. It had all the fury of a betrayed woman behind it. It rocked the Murian back on his heels, lifted him off balance.

  He slipped and fell. Before he could regain his feet, Ann Hunter was running down the corridor. She reached the door at the end and
vanished into the night. Alcan and his guard charged after her.

  DAWN found Ann Hunter miles from the city of the Murians. She had dropped from the wall surrounding the city and had fought her way through a strip of jungle. Death had missed her by inches during the night, death in the form of huge snorting beasts lurking in the jungle. By the first dawn light, she had climbed a rocky, rugged slope that had taken her above the steaming swamp. Now she was on a high ledge overlooking the jungle. She could go no farther without rest.

  Panting, she threw herself down at the edge of the ledge. Off to the left, several miles in the distance, she could see the city from which she had escaped, a rugged pile of tumbled masonry gleaming in the light of the rising sun like the bones of a gigantic dead beast.

  Ann watched the jungle for signs of pursuit. She had been followed, she knew, but she did not know whether or not she had evaded her pursuers.

  Something moved across an open space in the jungle. Her eyes caught it but whether it was a man or an animal, she could not tell. It was going away from the Murian city and stumbling along as if it was almost exhausted. It disappeared from sight: Whatever it was, it certainly was not following her.

  But something was following her. The Murians! She saw at least a dozen of the monkey-men come out of the edge of the jungle, following her tracks like hounds on the trail of wounded prey. Alcan was with them; and Varsey. They discovered where she had climbed the slope. Yelping, they started up.

  Wearily, the girl got to her feet. She was on rock now, which would leave no trail for the Murians to follow, unless they were closely enough akin to animals to be able to trail by the scent. She started along the ledge, and stopped, appalled!

  Ann could see the monkey-men in the direction she had to go. Two of them were in the air, gliding toward her. Others were on the cliffs. Pterodactyls! Unknowingly she had come to the cliffs inhabited by the lizard-birds. Her escape was cut off. Death waited in front of her, and Alcan followed behind her.

  A TIRED, utterly exhausted look came over Ann’s face. She had come here seeking her brother, but instead of finding him, she had found—death. Her mind was made up. She did not hesitate, but turned and walked toward the rim of the ledge. Her lips moved in silent prayer. A drop of hundreds of feet loomed below her.

  Death was preferable to Alcan. Death was clean. And to find death, all she had to do was step from the ledge. Death waited on the rocks below.

  When she appeared at the edge of the precipice, the Murians saw her. They howled like hounds eager to be in at the kill, and came scrambling up the slope.

  “You’ll never get me!” Ann cried. “Never, never!”

  She took the last fatal step. Her foot found nothing but air beneath it. She started to fall.

  And as she started to fall, she heard gravel crunch on the ledge behind her. The rasp of swiftly running feet came to her ears.

  “Girl!” a voice shouted. “Don’t do it!”

  There was desperate urgency in that voice. Ann twisted her head around. The sight of the person leaping toward her made her scramble to regain her balance. Quite suddenly, she did not want to die.

  But it was too late. She was already off balance. She was falling over the edge of the precipice.

  Just as she toppled over a sinewy arm went around her. There was strength, in that arm, tremendous strength. She felt the corded muscles knot around her waist. There was a moment of mad horror when nothing but air was beneath her. There was a fierce tug of war between the muscles in the arm that held her and the weight of her body.

  And the muscles won. They won! They lifted her back to the safety of the ledge.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Fight on the Ledge

  “GIRL!” said Jongor accusingly.

  “You were going to jump. If I hadn’t prevented, you’d have jumped.”

  It was Jongor who had come up behind her. Ann Hunter lay in his arms, panting for breath, her-head whirling.

  “Where—where did you come from?” she faltered.

  His face was grave. “After I had gone away and left you, I was sorry. I realized you did not know you could trust me. The two men in your party you thought were your friends, but Jongor you did not know. I came back, looking for you. I found where you had camped. Signs on the ground and in the trees told me what had happened. The Muros had caught you. I was coming to rescue you from the Muros when I saw you climb the mountain slope.” He smiled gravely at her.

  Was he telling the truth? His face, his eyes, the tone of his voice said that he was.

  “But why were you trying to rescue me?” she questioned. “Why were you willing to risk your life to save mine?” He shrugged. There was longing in his face as he answered.

  “Because I am lonely,” he said. “All my life—since my parents were killed—I have been lonely. I played with the dinos, I fought the teros, I ran from the Muros. I lived in the swamps, I climbed the mountains. I learned to talk to myself, to pretend someone else was with me.

  “But there never was anyone. All the time I knew I was pretending. That was why I came for you. I thought it would be nice to talk to you, to play with you. It would be nice to bring you good things to eat, to hear you laugh, to see the sparkle of your eyes. And that,” he ended, “was why I came, to take you from the Muros—if I could.”

  In a few simple, direct words he gave the girl a picture that made her heart turn over. She could look back and see a lonely boy in a lost world, a boy fighting for his life every hour of the day and night, a boy growing to manhood and becoming a lonely man. That was the supreme curse of this forgotten world—its loneliness!

  As a boy, Jongor had never had a playmate; as a youth, he had never had a friend. Now he was a man—a stalwart giant of a man—shut off from the companionship of his own kind. He was lonely still. And in his loneliness he came seeking the only companion he had known since the death of his parents.

  Abruptly, Ann kissed him. She hadn’t known she was going to do it. She hadn’t intended to do it. But she did it just the same.

  Jongor looked startled. “What did you do?” he whispered huskily. “What was that?”

  “I kissed you, Jongor,” Ann answered, a sudden shyness in her voice. “Don’t you know what a kiss is?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No. I do not know. What is it? What does it mean?”

  Tears welled in her eyes but soft laughter bubbled from her lips.

  IT was at this moment that the first of the Murians gained the ledge. Jongor released the girl. He shoved her behind him and to one side. The great bow was slung over his shoulders. He pulled it free and strung it with the same motion. His right hand, leaping back over his shoulder, jerked an arrow from the quiver at his back. The bowstring hummed like a great harp. The arrow leaped outward.

  Two of the Murians, fleeter than the others, had gained the ledge. Armed with long throwing spears, they were coming forward, one behind the other.

  The first one screamed as the arrow drove into him. So fiercely was the shaft driven that it passed clear through the first Murian and drove up to its feathered tip into the body of the creature behind. Only the mighty muscles of Jongor could have bent the bow that launched that arrow.

  Shouts of rage came from the Murians on the slope when they saw the first two of their comrades die. Shrill commands from Alcan urged them forward. Alcan and Varsey were bringing up the rear. The latter had his rifle.

  “Shouldn’t we run while we have a chance?” Ann Hunter said nervously, seeing Varsey and the gun he carried.

  “We can’t run,” Jongor answered.

  “I could jump down the cliffs to this ledge, but even I can’t jump back up again. And there is another reason why we can’t run.” He gestured back over his shoulder.

  The girl saw what he meant. Pterodactyls! They were gliding along the cliffs, lighting, climbing up, and gliding forward again. If she and Jongor attempted to flee, they would run right into the advancing lizard-birds.

  “We’ll f
ight,” said Jongor. “It is our only chance.”

  The Murians poured over the ledge in a screaming flood. Fortunately, they were armed only with spears and knives. The weapon that launched the “shaking death”—which the girl knew they must possess—was apparently not portable, for the Murians did not have it with them. But they outnumbered Jongor at least fifteen to one.

  Jongor’s face was drawn into a fighting snarl. The gray crystal that he wore on his left wrist—the crystal that enabled him to control the dinosaurs—glittered in the sunlight each time the great bow hummed. Arrows, moving so rapidly they were mere flickering points of light, leaped toward the Murians.

  Spears were hurled back. Jongor dodged them with all the agility of a toreador evading the charges of a maddened bull. Each time a spear came toward him, he swayed his body to the right or the left, never moving out of his tracks.

  Ann Hunter gasped in admiration as Jongor dodged the spears. She was seeing an exhibition of bravery that left her breathless. Death rode on those spear points, but the giant merely shifted his body like a dancer as each javelin sang toward him. A grim smile played over his face.

  “Come and get me, you cowardly Muros!” his challenge rang out. “Come, you with the tails, and fight a man!”

  Arrows leaped into the charging Murians, struck with sodden crunches. The missing links were going down. Jongor was winning, Ann Hunter saw. He was winning! His great bow and fearless spirit were more than a match for the animal humans attacking him, He was winning! Her heart leaped at the thought.

  Then—a rifle thundered. A bullet whanged hard into a solid object. The girl’s heart leaped up into her mouth. Jongor could dodge spears, but he could not dodge bullets. He had been hit. The way the bullet had crunched meant that it had struck something.