TRANSCRIBERS NOTE: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories October, November and December 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

Maddened and in pain from the flames, the lion sprang over the burning stockade

The RETURN of THARN

By HOWARD BROWNE

When Tharn set out to rescue his beloved Dylara, he did not dream the whole Cro-Magnon world opposed him

Trakor, youthful member of the tribe of Gerdak, moved at a swinging trot along a winding game trail that led to the caves of his people. Through occasional rifts in the matted mazes of branches, leafs, creepers and vines of the semi-tropical forest and jungle, rays of the late afternoon sun dappled the dusty elephant path under his naked feet.

His slim young body, clothed only by the pelt of Jalok, the panther, twisted about his loins, was bathed in perspiration, for both heat and humidity were intense here in the heart of primeval jungle. From time to time he transferred the flint-tipped spear to his left hand while he rubbed dry the sweating palm of his right against his loin cloth; for a slippery spear shaft could mean the difference between life and death in a battle with some savage denizen of this untamed world.

Trakor was beginning to worry. There was less than an hour of daylight remaining and he was still a long way from home. The thought of spending even a small portion of a night alone in a territory that abounded in lions, panthers, leopards and the other fearsome creatures of forest and plain, sent shivers of dread coursing along his spine.

And there was no one but himself to blame for this predicament! A boy of seventeen had no business attempting a task that would have given an older, more experienced warrior pause. Only a fool, he told himself bitterly, would have gone forth alone to hunt without having first gained experience by many trips in the company of seasoned hunters, thus learning the habits of the wild creatures.

It was all Lanoa's fault! In the soft fragrance of midnight hair curling about the tanned oval of her lovely face, in the smoothly rounded perfection of her slender body, in the golden depths of her clear, glowing eyes, were the seeds of madness that had sent him forth on a fool's errand! Before coming under her spell he was content to spend his days learning from old Wokard the art of painting scenes of tribal life and the hunt on the walls of the caves of his people.

Not until he watched Lanoa's other suitors displaying the trophies of the hunt did young Trakor make his decision to lay aside his paints and venture out in search of game. For it was easy to see how greatly Lanoa was impressed by the boastful tales of the other young men.

But where they hunted in groups, for safety's sake, Trakor would go out alone after Neela, the zebra, or Bana, the deer. And when Lanoa saw him return to the caves of Gerdak with the carcass of Neela across his shoulders, his heavy spear trailing from a casual hand, then would she realize that of all the young men of the tribe it was Trakor who was best suited to be her mate!

Thus the stuff of dreams ... and how different the reality! Since early morning of this day he had wandered through the forest and across wide stretches of prairie, seeking any of the various species of succulent grass-eaters that served as the principal fare of the Cro-Magnons. And while he had caught sight of grazing herds on several occasions, his utter lack of experience in the art of stalking prevented him from coming anywhere near enough for a successful spear cast.

Now he was slinking back home empty handed to face the gibes of those he had thought to impress, while the light of day gradually waned and the dark shadows of the jungle grew heavier across his path.

But the boy's wounded pride began to trouble him less as the certainty that he must spend a night in the open became increasingly evident. The everyday noises of the jungle, so nerve-wracking to those unable to interpret them, yet unnoticed by the jungle-wise, kept him in a constant state of apprehension while his fertile imagination pictured lurking shapes crouched behind the wall of tangled underbrush lining either side of the trail.

Without warning, the narrow path debouched into a fair-sized clearing, through the center of which moved the sluggish waters of a shallow stream, its low banks covered with reeds.

Compared with the dull half-light of jungle depths, the glade seemed bright as midday, although the sun had already dipped behind the towering rampart of trees to the west. Trakor's heart swelled with renewed confidence and his step was almost jaunty as he moved through the knee-deep grasses and rustling reeds to the river bank.

Now he knew exactly where he was. Another hour at a half-trot would bring him to the caves of Gerdak. The jungle wasn't such a fearsome place after all! He had spent an entire day in the open and not once come across anything more dangerous than monkeys and birds. Tomorrow he would go out again to hunt, nor would he return empty-handed a second time.

Dropping to his hands and knees at the river's edge, he drank deeply of the brackish waters. Rising, he took up his spear, waded the ankle-deep stream and trotted lightly onward, his goal the break in the opposite wall of trees which marked the continuation of the same trail he had been following.

Thus did young Trakor betray his abysmal ignorance of the jungle and its inhabitants. No experienced wayfarer of the wild places would have approached that opening without the utmost caution; for it is often just such a setting the great cats choose as a place to lie in wait for game.

The slender youth was within a few feet of the bole of a mammoth tree that marked the trail's entrance, when a sudden rustling amid a clump of grasses to one side of the path brought him to a startled halt.

Before Trakor could recover from his initial shock, those trembling grasses parted, and with majestic deliberation, Sadu, the lion, stepped into the trail less than twenty paces from the paralyzed youngster.

Huge, impressive, his sleek, tawny coat and bristling mane shimmering in the fading sunlight, his tufted, sinuous tail moving in jerky undulations, stood the jungle king, his round yellow eyes fastened hypnotically on his intended prey.

Trakor knew that only seconds remained for him in this life, that within fleeting moments he must go down to a horrible death beneath rending fangs.

And with that knowledge came a fatalistic courage—a courage he had not dreamed he possessed. With icy calmness he closed the fingers of his right hand tightly about the shaft of his spear and brought it up level with his shoulder, point foremost, ready for a cast when the great beast should charge.

Slowly Sadu crouched for the spring, his giant head flattened almost to the ground, massive hindquarters drawn beneath him like powerful springs, his long tail extended and quivering.

Voicing a thunderous roar, Sadu sprang.

Racing across the plains and through the jungles of a savage world, moving with unflagging swiftness by night and by day, came Tharn, mighty warrior of an era already old twenty thousand years before the founding of Rome—an era which witnessed the arrival to recognizable prehistory of the first true man.

Somewhere to the south of this Cro-Magnon fighting man, separated by endless vistas of primeval forest, grass-filled plains and towering mountain ranges, were the girl he loved and the men who had taken her.

Still fresh in Tharn's memory were the events of the past few weeks: the battles in Sephar's arena; the bloody revolt engineered by Tharn and his friends; the arrival of his father and fifty warriors of his tribe; the ascension of his close friend, Katon, to the kingship of Sephar; the finding of his own mother, long given up for dead after disappearing from the tribal caves ten summers before; the stunning shock upon learning that Jotan had taken Dylara with him when he and his party of fellow Ammadians began their journey back to far-off Ammad, mother country of a civilization and culture far in advance of the Cro-Magnon cave dwellers.*

* "Warrior of the Dawn", December, 1942-January, 1943, Amazing Stories.—Ed.

The thrust of a knife from the cowardly and treacherous hand of Sephar's high priest had come near to costing Tharn his life on the eve of his departure in quest of Dylara. As it was, an entire moon passed before the caveman was able to leave his bed.

Pryak, the high priest, had died horribly in payment of his treachery; but Tharn suffered a thousand deaths from enforced idleness while the girl he loved was being carried farther and farther from the one person who possessed the ability to effect her rescue.

And then, over a moon ago, Tharn bade farewell to his mother and to the father whose name he bore, and plunged into the heart of the unfamiliar territory south of Sephar, taking up the trail of those Ammadians who held Dylara.

Near sunset of this particular day, Tharn awoke from a nap, as it was his practice during the baking heat of mid-afternoons. By thus conserving his strength during the more trying portion of the days, he was able to spend many hours after nightfall, when the air was cooler, in pursuit of his quarry.

Rising to his feet on a softly swaying branch a full hundred feet above the jungle floor, Tharn flexed the mighty muscles of arms and legs, his naked chest swelling as he drew in great draughts of humid atmosphere. The slender fingers of his strong, sun-bronzed hand pushed back the shock of thick black hair crowning his finely shaped head and strikingly handsome features, while the flashing, intelligent gray eyes roved quickly over the mazes of foliage surrounding him.

Nor was it his eyes alone that probed those curtains of growing things; ears and a nose keen as those of any jungle dweller were no less active.

He was on the point of descending to the game trail below when Siha, the wind, brought to his sensitive nostrils the scent of man commingled with the acrid smell of Sadu, the lion.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats he stood there, high above the hard-packed earth, while his keen mind rapidly analyzed the message his nose had picked up. From the strength of those scents he knew both man and beast were not far away, while the direction of the breeze told him their position.

Since the day Tharn, the son of Tharn, set out in search of the girl he loved, he had encountered men on several occasions and always those meetings were unpleasant. The Cro-Magnon tribes inhabiting the mountain ranges between Sephar and the land of Ammad were distinguished by their ability as fighters and an unflagging suspicion of strangers. Were it not for Tharn's tremendous strength and incredible agility, he would have died long ere this.

Consequently his first reaction was to let Sadu and the unknown man settle their impending quarrel without his own intervention. But a basic part of Tharn's character was his ready willingness to come to the aid of the underdog, to champion the cause of the weak and oppressed. It was a trait which had brought him to the brink of disaster more than once; but Tharn, were he to have given the matter any thought at all, would not have had it otherwise.

Thus it was that the caveman altered his course to the east and he set off through the trees, swinging among the branches with the ease and celerity of little Nobar, the monkey. Now and then, with the agility of long practice, he sent his lithe body hurtling across some gap between trees, to grasp with unerring accuracy the limb his quick eye had selected. Yet notwithstanding his seemingly reckless pace his passage was almost soundless; and though the tangled verdure appeared as a solid wall, only rarely did his flying figure scrape against the riot of vegetation hemming him in.

A few minutes later the giant Cro-Magnard swung into the branches of a tree at the edge of a large circular clearing. Even as he reached the broad surface of a bough extending over the floor of the open ground, he caught sight of his old enemy, Sadu, the lion, crouching in the trail almost directly beneath him. Simultaneously he saw Sadu's intended prey: a slender Cro-Magnon youth, some four years younger than Tharn himself, who was standing stiffly erect, facing the lion, a flint-tipped spear poised in his right hand.

Tharn felt himself thrill to the boy's unflinching courage even as he recognized its futility, since no human could thus withstand the iron-thewed engine of destruction that was Sadu, the lion.

Tharn was given no opportunity to make use of his arrows or grass rope; for even as he observed the two figures below, the lion's tail shot stiffly erect, a shattering roar split apart the jungle stillness and Sadu charged.

As a swimmer dives from a springboard, so did Tharn launch himself into space, his right hand snatching the flint knife from the folds of his loincloth as he left the branch.

Never before had the cave lord thus attacked the king of beasts; but never before had he sought to wrest Sadu's prey, unharmed, from the animal's fangs and claws. As it was, he landed full upon the lion's back, crushing the beast to earth only inches short of its goal.

Voicing a startled shriek, Sadu rebounded from the forest floor like a tawny ball and turned to rend his foolhardy attacker.

Tharn, however, was not on the ground. His mind, trained from birth to function with lightning-like rapidity, had chosen the only way to prevent his unplanned act from resulting in certain death for himself. And so it was, as his diving body crushed Sadu to the ground, he passed his strong left arm about its neck, locked his powerful legs about its loins, and plunged his flint knife into its side, seeking the savage heart.

Roaring, snarling and spitting in a frenzy of rage, Sadu reared high and toppled back upon the human leech. But Tharn's legs locked only the tighter while the heavy knife, backed by biceps like banded layers of steel, sank home again and again.

Had the battle endured seconds longer the outcome might very well have been reversed. But before then Tharn's weapon tore twice into that untamed heart, and Sadu, with a final fearsome shriek, collapsed to move no more.

As Tharn rose to his feet, his calm gray eyes met the awed, half-mesmerized gaze of the boy whose life he had saved. At sight of the incredulous expression on the young face, the cave lord's firm lips curved in a winning smile that lighted up his strong, noble features.

As for Trakor, he could not have moved or spoken had his life depended on it. There was no doubt in his mind but that he was in the presence of one of the gods old Wokard often described. Who else but a god could slay Sadu with only a knife; who else but a god could possess such a combination of inhuman strength and unbelievable agility? The noble poise of that handsome head above broad shoulders, the soft sinuous curves of that straight and perfect figure, the unclouded bronze skin, the calm dignity of bearing and manner—all those things were attributes of the benign gods who watched over and protected the people of Gerdak's tribe.

Tharn's smile broadened as he guessed something of what was running through the boy's mind.

"Do you," he asked, "hunt often for Sadu with only a spear?"

Trakor shivered. "I would not hunt him with a forest of spears! When he came out of the grasses my blood turned to water and my toes crawled under my heels. Now I know what it is to be afraid!"

"You should have taken to the trees while I fought with Sadu," Tharn said. "Had he killed me, he would have slain you as well."

"Even Sadu cannot kill a god," the boy said simply.

Tharn blinked. "A god? I am no god. I am Tharn, a man of the caves, like you."

Trakor, while tremendously flattered at being compared with the stranger, was far from convinced that Tharn was telling the truth.

"A caveman could not slay Sadu thus," he declared, pushing a bare toe gingerly against the dead beast's back. "No, you are a god, for gods have been described to me many times by old Wokard, who knows all about such things."

The giant Cro-Magnard shrugged, smiling, and sought to change the subject. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Trakor, of the tribe of Gerdak."

"The caves of your people are nearby?"

"An hour's march in that direction," Trakor said, pointing.

Tharn's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So far? Do you often go alone this deep into the jungle?"

Whereupon Trakor found himself telling the forest god the whole story: how the raven-haired Lanoa had shown, by her admiration for the young hunters of the tribe, that she would never become the mate of a man who did not excel in the hunt; how he was determined to prove to her and to the others of Gerdak's tribe that he too was a great hunter.

Tharn listened with grave attention, and while there were times when he was tempted to smile at some unconscious revelation of the boy's character, he resisted the impulse. It required courage to venture alone into the forest armed only with a spear. The soul of an artist, as revealed by Trakor's love of painting, had clashed with the hot blood of youth and a desire to appear to advantage in the eyes of a lovely woman. Older and more conservative men than Tharn would have named Trakor's act sheer lunacy; but Tharn was neither old nor conservative. Under the circumstances he would have done exactly the same thing.

When Trakor was finished, Tharn said, "There will be other days for hunting. Unless you are willing to travel the jungle at night, you had best start for the caves of Gerdak."

Trakor sought to hide his apprehension as he looked about the dusk-filled glade and back to the dark hole which marked the game trail entrance.

"You are right," he said, turning to the cave lord. "I am grateful to you for saving me from Sadu, mighty Tharn. Who knows but that someday I may be of help to you."

"Who knows?" Tharn repeated gravely.

He remained standing there as Trakor turned and walked briskly toward the wall of foliage to the south. The boy's shoulders were squared and his brown-thatched head erect as he moved away, and Tharn felt a warm glow of admiration at the fierce pride that would not let its owner ask for further protection. For he knew that secretly Trakor dreaded the thought of traversing the final stretch of night-shrouded jungle.

Purposely he waited until the youth was nearly out of sight, to learn if, at the last moment, Trakor's step might falter or his head turn for one last appealing glance. But the boy forged steadily ahead....

"Wait, Trakor," Tharn called.

The youth turned quickly and watched as Tharn gathered up his bow, quiver of arrows and grass rope from where they had fallen when he leaped to do battle with Sadu. With his weapons restored to their usual places, the caveman rejoined Trakor at the forest's edge.

"Since my way lies in the same direction," Tharn said, "I will go with you for a time."

"Good," Trakor said laconically. He might have said more, but he doubted the steadiness of his own voice, so great his relief.

Side by side they moved briskly along the winding trail, while the gloom of early night grew amidst the semi-tropical depths of forest and its inextricably tangled maze of branches, vines and creepers.

In some way these two members of the first race of true men to trod the globe were much alike; in others, as different as day from night. In age Tharn was no more than four years beyond his companion; in height perhaps an inch taller. Both were darkly tanned and each was clothed only by a loin-cloth of panther skin.

But there the similarity ended. Where Trakor was slender and with muscles not yet fully developed, Tharn's bronzed body was sheathed in supple sinews that rippled like steel cables beneath smooth skin. There was an undefinable surety, a boundless confidence, reflected in the graceful majesty of his expression and bearing. Unconsciously Trakor sought to carry himself in a like manner, for he was deep in the throes of hero worship.

"Tell me, Tharn," Trakor said diffidently, at last, "are you not truly a god?"

"It might be," Tharn said lightly. "Since I have never met a god, I would not know."

Trakor thought over the answer for a while. It did not seem that a real god such as old Wokard described would speak so of himself. Could it be that his new found friend, for all his superhuman abilities, was actually an ordinary man, just as he had claimed from the first?

Well, man he might be, but never an ordinary one!

"I am glad you are a man, Tharn," he said finally. "I do not think I would like to know a god."

"Nor would I," Tharn agreed soberly.

They moved rapidly ahead for a time, neither speaking. Suddenly the thunderous challenge of a lion rose from the depths of jungle not far to their right. Trakor shivered slightly and shot a quick glance at his companion. It was too dark for him to make out Tharn's expression but he seemed entirely unmoved by the sound of Sadu's voice.

A moment later Trakor heard the rustle of something moving in the undergrowth beside the trail, and a prickly sensation crawled along his spine. Sadu was hunting again! He would have liked to call Tharn's attention to the faint sound but hesitated to do so lest he appear overly nervous. Again came the slight rustle.

"It is Gubo, the hyena," Tharn said unexpectedly.

Trakor gasped. "How do you know that?" he demanded, both relieved and bewildered.

"He is upwind from us."

"Upwind? You mean you can scent him?"

"Yes."

The young man from the tribe of Gerdak nearly betrayed his skepticism. Never before had he heard of a man whose nose could receive and interpret a scent spoor. It smacked of a kinship with the animals themselves.

"Are you sure?" he asked uneasily.

Tharn's quick ear caught the undercurrent of incredulity in the boy's voice, and he smiled under the cover of darkness. It was not the first time his unique ability had been doubted. He drew Trakor to a halt.

"Watch," he said.

Lifting his head the cave lord gave voice to the hunting squall of a leopard. So perfect was his imitation of Tarlok's cry, so fearsome the sound, that Trakor shrank back in quick alarm.

As the harsh scream rose on the night air, there was a sudden flurry of motion among the tangled foliage to their right, a blurred figure skidded into the trail ahead of where they stood and disappeared around a bend of the path. In the brief moment in which it was visible, Trakor recognized the animal as Gubo.

Crestfallen, Trakor could think of nothing to say. Never again, he resolved, would he doubt any statement made by this god-like stranger. There were many questions he burned to ask, but an aura of reserve seemed to surround the man—an aura he hesitated to intrude upon. At last he could contain his curiosity no longer.

"Where lie the caves of your people, Tharn?"

"Nearly two moons' march to the north," the cave lord replied readily enough.

"You came so great a distance alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tharn did not at once reply. During the moon since he had set out from Sephar in search of Dylara this was his first opportunity for a friendly word with a fellow man. On the several occasions that he encountered hunting parties of Cro-Magnon warriors, he had been regarded as legitimate prey to be hunted down and slain. Tharn expected no different attitude; it was the way of his own people when they came across fighting-men of other tribes. Consequently he gave such groups a wide berth, fighting against them only when given no other choice.

Long periods of silence, however, were no hardship to Tharn. Since boyhood he was accustomed to spending most of his days and many nights alone in the jungles and on the broad plains of this savage, untamed world, finding his greatest pleasure in matching his courage, cunning and strength against the denizens of forest and prairie. And because none of the other young men of his father's tribe was so highly developed mentally or physically, he made no intimates among them.

It was the kind of life which tends to develop a reticent nature in any man; and while Tharn was in no way morose or antisocial he was given to saying little beyond what must, of necessity, be put into words.

Under the warmth of Trakor's awed respect and undisguised admiration, however, Tharn's customary reserve began to thaw and he spoke at greater length than he intended.

"Two moons ago," he began, while they moved steadily along the twisting elephant path, "the girl I wanted as my mate was taken by a group of men who called themselves Ammadians. These men came from a great territory that lies south of your own caves. Ages ago many hundreds of the Ammadians left their country and traveled into the north, stopping finally in a high valley only a few marches from where the caves of my people now are."

"Here they built many strange caves on level ground by piling heavy slabs of rock together, surrounding them all by a great wall of stone. They named this place Sephar and spoke of themselves as Sepharians."

"From time to time bands of Ammadians cross the plains and mountains and jungles between Ammad and Sephar. The leader of one of those bands, an Ammadian named Jotan, saw Dylara and wanted her for himself. Not long before this, Dylara had been taken from me by a hunting party of Sepharians, and she was held captive by Sephar's chief until he gave her to Jotan."

"Soon thereafter Jotan's party set out on the return journey to Ammad. Because of a wound, it was an entire moon before I was able to set out in pursuit of those who hold Dylara."

So engrossed was Trakor in the other's story that he quite forgot his uneasiness regarding the night-cloaked jungle about him. His imagination was fired by Tharn's adventures, and his ready sympathy went out to the cave lord in his romantic quest.

"Then you must enter the land called Ammad and take Dylara from those who have her?" he asked.

Tharn nodded. "At first," he said, "I hoped to overtake Jotan and his men before they could reach Ammad. But several times I lost their trail for days on end. Once a raging fire swept over a great stretch of grasslands I was crossing and I was forced to spend many days circling the burned section before I was able to pick up the signs of their passage. Then, ten suns ago, I lost the trail completely; since then I have been guided only by the directions given me when I left Sephar."

For a little while Trakor did not speak. Then: "Are these men you call Ammadians not so large as the people of our tribes? Do they cover their bodies with a strange kind of skin that comes from no animal? And do they wear strange coverings on their feet? And do they carry a strange length of branch with a tight length of gut tied to each end and many small spears such as you are carrying?"

Tharn, his pulses suddenly beginning to pound, seized the boy by one arm, bringing him to an involuntary halt. "Such are the Ammadians," he said tensely. "What do you know about them?"

"I have heard the warriors of my tribe speak of them," Trakor said. "There have been times in the past when we fought them. But they are brave and good fighters and we do not have the gut-strung branches which throw the small spears so straight and so far. So now we seek no quarrel with them unless they come too near our caves."

"Why, it was no more than five suns ago that Roban, son of Gerdak himself, watched a large party of them as they made their way up the great cliffs not far to the east of our caves. I heard him tell about it at the cooking fires that same night."

"Did he speak of women being among them?" Tharn demanded.

Trakor scratched his head. "I do not think so. As I remember it now, I did not hear the whole story; for Lanoa walked away from the fires and I followed her before Roban had finished."

Tharn's hand dropped from the boy's arm. "Come," he said, and once more they set out along the path.

CHAPTER II

CRO-MAGNON HOSPITALITY

As the two Cro-Magnon men rounded an abrupt bend in the elephant path, the jungle and forest ended sharply at the edge of a wide clearing before a sheer cliff, its surface dotted with many cave entrances. Near the escarpment base a dozen cooking fires blossomed against the darkness, and the shadowy forms of members of Gerdak's tribe moved about them.

For a moment Tharn and his companion remained standing at the forest edge watching the activity. The cave lord's acute sense of caution, without which few dwellers of this savage world lived long, kept him motionless while his sharp eyes took in every detail of the surrounding terrain. This business of approaching a village of strangers—and therefore enemies!—was a move not lightly to be taken, even when accompanied by one of its inhabitants.

Trakor tugged at his arm. "Come, Tharn! Come and receive the gratitude of my father and my people for saving me from Sadu. When they hear how you slew him with nothing more than a knife they will worship you as a god!"

His vague reluctance still with him, Tharn permitted the youth to urge him into the open. They were well into the clearing before one of the men about the fires caught sight of them and gave a warning shout.

Instantly a score of warriors caught up their spears and formed a bristling line facing the newcomers, while others piled dry branches on the fires sending flames shooting high to illuminate the scene with almost midday brightness.

"Put down your spears!" cried Tharn's companion, laughing. "It is I—Trakor, son of Kygor. Where are your hunters' eyes that you do not know me?"

But the line of spear heads did not waver. Now, moving from behind the formation of fighting men came Gerdak, chief of the tribe. Short, squat and very ugly was Gerdak. Set nearly flush on his broad sloping shoulders was a bullet-like head, almost hairless as the result of an old scalp infection. Firelight reflected in his pig-like eyes made them glow like burning sparks as he glowered from beneath shaggy brows at the tall stranger at Trakor's side.

"Who is he?" growled the chief, jerking a grimy thumb at the cave lord.

"He is my friend," Trakor said, and there was the beginning of anger in his tone. "His name is Tharn. In all the world there is no greater fighter."

Nothing changed in Gerdak's expression. "He is not one of us. Tell him to go at once or I will kill him!"

Trakor stiffened. Suddenly his anger flamed into the open—flamed with such intensity that he completely forgot the object of his wrath was his own chief.

"YOU will kill him! Ha! There are not fifty among you who could kill him! With only a knife he slew Sadu—leaping upon him as though Sadu were no more than Bana, the deer. He comes among us as my friend—treat him as such!"

As he spoke Trakor, beside himself with the hot anger of the young, had advanced until he was standing directly before the burly chieftain. With his last words the boy so forgot himself as to shake a fist in the other's face.

With a lightning sweep of one knotted fist Gerdak struck the infuriated boy squarely in the face. So terrible the force of the blow that Trakor's feet completely left the ground and he fell, unconscious, a full ten feet from where he had been standing.

Even as the boy's body was falling Tharn acted. With a catlike bound he reached the chief, fastened a hand about the man's bull neck and lifted him into the air. Holding the dazed Gerdak in a grip of steel he began to shake him until bones creaked in protest and his senses fled and he hung, limp and lifeless, in the circle of those mighty fingers.

As Gerdak crumbled to the ground, his spellbound warriors came to life. With shouts of rage they leaped forward to close upon the stranger who had dared to lay hands on their chief. But the agility and muscles that had brought their owner through countless jungle battles were more than Gerdak's warriors had reckoned with.

With a panther-like leap Tharn reached Trakor's prone figure. Snatching it from the ground to a place across his shoulder the cave lord turned and raced for the safety of the forest. Behind him came a shouting, cursing mob of raging fighting-men, brandishing spears and knives of flint. Had they thrown those spears within the first few seconds, the outcome would have been certain and Gerdak avenged. But they did not, and seconds later Tharn and his burden were lost among the shadows of overhanging trees.

For more than an hour Gerdak's warriors ranged the vicinity in search of the pair, thrusting their spears among the tangled undergrowth and racing along the game trail on the chance their quarry was following it. Finally they reluctantly abandoned the hunt and returned to where the body of their chief still lay on the clearing floor. Discovering a spark of life yet remaining, they bore him to his cave and after a while succeeded in bringing him back to consciousness.

It would be many suns before Gerdak fully recovered from his experience, but deeply planted in his dull-witted mind were the seeds of fear—fear that the mighty stranger called Tharn might return.

A weaving, bobbing sensation was Trakor's first impression as his hurt brain struggled back to consciousness. Beneath him was warm smooth flesh, and now and then he felt the brush of leaves or a vine against his back and sides.

When he opened his eyes he found himself being borne at a rapid pace through the forest top. For a moment he was unable to grasp the meaning of his strange position, then a familiar voice said, almost in his ear:

"Lie still for a little while. We are almost there."

It was Tharn's voice and with it came the memory of what had transpired before Gerdak's fist struck him unconscious. With a sigh, Trakor let the tenseness leave his body and he lay quietly across his new friend's broad shoulder.

Onward went Tharn, threading his way among the tangled labyrinth of branches with practiced ease. Broad boughs bent alarmingly beneath the double burden as he neared their tips while passing from one tree to another; but always he found the next before the weight proved too heavy. Yet so accustomed to such jungle highways was the cave lord that he seemed fairly to be flying through the trees.

Finally Tharn came to rest upon a wide branch high above the ground. Gently he deposited Trakor to a sitting position beside him, permitting the boy to rest his back against the tree's bole.

So intense was the darkness about them that Trakor was barely able to make out the form of his rescuer although he was only a few inches away. Trakor grasped a small branch to insure him from slipping from his high flung perch and for a little while said nothing, waiting until he could be sure the words would come out without a quaver.

"Where are we, Tharn?" he said finally, pleased at the matter-of-fact tone he was able to muster.

The darkness hid Tharn's understanding smile. "A short distance from the caves of your people."

"They are no longer my people," Trakor said hotly. "Even when I told them you were my friend they were against you."

He was silent for a moment. Then: "What happened after Gerdak struck me?"

Briefly Tharn told him of what transpired in the clearing. When he was finished, the boy was thoughtful for a little while. The realization was strong that never as long as Gerdak lived would he be able to return to his own people. That alone did not cause him to regret what had happened; it was the knowledge he might never again see his father and mother that was hard for him to bear. As he was still hardly more than boy quick tears stung his eyes and he was thankful the darkness prevented his companion from seeing these signs of weakness.

The turn events had taken within the clearing had hurt Tharn, too. Lost was his opportunity of questioning Roban, son of Gerdak, about the party of Ammadians Trakor had mentioned. He broke the momentary silence to say:

"Have you any idea where the Ammadians scaled the cliffs you mentioned?"

Not until now did Trakor recall the reason his new friend had sought out the caves of Gerdak. The realization that his own unthinking anger was largely responsible for Tharn's failure to get the information was galling and he said so at length.

Tharn halted the flow of self recrimination. "Gerdak," he pointed out, "would not have allowed his son to tell me anything. I hardly expected any other reception so we have lost nothing.... Do the Ammadian travelers who pass this way scale the cliffs at the same place each time?"

"No," Trakor replied sadly. "There are many places that afford a way over them."

"And you recall nothing Roban said which would indicate the place this last party used?"

"No, Tharn. It could be any one of ten." When the man beside him made no reply, he added: "What do we do now?"

Trakor's use of the word "we" brought the realization to Tharn that he was now faced with two problems. The first, of course, was to locate the trail of Dylara's abductors—and already his keen mind had hit on a short cut to that end. The second problem showed every indication of being a great deal harder to solve: What was he going to do with Trakor?

To permit the boy to return to the caves of Gerdak was unthinkable. The chief would be sure to blame him for what had happened; and while he might not actually kill Trakor he would certainly make his life unbearable. Nor could he leave this inexperienced youngster to face the jungle alone. Sadu or Jalok would be feeding on his soft flesh before two suns were gone!

The only alternative was to take the boy with him on his search for Dylara. It would mean slowing his pursuit of the Ammadians to a relative crawl—a thought galling to the cave lord....

"What do we do now?" Trakor said again.

Tharn shrugged lightly, his decision made. "We wait awhile. Now we shall sleep for an hour or two."

"Up here?" Trakor's voice faltered a little.

"Would it be better to sleep on the ground?" Tharn asked with grim humor.

As though to underscore the question, the distant scream of a panther came to their ears. Trakor shivered. "The tree is better," he admitted. "It is only that I have never slept in a tree," he laughed uncertainly. "I suppose I can get used to it."

"Lean your back against the trunk," Tharn said, "and allow your legs to drop on either side of the branch you are sitting on, resting your feet on the branches directly below. That way you will not fall, no matter how soundly you sleep."

The boy obeyed, and while he found the position less restful than the heap of pelts in the cave of his father, it was bearable. He knew he would not be able to sleep, for already the chill of the jungle at night was creeping into his bones.

Seconds later he was sleeping soundly, while above him Tharn too slept in a fork of the same tree.

A hand shaking his shoulder awoke Trakor with a start. Crouching on the branch beside him was Tharn, his magnificent body faintly discernible in the diffused light of Uda, the moon.

"Come," Tharn said. "It is time we set about locating the path used by the Ammadians in scaling the cliffside."

"At night?" Trakor asked wonderingly. "Would it not be better to wait until there is enough light to pick up the trail?"

"I have another plan," Tharn replied evasively. "Here," he added, stooping. "Place your arms about my neck."

Although he did not understand the reason behind the order Trakor followed his companion's bidding. An instant later he was swept up and out into the maze of branches while borne in Tharn's arms.

Where before much of the passage through the middle terraces of the trees had been hidden from Trakor by darkness, now the way was lighted by the moon, disclosing to the youth's horrified eyes the awful depths beneath. Gradually Trakor's fears grew less as he observed the unfailing sureness with which Tharn trod this high-flung pathway, and in its place came an abounded admiration of his agility and strength. Never before had he heard of a human who used the same avenues as little Nobar, the monkey—and used them with the same nimbleness and speed. Occasionally warriors of his tribe lay in wait for game among tree branches, but such climbing was as nothing when compared to this.

That uncanny instinct which so often had guided Tharn through unfamiliar territory did not fail him this time, and within half an hour he and his burden were gazing from the safety of a high branch at the deserted cliffside containing the caves of Gerdak.

At the sight of the familiar scene a great weight seemed to press against Trakor's heart. Was his new-found friend deserting him—returning him to certain suffering at the hands of short-tempered Gerdak? Did not Tharn know that never again would he dare to return to his own cave—that the chief would make him pay a thousandfold for championing the giant stranger?

Dreading the reply, he asked: "Why have we come back here, Tharn?"

"You told me Roban, son of Gerdak, knows the route taken by the Ammadians," said Tharn. "I am going to ask him where I may find it."

"But you cannot!" cried Trakor. "The instant Gerdak and his warriors see you their spears will cut you to pieces!"

"Then I must keep from being seen," Tharn observed lightly. "Point out to me the cave where Roban sleeps. I will enter and get him, bringing him here that I may question him in peace."

Trakor was horrified by the suggestion. "It is impossible! Mighty as you are, you could not hope to enter and leave the chief's own cave without being caught. Always several warriors sleep just within the entrance, for there are several among the tribe who hate Gerdak and he fears assassination while he sleeps."

For a long moment Tharn seemed lost in thought and Trakor was congratulating himself upon his success in talking the cave lord out of his mad scheme. But Tharn's next words showed his silence had been prompted by another reason altogether.

"Describe Gerdak's cave to me," he said, "telling me, if you can, where in it Roban is most likely to be sleeping."

For a second Trakor was tempted to disclaim all knowledge of the subject. But then the realization came that Tharn would go ahead with his plan with or without the information he sought.

Carefully he told all he could about the chief's cave, describing in minute detail its layout and plan, together with such information as where the guards were likely to be sleeping and the probable location of Roban's sleeping furs.

Roban, he said, would not be difficult to pick out. He was about Trakor's own age but very skinny, with long legs and arms and a peculiarly shaped head, the crown rising almost to a point. He was an unpleasant youngster, sly and cunning, and generally disliked.

Tharn listened attentively; and when his new friend was done, he unshipped the quiver of arrows from its place on his back and handed it and his spear to Trakor. The grass rope he left coiled across his shoulder and under the opposite arm, and his flint knife remained in the folds of his loin-cloth.

"Wait here for me," Tharn said. The boy nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and watched the other slip easily through the branches to the ground at the clearing's edge.

Broken cloud formations dotted the midnight sky and Tharn waited patiently until one of them could obscure the full moon long enough for him to gain the foot of the steep scarp a hundred yards away. Several times small clouds blotted out Uda's radiant beams; but not until a sizable one moved into the proper position did Tharn leave the protecting shadows of the tree.

With great bounding strides, silent as the shadows themselves, Tharn crossed the clearing to the cliff's base. For a few moments he skirted its edge until he located a series of man-carved ridges which formed a rude and perilous ladder to the cave entrances above. With the sure-footedness of long practice he swarmed lightly upward, past cave after cave, until he came to rest a few feet below the yawning hole marking the entrance to Gerdak's dwelling.

He crouched there motionless, his ears straining for some indication that those within were still awake. But other than a faint sound of someone snoring, he heard nothing.

With infinite stealth he drew himself onto the ledge outside. To his unbelievably sensitive nostrils came the assorted smells of a Cro-Magnon shelter. Through the medium of scent he established that five men and two women were within, all of them his ears said were sound asleep.

Suddenly the cloud was gone from the moon's face and silver effulgence bathed the cliffside, leaving Tharn exposed to possible discovery. And so, crouching, the naked blade of his flint knife held ready, Tharn entered the lair of Gerdak, chief of a Cro-Magnon tribe.

As Tarlok, the leopard, stalks the wariest of grass-eaters, so did Tharn make his way into that black hole. No human ear would have been able to mark his passage as his naked feet, seemingly endowed with eyes of their own, threaded their way past one sleeping body after another.

Two warriors lay athwart the entrance; these Tharn stepped across, so close he could feel the animal heat from their bodies. Past a stack of spears piled against a side wall, avoiding a block of stone on which were piled several baked clay pots and dishes, skirting a heap of furs where an old woman slept, mouth open and the breath whistling between toothless gums ... these were danger points along the way.

At last he reached the rear wall of the cave—and there he found the object of his search. A lanky length of tanned human lay face up on a pile of skins, breathing heavily, arms thrown wide. A few feet away, near a side wall, lay the stocky form and hairless pate that belonged to Gerdak, the chief.

The time had come for the high point of danger in Tharn's plan. Crouching beside the sleeping form of Roban, Tharn tightened his hold on the hilt of his knife, swung his arm in a short savage arc and brought the butt of the knife hard against the young man's skull!

There was a single violent upheaval of limbs which Tharn smothered instantly beneath his own weight, a sobbing cry which died unborn as a mighty hand pressed against the parted lips ... and Roban lay senseless.

Swinging the unconscious youth to his shoulders, Tharn turned to make his way back to the cave entrance. Three cautious steps he took ... and then a muscular hand closed about his ankle!

CHAPTER III

SADU ATTACKS

Sadu, the lion, pacing slowly and majestically through the velvet blackness of a jungle night, came to a sudden halt as Siha, the wind, brought to his sensitive nostrils the acrid scent of burning wood.

For several long minutes the great cat stood as though turned to stone, his broad nostrils twitching nervously under the biting fumes. Sadu was unpleasantly familiar with the red teeth that ate everything in their path, for it had been scarcely a moon ago that he barely escaped the fangs of a forest fire.

Had it been smoke alone which Sadu smelled, he would have turned away and sought his night's food elsewhere. But commingled with the scent of fire was another smell, and it was the latter that finally sent him slinking ahead.

After the lion progressed another several hundred yards in this manner, the winding game trail debouched abruptly into a large natural clearing bordering the reed-covered banks of a wide shallow river.

Standing amid the impenetrable shadows cast by a great tree at the clearing's edge, Sadu surveyed with slitted eyes the bustle of activity about the open ground. There were at least fifty men there, some of them tending a blazing windrow of branches arranged in a large circle to encompass a considerable section of open ground where were heaped several mounds of supplies. Others were preparing the evening meal, bringing water from the river and performing the other duties which go with establishing camp for the night.

It was the scent of these men that had brought Sadu here. Ordinarily he would have passed up the two-legged creatures for the more satisfactory flesh of zebra or deer, but there had been an absence of such meat lately because grass-replenishing rain had not fallen in many moons and the grass-eaters had strayed away from the vicinity in search of fresh pastures. Too, Sadu had found man easy prey when he was alone—in numbers he was dangerous, particularly when backed by burning brands and sharp-pointed sticks.

The circle of fire with which these men had surrounded themselves gave Sadu pause. Only the pangs of hunger kept him from turning about and seeking less complicated prey. Slowly the heavy lips rolled back, baring the great fangs, and from the depths of the cavernous chest came a series of grunting coughs.

As the dull, rumbling challenge reached the ears of those within the camp, men straightened from their tasks and looked fearfully into the heavy darkness beyond the light from the fires. A few unslung their bows and tested the strings, while others made sure their heavy war spears were within reach.

In the center of the camp itself, a group of five people—two girls and three men—broke off their conversation as the first notes of Sadu's voice reached them, and looked nervously at one another.

"Sadu is hungry too," one of the girls observed lightly as she turned her attention back to the freshly grilled meat on the clay dish before her.

"Will he attack us?" the other girl asked unsteadily, her dark eyes round with fear. Her slender, softly rounded body was covered with a knee-length tunic of some coarse, woven material and a cloud of black curls framed the delicate features of her olive-skinned face.

"I do not think so, Alurna," the first girl said, without taking her eyes from her food. "Sadu fears fire; he would have to be close to starving to brave the flames."

One of the three men, a slight, small-boned man whose round, full-fleshed face habitually wore an expression of slow-witted amiability, moved a little closer to the fire. "How do we know," he said anxiously, "whether this lion is not that hungry?"

The first girl shook back her wealth of reddish brown hair and looked at the speaker, her brown eyes sparkling with laughter. She said, "We can't know, Javan—not until he either springs through the fire or turns around and goes away."

If the words brought any comfort to Javan, his actions failed to show it. Once more he shifted his position until he was close to sitting in the burning branches and the fingers of his right hand were trembling uncontrollably as he groped for his flint-tipped spear.

"Dylara jests, Javan," the tall, broad-shouldered man next to him said. "There are too many of us for even several lions to attack."

"You say that, Jotan," Dylara said, "because you do not know Sadu as I know him. Often he will charge a hundred warriors through fires far larger than ours, yet at times several lions have run away from one man walking alone in the jungle. More than any other beast, Sadu is a creature of moods, and no one can say for sure what he will do."

The third man in the group rose now to scrape the remaining food on his plate into the fire. He said, "We are certainly in no position to dispute with Dylara the habits of animals." There was a subtle note of condescension in his voice that only Jotan and the princess Alurna noticed. "You must remember that Dylara is different from us. Most of her life has been spent among the people of the caves, and there can be no doubt but that the barbarians know the jungle and its life far better than we can ever hope to."

Jotan's pale blue eyes frosted over and the hard, firm angle of his jaw tightened. For nearly two moons now he had endured Tamar's gibes at his love for a girl who had been a barbarian slave of Sephar's court. Many times during those sixty suns had Tamar said that no member of Ammad's ruling class, as was Jotan, had a right to take as mate some half-savage cave girl. There was such a thing, argued Tamar, as noblesse oblige, and Jotan was not only alienating his friends by this mad passion but breaking the laws of his class and his country.

Not that Tamar had anything personal against Dylara. On the contrary, he thought her beautiful and as gracious and regal as Alurna herself. But there was the matter of birth and blood—barriers too great for acceptance as the noble Jotan's mate.

All this was in Jotan's thoughts as he answered Tamar's last remark. "Perhaps it would be better for us," he observed lightly, "if we had a little of Dylara's knowledge of the jungle creatures and their ways. Perhaps then we would be spared such terror at the sound of Sadu's roar."

He made the statement while looking full into Tamar's eyes, and was rewarded by seeing a tinge of red creep into his friend's freshly scraped cheeks. And because no man likes to be called a coward, no matter how indirectly, Tamar sought to hit back ... in the one way that would cut Jotan the deepest.

"It is unfortunate," he said mildly, "that we could not have brought along with us the wild man who came to Sephar seeking Dylara. I'll wager he would not turn a hair were Sadu to charge among us at this moment."

As though in direct challenge to the statement, Sadu, in the darkness beyond the camp, again lifted his voice in the hunting roar of the king of beasts.

This time the hot blood of anger welled into Jotan's face and a biting retort formed on his lips. But a glimpse of Dylara's suddenly stricken expression checked them there, unuttered.

In the brief silence that followed Tamar's words, Dylara was aware that the others were watching her as though to learn if Tamar's edged comment would goad her into a response.

And so she made answer; and while the words were directed to Tamar, it was Jotan whom they hurt.

"You are right, Tamar," she said proudly. "Tharn, more than any man I have ever known, is free of fear. How could he know fear when there is no man or animal that could match his strength, agility or quick mind."

"Had you seen him, as I did, crush the skull of a full-grown lion with a single blow of his fist, had you seen him close in battle with Tarlok, the leopard, with only a stone knife to use against Tarlok's teeth and claws, had he carried any of you through the highest branches of the forest top—then you would know why I am sure he came through the battles in Sephar's arena! That is why I know that even now he is on his way to take me from you."

"And when he does come, neither you nor all the warriors with you can keep him from his purpose. You are children—all of you!—when compared to Tharn!"

The nails of Jotan's fingers were biting into his palms. "And would you go with him, Dylara?" he asked between stiff lips.

The girl's lovely brown eyes softened as she saw the pain under his carefully expressionless face.

"Yes, I would go with him," she said gently. "All of us know that I am no more than a prisoner among you. All of you have been kind and thoughtful and friendly toward me. Yet there is never a moment that I am not under the eyes of a guard. That is why I say that, given the chance, I would escape and return to the caves of Majok, my father."

Alurna shuddered. "You would not get very far, Dylara. The jungle beasts would get you the first night."

"I think not," Dylara said matter-of-factly. "You keep forgetting that I am not a Sepharian. The jungle and plains are not to me the horrible places they seem to you who have spent your lives behind the stone walls of your cities."

"How can you think of returning to such a life, Dylara?" Jotan said, almost pleadingly. "It is no way for a girl to live—in constant danger day after day, living in cold, damp holes in a cliff, wearing only an animal skin."

"Wait until you have seen the city of Ammad! As wonderful as Sephar must have seemed to you, it is crude and barbaric when compared to the splendor of the cities of my country. And in all the world there is no palace so lavish as that of Jaltor, king of all Ammad. Why, a few days among the glories and comforts of life among my people and the thought of returning to your caves would be hateful indeed!"

But Dylara was shaking her head. "No, Jotan. Tamar is right when he says I would not fit into such a life. I was taken to Sephar as a slave to the Sepharians; and, as considerate as you have been, I am being taken to Ammad while still a slave."

"Not as a slave!" Jotan protested. "You are to become my mate. You will be shown the same honor, the same respect that I am given. I am a noble of Ammad, Dylara. Jaltor, ruler of Ammad, is my father's closest friend. He—all Ammad—will be at your feet the day we go before the high-priest of the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud and he makes you my mate."

The conversation clearly had gotten out of hand. Both Jotan and Dylara, so hard did each strive to make the other see his side of the argument, were putting into words things they ordinarily would never have said in front of those with them.

And all during the exchange, Alurna, princess of Sephar, sat there and watched them, her head bowed slightly and a hand shielding her face that none might see the hatred and jealousy mirrored there.

For Jotan was hers! Whether he was aware of that as yet was immaterial. Men had been blinded by beauty before and still brought to their senses before it was too late. As lovely as the cave girl was, Alurna knew that her own beauty suffered little by comparison—something that Jotan would have seen long ago were his eyes not blinded by a mad infatuation.

There was little else to do for the time being, Alurna realized, except wait. Tonight or tomorrow or a moon from now the opportunity for ridding herself of her brown-haired rival would come along. She had almost arranged the girl's death in Sephar, but Dylara had slain the hired assassin. Next time the result would be different. Fortunately it was not something that had to be done in a hurry. Dylara gave no indication of willingly becoming Jotan's mate, and being a person of high principles, Jotan would have her no other way. The only danger, really, was that his unfailing courtesy, thoughtfulness and complete adoration might succeed in winning the cave girl's love.

Sadu, the lion, standing beyond the circle of light cast by the fire, raised his voice in a challenging roar that cut into silence the encampment of humans. His hunger was growing with the passage of time and the sight of the many two-legged creatures behind the leaping flames.

Again, Sadu's majestic voice rolled out, filling the clearing with spine-tingling sound, and from the depths of night-shrouded jungle behind him came an answering roar. A moment later the foliage parted and a second lion slunk through the shadows just beyond the periphery of light. The newcomer was a great, tawny-maned beast even larger than the first. He eyed the blazing piles of branches and the men beyond them with slitted eyes for a long moment, then uttered a series of low, coughing grunts. In response to the signal, three more lions—a female and two full-grown males—emerged from the undergrowth to join their leader.

The first lion eyed the strange family and bared his great fangs, warning them with a low rumble that he would permit no interference in his hunting. They stared at him silently with a kind of dignified reserve, then turned their attention toward the humans beyond the wall of fire.

Two full hours dragged past. Within the camp the larger part of the caravan was sleeping soundly, huddled against the chill night air in sleeping furs. The normal guard of ten warriors had been doubled against the possibility of attack by the great cats.

Suddenly one of the lions rose to its feet and with regal deliberateness stalked into the open ground bordering the line of fires. Slowly the jungle king strode along the unsteady line of burning wood, his lithe sinews rolling beneath the shimmering hide, the sinuous tail moving in graceful undulations. Soundless were his padded paws on the turf and the mighty voice was silent.

Several minutes passed before one of the guards caught sight of the single lion. The man lifted a loud shout of alarm and several more of the sentries hastened to join their companion. When he pointed out Sadu less than a spear's cast outside the fires, the others readied their weapons for the attack they expected at any moment; while Sadu, seeing the flurry of motion among the hated manthings, lifted his mighty head and gave voice to a thunderous roar. "... Dylara! Dylara!"

The cave girl awakened instantly at sound of the frightened voice. She sat up and threw back the folds of her sleeping furs. In the flickering reddish glow of the night fires she saw the slender form of the princess Alurna bending over her.

"What is the matter?" Majok's daughter demanded.

"The lions!" Alurna moaned through chattering teeth. "Listen!"

Fully aroused by the other's panic, Dylara rose from the ground and tried to pierce the velvet wall beyond the light. Most of the camp's sentries were grouped at a point near the line of fire, fingering their spear and bows nervously and staring at something between them and the jungle.

... Sadu ceased his uneasy pacing, his tail lashing now in brief, jerky movements. Too long had he put off feeding. The fearsome fires were dimmer now; let them die down just a little more and he would leap across them and take his food.

Elsewhere among the sheltering trees the other lions watched him with unblinking attention. By now there were fully a score of the mammoth brutes lying among the tall grasses and reeds. In two's and threes—even one family of six—they had assembled, drawn to the scene by the voices of the first arrivals.

Again Sadu threw back his head and poured out his rumbling roar, seeking to build up his confidence sufficiently to brave the fires protecting his prey. Cautiously he began to inch his way toward the flames, his hindquarters held low, his majestic head extended and flattened until his nose was close to the ground.

While behind him other lions, made bold by his move, also began to creep toward the circle of fire.

Dylara stiffened as Sadu's august voice echoed through the clearing. Her brown eyes, keener than most, began to pick out points of glowing yellow among the black shadows of the trees—bits of light that she recognized instantly as the eyes of lions. Even as she was conscious that there were many of them, she became aware of their growing size.

The cave girl waited no longer. Pushing past the fear-ridden princess, she went quickly to where Jotan slept nearby beneath a mound of furs and began shaking him urgently by the shoulder.

The Ammadian opened his eyes. "What—what is it? Dylara? What is wrong?"

"The lions!" Dylara said hurriedly. "Many of them. They are preparing to charge us!"

Flinging aside his furs, Jotan leaped to his feet and raced among the sleeping warriors, arousing them with a prodding foot and a few urgent words of explanation. Meanwhile, Dylara hurried to where the sentries were keeping watchful eyes on the first lion.

"Quick!" she exclaimed. "Throw some of the burning branches among the trees. There is still time to drive Sadu away!"

... Sadu, at sight of the rapidly awakening camp, halted his slow advance. For a moment he hesitated, his highly strung nerves twitching with indecision. And when several of the men dragged burning branches from the fires and threw them, like blazing spears, in his direction, he snarled uneasily and drew back. Already a few of the other lions had turned tail to flee back into the jungle. In another moment the retreat would become a rout and Sadu must seek elsewhere for food.

And then there occurred one of those unpredictable turns of fate which none can foresee. One of the blazing brands, propelled by a strong arm, struck full against the flank of a retreating lion. There followed a puff of smoke as hair burned away a wide patch and seared the skin beneath.

Sadu's uncertain temper blazed with the flame. With a startled roar that paled to nothing the surrounding chorus of growls, screams and curses, he wheeled about and bore down upon the camp, roaring as he came. A few feet short of the flaming stockade, Sadu rose in a mighty leap, cleared the flames easily, and landed squarely among the startled Sepharians.

Instantly pandemonium raged. The men scattered wildly from Sadu's flailing claws and glistening fangs, only to encounter other lions who, emboldened by the success of the first, had turned back to leap the barrier. Already a dozen of the tawny, sinuous bodies were sowing death among the ranks of Jotan's followers.

The princess Alurna huddled among a heap of furs and sought to close her eyes against the horrors of the growing massacre. But not seeing at all was infinitely worse than reality, and so her eyes remained open and staring.

Suddenly a huge, yellow-maned monster bounded toward her. A lithe spring brought it atop a mound of supplies scarcely ten feet from where she lay paralyzed with fear. Slowly the lordly head swung in a menacing circle and the savage eyes fixed upon her shrinking form. The small ears twitched back until they lay tight against the sleek skull, the mammoth maw parted to disclose awesome fangs and a low growl rumbled low in the deep chest.

Jotan, shouting orders in an effort to rally his scattered men to some semblance of order, caught sight of the doomed princess as Sadu rose in his spring toward her. Careless of his own safety, he drew back his strong right arm and launched his heavy war spear. The keen blade flashed across the intervening space and caught Sadu squarely in the chest, knocking him to one side and killing him instantly.