Janchan unsheathed his sword and undertook the task of cutting them free. But the spider-silk was tougher and more durable than braided nylon cord; his transparent blade, razory-sharp though it was, would take upwards of an hour to saw through even one of the many strands which held them fast.
And they did not have an hour; their life might well be measured in mere minutes if they did not soon manage to extricate themselves from the web of the spider-monster.
Your sword-edge will not cut us free, friend Janchan, the thought pulsed swiftly from the Winged Man.
“What then? Stay here and die?” panted that worthy person.
If necessary, I trust we shall face our doom with the equanimity of those who strive on, even into the very jaws of defeat, replied Zarqa. But I know of one instrument which may serve to liberate us.
“Its name? Quickly! From the way the web is vibrating, the great spider is almost upon us,” cried Janchan.
Its name is—fire! came the throbbing thought of Zarqa the Kalood.
Fire! Of course! Janchan grinned—a humorless rictus of the lips which had no mirth in it. The sticky substance of which the mighty net was woven might well prove easily combustible. Indeed, the adhesive qualities of the monster spider’s web reminded him of the gummy residue left at the bottom of an oil lamp when all the fuel is exhausted. Why had the simple notion not occurred to him? At least it was worth a try—
He said as much, and Zarqa nodded solemnly.
But we must act swiftly, my friends, or the spider will be at our throats, he said mentally. Now, search your garments—have we, any of us, a flint-striker on our persons?
The Winged Man made reference to a small artifact employed for striking sparks, similar to the flint-and-steel contrivances used for identical purposes by early American colonists. Such instruments were customarily carried in a small pocket by travellers, who were thus assured of being able to light a cook-fire or illuminate a torch in the wilderness during their travels. The savant Nimbalim ran his fingers through the pockets of his robes, then shrugged with empty hands.
Zarqa’s tawny hide was in itself proof against the elements; and his kind were not equipped with external genitalia and required no cover for modesty. He had neither pocket nor pouch in which to store the necessary implement.
And as for Janchan he searched his person with hands that were now a-tremble, with a horrible inner conviction that he, too, had no such device upon him.
The three adventurers looked at each other with consternation in their faces, and empty hands. And the gigantic spider was almost upon them.
Chapter 10.
THE VAULT OF MARVELS
As the enormous serpent struck at him, Ralidux did the only thing he could; he sprang up into the air.
With a vicious snap, the fanged jaws of the monster Ssalith closed upon the space his body had occupied a split-second before.
His arms were stretched above his head to grasp a branch that arched over the jungle path. As he sprang, however, his fingers brushed the branch of the tree—slipped, and failed to cling.
He fell back. As he did so, the head of the serpent-god chanced to be directly beneath him. Thus, he landed to find himself astride the neck of the giant snake!
His powerful legs clamped about the serpent’s throat; he threw himself forward, wrapping his arms about the base of the Ssalith’s skull, his hands locked together just behind the hinges of its jaws.
The reptile was astounded, outraged and furious. Never before had its prey attempted to ride upon its back; the experience was new, and it did not like the weight of the little manling. It shook its head furiously from side to side in an attempt to dislodge its rider, but he clung tightly to avoid being hurled off. Ralidux was mad, but sufficient sanity made him realize that only by clinging to the back of the reptilian monster could he avoid being mangled between those fanged, hideous jaws.
The gigantic Ssalith then attempted to rub him off by scraping its head against the turf, and against the trunks of the trees. The rough bark tore his skin and lacerated his shoulders, but Ralidux gritted his teeth against the pain and clung like death to his precarious perch.
Again and again, the serpent battered its blunt-nosed head against any obstacle it could in an effort to dislodge the manling; but he clung like a leech.
The serpent hissed and squalled, forked tongue flickering, jaws gaping and closing on empty air. Nothing it could do would loosen the powerful grip of the black man, whose muscular thighs were clamped painfully about its gullet. Ralidux intensified the pressure of his grip; most of the serpent’s enormous length was sheathed in powerful muscle, mailed in a coat of impenetrable scales, impervious even to the point of a sword. But the base of its throat was unarmored and tender; there alone was it unprotected; there only was it vulnerable. And it was precisely there that the bare knees of the black superman slug into its soft throat with crushing pressure, cutting off its windpipe.
The Ssalith exploded in a writhing fury, battering its head blindly against rocks and trees, thrusting and wriggling through dense bushes. Nothing it could do seemed to discourage the little creature that clung to the back of its neck, slowly throttling it.
The miniscule brain of the serpent-monster could hold only one thought at a time. Fury had driven hunger from its mind; and now fear replaced fury. Safety, to the tiny mind of the Ssalith, meant its nest beneath the ancient stone temple; now it headed back the way it had come, gliding through the jungle aisles toward the security of its noisome lair in the warm and fetid gloom of the subterranean catacombs, from which the tempting odor of Niamh’s flesh had lured it.
It slid out of the jungle, ascended the broken stone steps and entered the darkness of the ruined edifice. Still Ralidux clung grimly to his perch behind its skull; by now he was battered and bleeding from a score of scratches, dazed and half-conscious. But he knew that if once he let go and fell off, the ravening snake would be upon him in an instant.
Darkness closed about him. Presently he discerned that his loathsome steed was descending a tunnel cut vertically into the depths. Before long, this well would terminate in some manner of nest; it was possible that there the reptile had a mate, or a brood of offspring. Were that to prove the case, his doom was assured.
Rousing his sluggish wits, he lifted his head and peered about him. The darkness was, at this depth, somewhat alleviated by a sickly phosphorescence. A vague green glow was visible; seemingly shed by the reeking slime which coated the lower portion of the vertical shaft.
By this ghostly luminosity, Ralidux caught a glimpse of a side-tunnel which branched off at a right angle. Its black mouth rose rapidly toward him as the Ssalith slithered down the shaft. From the quick glimpse he caught, it seemed that this side-tunnel was too small and narrow to permit the entrance of the serpent’s blunt, wedge-shaped head.
As he was borne past this opening he released his grasp, threw his arms up and caught hold of the lower lip of the tunnel’s mouth. In the same instant, he let go with his legs. Now he dangled free, supporting his weight by the grip of his fingertips only. The enormous length of the serpent brushed against him as the remainder of its body slithered by. Scales rasped against his raw back and bruised legs; but in a moment, the gigantic snake had vanished beneath him and he was able to drag himself up and into the mouth of the second tunnel.