'No,' said Mark. 'Tell me in English. How many years?'
Gordon considered for a moment. 'Perhaps a hundred thousand years.'
'A—what?' Mark blinked.
'Yes, I mean it. The trouble with people like you is that you have such a poor idea of the antiquity of man. I tell you that the pygmies represent one of the oldest living races, and you're staggered by a hundred thousand years. It's a mere flea-bite in natural development. Why, Pilt-down man probably lived three times as long ago as that. The effect of all this Genesis business is to make people believe that nothing ever happened before about 2000 b.c. assure you it did, and it had been happening for a long time.
'Just to cheer you up, I'll admit that there are two bad snags I've struck. One is those Egyptian gods, and the other is these lights.' He glanced up at the roof. 'They've really got me beat—in spite of what I said before—and the containers are more puzzling than the fluid inside them. I don't see how these people, virtually a stone-age race, found out how to make 'em—nor what they're made of, for that matter. In fact, they're the weakest spot in the whole theory, blast them. If it wasn't for the lights, they could never have-'
He stopped suddenly. Mark, looking up, saw that a few white figures had reappeared in the passage mouths. A shout from Smith called everyone to the top of the barrier. A score or so of pygmies emerged, and strung out into a line close to the back wall. Each was carrying something which it was impossible to determine at their distance.
Since there was no longer anything to be gained by surprise, the defenders had no reason to lie low. A volley of stones hurtled towards the dwarfs. The majority fell short, and those, which did not, were so spent that they could easily be dodged.
'No good,' grumbled the man beyond Gordon. 'Better wait till they come on a bit.'
But the pygmies were in no hurry. Each was doing something with the instrument he carried.
'What's their little game?' added the speaker.
A moment later he knew. The pygmies swung their right arms, and a flight of sharp stones whistled through the air. One took him full in the face, toppling him backwards off the wall. Mark, Gordon, and the rest dropped hurriedly to full length behind the parapet.
'Slings. Damn it, why didn't we think of them?' Gordon muttered.
Mark put his eye to his former spyhole. The slings were putting up a barrage which whistled low over his head. Something issuing from the right-hand tunnel caused him to give a whistle of surprise. Gordon risked his head above the edge to see what had caused it; he kept it there until a stone thudded against a trunk unpleasantly close.
'Ingenious devils,' he said, ducking again.
The round head of a mushroom, looking like a huge, unpainted archery target, slowly emerged into their caves. Once in the open, it moved sideways to make room for another following behind it, and slightly forward to allow the slingers to throw over it from their back wall position. The second mushroom head drew out and ranged itself alongside the first. Another followed, and another until a long rank was formed.
The fungi had been felled with particular care not to sever the heads. The trunk was carried by several men, while the round top made an excellent shield for them. When the first rank of portable defences was complete, a second was begun. Not until three such lines had been formed did the advance start. Then they moved forward slowly and deliberately, keeping their formation while the slingmen, acting as artillery, kept up a ceaseless shower of sharp stones.
'They've got the right idea,' said Gordon, with detached admiration. 'Pygmy tanks now in action.'
The opposition to the advance was slight as yet, being confined to a few experimental stones pitched uselessly against the mushroom heads. As the front rank passed the half-way stage, Ed rose to his feet and hurled a stone with all his force. It struck one of the white circles with an audible thud, and embedded itself in the pulpy mass. There was no other result. Ed dropped back with a grunt of disgust. Several others risked the slingmen, and imitated him with as little success; those stones which did not bounce off stayed to stud the white circles with dark flecks. The advance never hesitated.
Smith sent word down the line for clubs to be got ready. It looked like hand-to-hand fighting, for the pygmies would be able to advance under cover to the foot of the wall. So far the defenders had no apprehension of real trouble; their attitude was still an appreciation of the little men's ingenuity. After all, what could the attackers do? Merely attempt to scale the wall; it would be easy enough to push them off.
The advancing ranks increased the angle of the mushroom heads until, when they reached the wall, they were upright, forming a roof upon which missiles rained down. Only three had failed to make the journey, having stopped when their carriers were struck by lucky rather than skilful shots.
Against the wall they stopped. The defenders were unable to see what was taking place, but it was guessed that the facing of mushroom heads was either having footholds cut in it, or being pulled down to expose the more easily climbable trunk ends. A sudden diversion occurred. Mark heard one of their men shout, and saw him pointing to the passages. More figures were entering. They were pallid, like the rest, but taller, and better built.
'Good Lord, they've got the "natives" with 'em,' Gordon murmured.
The slingmen were still in action, so that the 'natives' covered the first few yards at a crouching run, keeping their heads below the line of fire. As they drew nearer they straightened up and increased their pace. An intensified fire from the slingers still kept the defenders behind their parapet. The leading 'natives' rushed across the ground, and climbed upon the rear rank of mushroom heads. It became clear that the pygmies' intentions had been not only to provide shields for themselves, but to make a platform upon which the 'natives' could be brought more nearly to the height of the defenders.
The slingers stopped as the 'natives' climbed and ran on. The defenders rose, hurling a shower of stones. The 'natives' were in great majority, but at severe disadvantage. It was difficult to move fast over the uneven platform, and they were fully exposed at short range. Their only arms were stone knives. Nevertheless, they came on. Before long they were battling with the men at the wall. Mark's stone club rose and fell with the rest. He struck without anger, coolly and shrewdly. He did not seem able to develop a fighting rage against these men. He aimed at the shoulders, content to numb the arms; he had still a feeling that this was a kind of mock battle, part of a great misunderstanding.
They were fighting now all along the line, and most of the men were not using his half-hearted tactics. They fought to kill or maim. Mark supposed that his freshness made the difference; had he been here for years like many of them, he would have known how they felt. Along in the middle of the line he could see Smith hammering away with a short club in each hand, while Ed made flailing sweeps with his mace.
The momentary lull passed as a fresh rush of 'natives' came on. One dodged within Mark's guard, tearing a ragged scrape on his upper arm. It was nothing much; he scarcely felt it, but it served to change his outlook. He began to lay about him in real earnest. Another man caught hold of his club, and tried to wrench it away. Mark's left fist came up with all his strength to the right of the other's jaw. The man reeled awav, and the next comer felt the full weight of the club. The fury of the attack began to slacken; the 'natives' were losing heart or growing less rash. Mark lowered his arm and stood panting, only to square up swiftly as another white figure came charging at him. He swung up his club, but at the same moment the support beneath his left foot fell away, and he tripped. His club was knocked from his hand, and the 'native' bounded over the parapet almost upon him. He fended off a vicious swipe of the stone knife, and caught the man's right wrist. For some seconds the two rolled this way and that in attempts to get the upper hand, then the 'native' suddenly went limp. Mark looked up to see Gordon bending over them.