The wisest thing to do was, quite simply, to wait where I was. For, being completely blind, were I to enter the jungle I would swiftly lose myself even further than I was already lost. And, in the depths of the dense jungles, it might not be easy for my companions to locate me, nor I them.
But… I could not stay here! Not while the giant serpent was still locked in furious, hissing, clamourous battle with some unknown but doubtless gigantic monster.
For if I were to do so, the victor of that titanic conflict would find me the easiest of prey! My dilemma yeas excruciating. Every moment of time that went ticking by, carried my friends ever closer to where I stood, helpless, unarmed, and alone.
But, every instant that passed carried the battle of jungle monsters yet closer to its conclusion; and myself nearer and nearer to the dubious honor of serving as the chef d’oeuvre of the victory dinner—to be eaten by the victor!
Was there ever such a dilemma!
The battle of the monsters was nearly over now. The serpent writhed and hissed in its death-throes. I could hear its scaly coils scraping against the crumbling stone surface of the stairs as it wriggled in frightful agony; its furtive spark of consciousness fading, its mighty vital energy ebbing as hot gore leaked from the terrible wounds which scored its length.
The hot, rank smell of blood was heavy on the motionless night air.
Turning away from the scene of hideous carnage, which was invisible to me, but whose gory details I could envision with the inward eye of imagination, I stealthily crossed the grassy glade to where the jungle’s edge rose, thick dense and choked with vegetation. Perhaps the victor would linger for a time to feed upon the flesh of its monstrous, ophidian kill perhaps I would have time enough to enter the jungle and find for myself a place of safe concealment, before it turned away from its feasting to come ravening in pursuit of me.
I did not quite reach the edge of the jungle. The drumming of wings sounded from above me in the throbbing stillness.
Something alighted on the grassy ground behind me. I broke into a faltering, stumbling run, racing for the edge of the jungle with outstretched hands. Footsteps sounded behind me, the swish of long grasses parting before the passage of a moving body.
Then a hand-like claw settled upon my shoulders… and I fainted!
My friends were gathered on the beach, ready to depart. They hailed my safe return with a burst of loud, enthusiastic cheers.
“I hope those cheers are for Zarqa,” I grinned, still a trifle weak as a reaction from the ordeal. “For it was he alone who saved me, where I was helpless to do anything.”
They gave me a stoup of wine and while I drank it down, Zarqa the Kalood, with becoming modesty, described how he had spread his wings to soar aloft. He followed in pursuit, the very instant the serpent had carried me into the jungle.
Unarmed, he was helpless to oppose the enormous Ssalith with physical strength alone; in this dire eventuality, he was forced to do something repugnant to his race, but well within their powers. That was to use his mental gifts as a weapon.
The Ssalith had but a tiny brain, a miniscule self-awareness; but its instincts were powerful, swift-acting, easy to trigger. Insinuating a telepathic tendril into the sub-mind of the serpent, he had tripped its defensive mechanisms. He had made the serpent attack itself!
Those noises of terrific combat I had heard; the hissing and clashing of those monstrous jaws, the furious writhing of scaly coils locked in frenzied battle—had been the sounds of the maddened Ssalith fighting against itself.
So intense had been the mental concentration necessary for Zarqa to perform this feat of mental magic, that the Winged Man had not been able to spare a single moment to send a comforting or explanatory thought-message to me, lest he relax his grip upon the Ssalith’s brain.
My friends were amazed at Zarqa’s feat, and joined me in thanking him heartily. Parimus, no less than the others, was delighted at my safe return; but he urgently bade us suspend until a more leisurely moment our explanations and queries. For time was of the essence; due to the attack of the serpent monster, we were now long past the moment that he and Prince Andar had agreed upon for the planned diversion. The lateness of the air yacht in arriving at the island city might have already proven fatal to the hopes and ambitions of the Komarians. Only time would tell.
We bundled up our gear and possessions and hurried aboard. Zarqa and Janchan would follow close behind us in the skysled. As for Nimbalim of Yoth, the old philosopher chose to ride in the flying ship of Prince Parimus; for he had become fascinated with the marvel of the million-year-old vehicle, eager to observe it in action from close quarters. Parimus had affably given the ancient savant a place beside him on the bridge.
We ascended into the skies and set our course for the island of Komar, which lay not far off; separated from the island of the monster serpent by a relatively narrow stretch of waters.
From here on, it was a race against time!
Chapter 25.
AS THE GREEN STAR RISES
From the strange black shape which hung against the pale skies of morning, there came a withering blast. A rain of deadly arrows swept the rooftop of the citadel of Komar… and the Barbarians fell, bristling with barbed death!
A great shout of wonder and delight went up from Andar’s men, for they knew beyond all question the identity of that black enigma which had swept down upon them from the sky.
Parimus had come at last!
Then was the battle rejoined, with a vengeance! Snatching up the weapons they had let fall at the moment of surrender, the Komarians turned upon the disorganized, demoralized rabble and slew—and slew!
From the embattled streets of the city below that towering height, Andar and his nobles heard a faint, rising chorus of cheers. The citizenry of Komar, who had arisen against their conquerors when it became known that the citadel was under attack, had almost failed against the roaring tide of the Barbarians. But now, with the miraculous visitation from the skies, their hearts beat high within them. They turned with new strength and with redoubled determination upon their oppressors. Snatching up paving stones, ripping loose barrel-staves, plundering the corpses of their fallen comrades for anything that could be used as a weapon, the folk of Komar rose as one man, to trample down and tear asunder the savages who had for so long cruelly abused them.
The air yacht of Parimus was everywhere, floating above them, blasting with the very lightnings of heaven through every barrier hastily erected by the Barbarians; striking down knots of resistance, exploding buildings where a force of the blue men had taken refuge. The archers of Tharkoon, led by the stalwart young bowman, Zokar, lined the decks of the yacht; they swept the streets, squares balconies and rooftops of the city with a hissing rain of barbed, unerring death l
The citadel had already fallen to the Komarian assault. The golden banner of Komar floated from the topmost tower, glittering in the rays of early dawn; a sign for all to see that the lords and chieftains of the Horde were dead or captured, and that the heart on the city was retaken.
The sight of that proud golden banner floating freely on the morning winds struck new strength, hope and vigor into the weary and battered people of Komar. At the same moment, it stole from the hearts of the Barbarians, who looked upon the golden oriflamme with bitterness and despair, the last dregs of their courage and determination to fight on.