But then I saw the cause.
I had not seen it happen, but one of the Yathoon chieftains had loosed a shaft against my winged and monstrous steed.
The war bows of the Yathoon Horde are terrible engines of murderous might. They are far bigger and stronger than terrene bows, and can drive the deadly three-foot-long arrows for hundreds of yards with unerring accuracy. Something in the peculiar muscular construction of the solemn arthropods makes them master archers: in this particular warrior art they far surpass their human brothers.
A scarlet arrow transfixed the scull of the ghastozar.
Eyes glazed, bloody froth bubbling from gaping jaws, the monster sagged towards the ground with a dizzying lurch.
Even so terrible an injury might not have slain the ghastozar at once, had it not been for the dread venom wherewith the Yathoon warriors anoint their arrows.
It is a nerve poison which attacks the major ganglia of the brain and nervous system with frightful speed. A human, or ;mother Yathoon, struck or even nicked by these poisoned shafts will collapse in a fraction of a second. But the monster reptile, with its sluggish little brain, had managed to sustain its flight and to remain aloft for perhaps ten minutes.
But it could do so no longer.
Folding its vast wings, the dying reptile fell like a plummet. I sprang clear just before it struck the surface of the plains with a sickening impact and the crunch and snap of breaking bones.
I owe my continued existence in this life to two chance factors. One was that we were flying only thirty or forty feet above the ground when the ghastozar fell. The other was that the plain was carpeted in a thick, springy growth of long, thick grasses which broke my fall and cushioned me against the impact. As it was, however, I was stunned and groggy and lay sprawled on the ground for a moment before I was able to stagger to my feet.
The world swam about me in dizzy circles. I was lame in every muscle; covered with bruises; and half shaken out of my wits.
However―I yet lived!
I had not thought to elude death for long, mounted on the back of the maddened and ravenous pterodactyl. Chance or luck or inscrutable fate had once again preserved me from certain death. I forced a grin. I didn’t mind being the darling of the gods, but I wished they didn’t play so roughly with their toys!
The thud of clawed feet drumming against the turf roused me from my stupor. I looked up to see the Yathoon party advancing rapidly towards me. The foremost warrior, an immense creature who must have stood nine feet tall, still had his bow strung and a second scarlet arrow, its bladed barb smeared with nerve poison, nocked and ready to let fly at my breast.
I held my hands well away from my weapons, as the nomad warriors came up to me, circled about me, and halted. They formed a great open ring, with myself at the center.
They were armed with huge spears, tufted with feathers, twelve feet from bronze-shod butt to wickedly barbed point; with deadly eight-foot-long whip swords, whereof the Yathoon are undisputed masters; and with bows and arrows.
And I had only the rapier which Ergon had taken from the guards.
Thirteen fully armed Yathoon savages to one lone human warrior: it was not the fairest of odds. I did not even have a fighting chance. I pride myself on being a master swordsman, and I have been told that I am one of the finest men with the blade on this planet.
But I didn’t really have a chance of defending myself. And on such occasions I have found it wisest to yield to overwhelming numbers in a grimly philosophical way, hoping for a chance to escape later on.
This is not really a question of bravery, but one of commonsense. On the one hand lay certain death, on the other an unknown future. Who could say what opportunities for escape or rescue that future might hold?
So I surrendered and let them strip me of my weapon.
But I didn’t like doing it. Surrender, even against insurmountable odds, always rankles.
I was now at the whim of the Yathoon chieftain. Or such I assumed him to be, from the richness of his weapons and accouterments and the servile, obsequious manner in which the others treated him.
He sat in the saddle, scarlet arrow nocked and pointed at my breast, and red murder was in his inscrutable jeweled eyes.
His chitinous visage was unreadable, his black crystalline eyes held no emotion. Then, after a moment, he lowered the bow and relaxed the tension in the bowstring.
“What manner of creature are you?” asked Borak the Yathoon.
Chapter 10
I Become a Possession
There was nothing else to do, so I decided . to put a bold front on the situation. I faced him squarely, arms folded upon my breast, now that his underlings had disarmed me.
“I am a warrior, and a chieftain like yourself,” I said calmly.
He eyed me solemnly.
“That well may be,” he said in his harsh metallic voice. “But never in all my days have I set eyes upon a being such as yourself, with such odd colorations of eyes and hair and hue of skin.”
He was quite right, of course. With my straw-blond hair, the clear blue eyes of my Danish mother, and my fair skin which had borne a rich tan from the daylight of Callisto, I am unique among all the peoples of this world. I continued to put a bold front on it, however, and dissembled without seeming to do so.
“I am a stranger from a far-off land,” I said, “and, so far as I know, I am the first member of my race to penetrate into these regions.”
He absorbed this in a ruminative silence. Of course, I had told him nothing more than the strict truth. As the country of my birth was, at that moment, something like 387,930,000 miles away, it could indeed be most aptly described as “far-off.”
“What is your name and your present allegiance?” he demanded tonelessly.
“My name is … Darjan, and I am in the service of Shondakor the Golden,” I replied. I doubt if the Yathoon even noticed my slight hesitation before giving a version of my name which I had previously employed when captured by Perushtarian slavers from Narouk. My reasons for employing a pseudonym are simple. By now the name of Jandar is known the breadth of Thanator as the hero of a thousand daring exploits of valor and conquest. It seemed prudent to adopt a name unknown to any, for I never knew when I might encounter an old enemy who still nursed an ancient grudge.
He absorbed this in thoughtful silence; then―“You are strayed far indeed from the realm you serve,” he muttered. I nodded.
“I am on a mission of great importance for the Princess of my city, and have been unfortunate enough to become lost,” I said.
“How come you ride the ghastozar?” he inquired. “If the warrior legions of the Ku Thad have domesticated the dragon of the skies, I have yet to learn of it.”
I shrugged helplessly.
“Lost and wandering my party was attacked by a hunting ghastozar and I was carried off by the monster. I managed to loosen myself from its claws and climb astride its shoulders and was about to attempt to wound the brute with my sword and bring it down when you accomplished the task for me with your arrow.”
He said nothing. I stood, forcing a pretense of calm self-assurance, although the sweat was trickling down my sides beneath my leather tunic.
Clearing my throat a bit, I said into the silence: “I am very grateful that you have rescued me from the beast, and offer you―the gratitude of Royal Shondakor. If you will permit it, I will now be upon my way, for the message I bear on behalf of the Throne of Shondakor is one of inestimable importance.”
“You mean to traverse the Great Plains afoot and alone?” he asked.
“There is no other way,” I said. “I have no currency wherewith to purchase a mount, and could hardly impose on your kindness and generosity by asking for the loan of a steed.”