The Great Plains of Haratha are aptly named. From the inland sea of Sanmur Laj in the remote west to the Black Mountains of the far east, they dominate the southern half of this jungle Moon from the trackless jungles of the Grand Kumala on the equator to the austral pole itself―at least on the one hemisphere of Thanator known to me and to my companions; for the other side of this world, as I have elsewhere stated, yet remains an unexplored and impenetrable region of mystery.
For many hundreds of korads, then, the plains stretch, league after league of desolate prairie whose long grasses sigh and whisper beneath the winds. But by no means are the Great Plains of Haratha unbroken flatlands, for here and there, like miniature islands amidst an ocean, small clumps of trees break the monotony of the prairie. Generally, these are jaruka trees, which, with their gnarled and knotted black trunks and branches and thick growth of uncanny scarlet foliage, are the most common arboreal flora of the jungle Moon.
Towards one such stand of trees, our limping quarry now directed his faltering flight, hoping, quite obviously, to evade his hunters amidst the heavily overgrown copse.
As we neared the clump of trees in turn, we could not help but notice that even as our snow-white quarry was himself an unusual rarity among his kind, so were the trees among which he sought safe refuge.
That is to say, while the common jaruka tree has a black trunk and scarlet foliage, the copse ahead of us seemed to be made up of an equally unusual arboreal rarity, the sorad tree, which reverses the normal coloration, and boasts jet-black leafage with trunk and branches of curious scarlet wood. This copse in particular, I noted without thinking anything of it at the time, was also unusual in the extreme height of the sorad trees whereof it was composed. Commonly, it is yet a third species, the borath tree, which attains the greater heights; yet these sorads, their massive girth denoting hoary centuries of growth, soared to a stately height such as I have never before seen upon Thanator.
Unerringly did the limping vanth make for the safe refuge of this tall stand of sorad trees.
Unfalteringly did we direct our winded thaptors on its track.
We entered the grove virtually on the heels of the staggering vanth, but the underbrush was so thickly grown that neither Ergon nor Darloona nor I could freely cast our light javelins in an attempt to bring it down.
A narrow glade cut into the heart of the copse. Down its length the white vanth fled―but it was brought up short at the end of this glade, for here a solid wall of century―old sorads rose like a great palisade.
We sprang from our thaptors and advanced on foot as the white vanth turned at bay to face its hunters.
Darloona’s glorious emerald eyes flashed with the excitement of the chase. Her superb bosom rose and fell, pantingly, as she breathed. Poised like a dancing―girl, my Princess confronted the vanth with lifted javelin. Against the gloom of the thick woods, the mighty beast glimmered ghostly white.
And then, like the phantom it so resembled, it vanished!
And in its place stood a small, dwarfed figure, swathed in heavy robes of neutral gray.
A strange little man, placid and plump-faced and smiling, with a butter-yellow skin, a bald head, and cold, slitted eyes of gelid ink-black venom.
Darloona gasped at this astounding apparition. Only a moment before the magnificent white vanth had turned at bay, menacing us with its crown of antlers.
Now it had melted into this air … and, in its place, a dwarfed figure in gray, smiling and enigmatic.
Magic! Or―dream?
Frozen with astonishment, I stood rooted to my tracks, staring at the yellow dwarf.
By my side, burly-chested Ergon glowered, one calloused paw gripping the heft of the great bronze war axe that seldom was far from his side.
“Where did yonder fellow spring from, Jandar?” he growled.
I shrugged. “As well ask, whither vanished the great white vanth we followed,” I said.
“What vanth is that?” He grunted, curiously.
I stared at him, wondering if I had heard correctly.
“The great white vanth that fled before us across the plains,” I said, wondering if we were both mad.
He looked at me in astonishment.
“I saw no vanth,” he said puzzledly, “white or otherwise !”
Darloona and I exchanged a stare of amazement.
“But―I” I started to protest. But my protest was never concluded.
Because just then the weighted nets fell upon us from the branches overhead.
Chapter 2
Kidnaped in the Clouds
It was all done so swiftly that it was over within seconds. A mind of consummate cunning, quite obviously, had spun the web which now entrapped us. But it was accomplished with such bewildering swiftness, that, at the time, I was too busy striving to cope with the mere succession of events to think much about it.
The nets were weighted with heavy stones and bore us to the ground. We sprawled, entangled in the meshes, and before either Ergon or I could free ourselves sufficiently to draw the hunting knives we wore scabbarded at our girdles, a horde of red-skinned men fell upon us from the branches above. They had the scarlet skin of Perushtarians, but their heads were covered with long black hair which they wore woven into a single thick queue down the back of the neck, like Chinamen.
This meant that, whatever they were, they were not Perushtarians, or, at least, not Perushtarians of pure-blooded descent. For the red men of the merchant empire were bald as so many eggs.
At the time, of course, I was too busy struggling against the many hands which clutched at me to worry about modes of hirsute adornment. This struggle, of course, was futile: tangled in the web as I was, I could not free my hands in order to cut my way free or use the sword I wore at my shoulder-baldric. Neither could Ergon, for all his burly strength. Our adversaries were too many in sheer weight of number, and had planned and doubtlessly rehearsed their attack in such wise as to render us helpless and securely trussed in half a minute.
We were disarmed, our wrists securely bound behind our backs with rawhide thongs, gags thrust into our mouths, and it was all accomplished with dazzling speed of execution. Then the squat red men with the thick black queues of plaited hair cut us free of the nets and dragged us to our feet, propelling us across the clearing and into the depths of the woods.
And all this while the yellow dwarf stood watching, a cold gloating smile crinkling his cold black slitted eyes.
In a detached manner, I could not help feeling an abstract sort of admiration for the speed and timing and efficiency with which our capture was accomplished. We were not handled with any particular brutality; neither were any indignities used against my Princess, although she was furious and raging, as was I. At the time, I did not feel any singular fear. Our captors had immobilized and disarmed us with great skill and cunning, but I remained calm and unworried, although I desired nothing more than to be free of my bonds and to get a sword into my hands.
The dispassion wherewith I viewed our present plight may easily be explained. I viewed our predicament, you see, as a temporary one. Not ten minutes behind us rode our true and loyal friends, Luker, Valkar, and Zantor. The master swordsman of Ganatol, the heroic son of Lord Yarrak, and the mightiest champion of the gladiators of Zanadar would be upon the scene in minutes at the most, and against their blades the squat, red-skinned ambushers would be helpless, for all their number. And at the heels of our friends rode a half-company of armed Shondakorian guardsmen.
No―thought I, detachedly―we had nothing to fear. Our position, although humiliating and uncomfortable, was temporary at most. Rescue, freedom, and vengeance rode towards us through the grassy plains with the speed of the wind.