"He is sorely wounded and has been left to die," he informed me.
5. I GAIN MY FREEDOM
It is not difficult for me to analyze my feelings on hearing the news of this disaster. To be candid, a certain amount of personal interest occupied my mind. For were Koja to die, his hoard would fall to the next most powerful chieftain of the Yathoon, an arthropod known as Gamchan. While Koja treated me, if not kindly, at least not unkindly, Gamchan had often loudly remarked in my presence and that of Koja that I was no curiosity but an ugly hybrid―he mentioned two nations or races of which I had not heard ―"a by-blow of a Zanadar pirate and a Ku Thad" was how he expressed it.
I had gathered that Gamchan was jealous of Koja and sought by such unsubtle means to "put down" his prime curiosity―myself. Koja took no notice of the bad temper of the envious Gamchan, who was a minor chieftain of inferior rank and prowess, although next to Koja in the hierarchical structure of Horde command. But I had few illusions about the sort of treatment I might expect if ever I were unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of Gamchan.
But beyond the problem of my personal safety there was the simple matter of my indebtedness to Koja, who had not only saved me from the yathrib but had given me food and shelter in his retinue. So I questioned Sujat as to the nature and extent of Koja's injuries.
To my queries Sujat merely shrugged―or, rather, gave a negligent twitch of his brow antenna―a gesture which was the Yathoon equivalent of a shrug. I gathered that the Yathoon warriors take no care of their injured. Here again I saw the drawbacks of their lack of sentiment, and also the advantage inherent in their lack of innate cruelty. For among terrene barbarians, such as the Mongol horde, for example, the injured are often slain. At least his comrades had not bothered to dispatch the injured Koja: they had merely left him behind to die.
Among the possessions of Koja were a number of thaptors. These are the weird bird-horses the Thanatorians use for steeds. They are the size of terrene stallions, or perhaps a bit larger, and, like their equine counterparts on Earth, they have four legs, an arched neck, are ridden from a saddle and guided by reins and a bit. But there the resemblance to a horse ends. For the thaptor is a quadruped species of wingless bird, with clawed feet spurred like those of a rooster. Around the base of their skulls a stiff ruff of feathers extends, almost like a horse's mane. Their heads are very unhorselike, though, with sharp yellow parrot-beaks and glaring eyes wherein a bright orange pupil, ringed with a black iris, stares forth with fierce malignancy. These bird-horses are broken to the bridle with great difficulty and never become completely tractable, although they come at length to recognize their owners and are resigned to carrying them. But woe to the stranger who attempts to ride one!
Snatching up a clean cloth and a container of water, I went out into the compound where Koja's thaptors were constrained in pens. My heart was in my mouth and I confess to an extreme nervousness. I had fed and watered these thaptors many times, and I knew they would recognize me. Whether or not they would permit me astride their backs was another question, and one of considerable dubiety.
Sujat followed me curiously.
"What do you intend to do?" he inquired.
"I am going to help Koja," I said.
"But Koja is wounded," he said. There was a stolid finality behind his words which made them equate to "Koja is dead."
I climbed over the bars of the paddock and made soothing clucking sounds to one of the thaptors who had always seemed less unfriendly than the others.
"Wounds heal," I suggested. Sujat shrugged.
"What does it matter?" he asked indifferently.
"To you, nothing; to me, quite a bit," I said. "It is the difference between your kind and mine, Sujat."
I saddled the thaptor, who sidled restlessly but soon subsided at my touch. Then, daring much, I carefully climbed astride the thaptor, speaking quietly to him all the while. He peered about with his wide, round, mad little parrot's eye but did not seem particularly enraged to see me in the saddle. I began to relax.
"Where is Koja?" I asked. Sujat described the place; I thought I could find it without difficulty.
At my request, Sujat opened the paddock gate and I guided the thaptor out and down the narrow lane of beaten earth that ran between two rows of tents towards the south gate of the vast encampment. This being the noon hour, few warriors were abroad, most feeding in the quiet of their quarters. But many servitors were about, and these eyed me with stolid indifference, although if they had been human they must have been amazed to see a human riding one of their savage thaptors.
I had expected to have to argue with the guards at the perimeter of the encampment, but such was not the case. One guard hailed me.
"Where are you going, Jandar? You know you are not permitted beyond the encampment."
I should explain that to the vocal apparatus of the Thanatorians my name, Jon Dark, is slightly difficult to pronounce. On their tongues it sounds more like Zhandar, or Jandar. After several futile attempts to correct this pronunciation, I have become resigned to it. And I have been Jandar to the inhabitants of Thanator ever since.
"I am going to help the chieftain, Koja," I replied.
"But he is wounded!"
"That's why he needs my help," I returned.
He seemed somewhat nonplussed. He stood there, tall ungainly creature, the daylight glistening on his carapace of silvery gray chitin, fiddling with the hilt of his long whip-sword.
"But Koja is likely dead by now," he objected. "And it is his order that you may not venture beyond the perimeter of the camp."
"If Koja is dead then his orders are meaningless, is that not so?" I asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, but also without precipitous haste, I rode past him and left the puzzled guard standing there striving to figure out what to do.
I rode for the better part of an hour until I found where Koja had fallen. Several dead arthropods lay sprawled about, and from the unfamiliar thorax markings they wore I assumed them to have been warriors of the rival clan.
Koja had apparently dragged himself some distance and now lay partially propped up against the thorny bole of a sorad tree. The sorad is rare among the trees of the Thanatorian jungles in that, instead of having black wood and crimson foliage, it has crimson wood and black foliage. I knew that this rareness lent it a unique interest in the minds of the Yathoon, for they prize that which is unusual and hold almost in superstitious veneration that which is unique. Doubtless the rarity of the sorad tree lent it an aspect of reverence in the eyes of Koja, and hence he must have painfully dragged himself to its foot. Now he lay sluggish and dull-eyed, waiting for death, but sustained and heartened in some fashion by his proximity to the unusual tree.
He unlidded his eyes and turned their black glittering gaze on me as I approached, dismounted, and strode over to where he lay.
"Jandar? Why are you here?" he said faintly as I knelt down by him to examine his wounds.
"To give you assistance," I replied. He had sustained a terrible blow across the thorax. The bladed barb of an enemy's whip sword had laid open the horny covering of his thorax and he was losing his bodily fluids. A bubbling froth of colorless, oily liquid seeped from the edges of this ghastly wound and the sharp, medicinal stench of formic acid hung thickly about him.
Koja was somewhat more quick-witted than the majority of his race. But to his way of thinking it was incredible that one creature should render aid to another in this world where all beings were engaged in a relentless war against all other beings.
"Why should you wish to assist me?" he asked as I began tending to his injuries.