She paid no attention to me, but thrust again. This time the spear tore into the many-faceted eye. With a shrill whistle of pain, the reptile turned upon Duare and sought to strike her with its gleaming horns; but she stood her ground and, thrusting again, drove the weapon between the distended jaws, drove it deep and far into the pink flesh of that repulsive maw.
The spear point must have pierced the tongue, for it suddenly went limp; and I rolled from its encircling grasp to the ground.
Instantly I was on my feet again, and seizing Duare's arm dragged her to one side as the vere charged blindly. It brushed past us, whistling and screaming, and then turned, but in the wrong direction.
It was then that I realized that the creature had been totally blinded by the wound in its eye. Taking a perilous risk, I threw my arm about Duare and slid over the edge of the ledge upon which the brute had encountered us, for to have remained even an instant where we were would have meant being maimed or hurled to our doom by the viciously lashing tail of the frenzied lizard.
Fortune favored us, and we came safely to rest upon another ledge at a slightly lower level. Above us we could hear the whistling scream of the vere and the thudding of his tail against the rocky escarpment.
* * * * *
Fearing that the creature might descend upon us, we hurried on, taking even greater risks than we had before; nor did we stop until we had reached comparatively level ground near the foot of the escarpment. Then we sat down to rest. We were both panting from our exertions.
"You were wonderful," I said to Duare. "You risked your life to save mine."
"Perhaps I was just afraid to be left alone," she said with some embarrassment. "I may have been entirely selfish."
"I don't believe that," I remonstrated.
The truth was that I didn't want to believe it. Another implication was far sweeter to me.
"Anyhow," remarked Duare, "we found out what made the trail up the escarpment."
"And that our beautiful valley may not be as secure as it looks," I added.
"But the creature was going out of the valley up into the forest," she argued. "That is probably where it lived."
"However, we had best be on our guard constantly."
"And now you have no spear; and that is a real loss, for it is because of the spear that you are alive."
"Down there a little way," I indicated, pointing, "is a winding strip of wood that seems to be following the meanderings of a stream. There we can find material for another spear and also water. I am as dry as a bone."
"So am I," said Duare, "and hungry too. Perhaps you can kill another basto."
I laughed. "This time I shall make you a spear and a bow and arrows, too. From what you have already done, you seem to be better able to kill bastos than I."
Leisurely we walked toward the wood, which was about a mile away, through soft grass of a pale violet hue. Flowers grew in profusion on every hand. There were purple flowers and blue and pale yellow; and their foliage, like the blossoms, was strange and unearthly. There were flowers and leaves of colors that have no name, colors such as no earthly eye had ever seen before.
Such things bear in upon me the strange isolation of our senses. Each sense lives in a world of its own, and though it lives a lifetime with its fellow senses it knows nothing of their worlds.
My eyes see a color; but my fingers, my ears, my nose, my palate may never know that color. I cannot even describe it so that any of your senses may perceive it as I perceive it, if it is a new color that you have never seen. Even less well might I describe an odor or a flavor or the feel of some strange substance.
Only by comparison might I make you see the landscape that stretched before our eyes, and there is nothing in your world with which I may compare it—the glowing fog bank overhead, the pale, soft pastels of field and forest and distant misty mountains—no dense shadows and no highlights—strange and beautiful and weird—intriguing, provocative, compelling, always beckoning one on to further investigation, to new adventure.
All about us the plain between the escarpment and the forest was dotted with trees; and, lying beneath them or grazing in the open, were animals that were entirely new to my experience either here or on Earth. That several distinct families and numerous genera were represented was apparent to even a cursory survey.
Some were large and cumbersome, others were small and dainty. All were too far away for me to note them in detail; and for that I was glad, for I guessed that among that array of wild beasts there must be some at least which might prove dangerous to man. But, like all animals except hungry carnivores and men, they showed no disposition to attack us so long as we did not interfere with them or approach them too closely.
* * * * *
"I see that we shall not go hungry here," remarked Duare.
"I hope some of those little fellows are good to eat," I laughed.
"I am sure that big one under the tree is delicious; the one looking at us," and she pointed to an enormous, shaggy creature as large as an elephant. Duare had a sense of humor.
"Possibly it entertains the same idea concerning us," I suggested; "here it comes!"
The huge beast was walking toward us. The forest was still a hundred yards away.
"Shall we run?" asked Duare.
"I am afraid that would be fatal. You know, it is almost instinctive for a beast to pursue any creature that runs away from it. I think the best course for us to follow is to continue steadily toward the forest without seeming haste. If the thing does not increase its speed we shall reach the trees ahead of it; if we run for it the chances are that it will overtake us, for of all created things mankind seems to be about the slowest."
As we proceeded, we constantly cast backward glances at the shaggy menace trailing us. He lumbered along, exhibiting no signs of excitement; but his long strides were eating up the distance between us. I saw that he would overtake us before we reached the forest. I felt utterly helpless, with my puny bow and my tiny arrows, before this towering mountain of muscle.
"Quicken your pace a little, Duare," I directed.
She did as I bid, but after a few steps she glanced back. "Why don't you come, too?" she demanded.
"Don't argue," I snapped a little shortly. "Do as I bid you."
She stopped and waited for me. "I shall do as I please," she informed me, "and it does not please me to let you make this sacrifice for me. If you are to be killed, I shall be killed with you. Furthermore, Carson Napier, please remember that I am the daughter of a jong and am not accustomed to being ordered about."
"If there were not more pressing matters to occupy me I would spank you," I growled.
She looked at me, horrified; then she stamped one little foot in rage and commenced to cry. "You take advantage of me because there is no one to protect me," she sputtered. "I hate you, you—you—"
"But I am trying to protect you, Duare; and you are only making it harder for me."
"I don't want any of your protection; I would rather be dead. It is more honorable to be dead than to be talked to like that—I am the daughter of a jong."
"I think you have mentioned that several times before," I said, coldly.
She threw up her head and walked stiffly on without looking back at me. Even her little shoulders and back radiated offended dignity and stifled rage.
I glanced behind me. The mighty beast was scarce fifty feet away; ahead of us the forest was about the same distance. Duare could not see me. I stopped and faced the colossus. By the time it had dispatched me, Duare would probably be close to the safety of the branches of the nearest tree.
I held my bow in one hand, but my arrows remained in the crude quiver I had fashioned to hold them behind my right shoulder. I had sense enough to realize that the only effect they might have upon this mountain of hairy sinew would be to enrage it.