Small found a tree similar to the one Tarzan had pointed out, climbed high as he could, and looked out over the jungle.
Tarzan would realize late, when it was over, that Usha the wind bad given him a gift, but it had betrayed him as well.
The wind carried the scent of Jean, Hanson's bearers, and their captors to Tarzan, but there were warriors from Ur behind him and their scent was being pushed away, not carried to him by the wind.
They were part of a small party ordered to roam the game trails. If fate was good to the Urs, the trails were traversed not only by game searching for the next meal or water hole, but by humans who could provide the city with slaves, gladiators, and sacrifices.
There were four of the warriors, and they had rambled the trails all day, taking in a wild pig and an antelope They were excited as they returned to Ur. They had been part of the group of warriors who had helped capture Jean and Hanson's bearers. They knew that in the next day or two there would be great sport in the arena. Sacrifices to The Stick That Walks.
Just thinking of The Stick That Walks gave the men cold chills. They had seen it from time to time, when there was an appropriate sacrifice, but no matter how many times they saw it, the next time was as fascinating as the first.
The Stick That Walks was the Undying God of Ur.
The warriors were discussing this as they went along They talked about the number of times they had seen the god, about how it moved, its strange postures. The warriors paused to demonstrate certain postures to one another They put aside their kills, and playfully, imitating The Stick That Walks, clashed and hooked each other with their arms and wrists, kicked short snap kicks at one another's knees.
After a bit, they quit laughing and gathered up, the animal carcasses and started walking faster. It was almost dark. They came to the edge of the jungle and is he clearing where the great road lay. They had a cart parked there, zebras hobbled out, eating grass. And as fate would have it, with the way the wind was blowing, the fact that they had grown silent and Tarzan was preoccupied with following the spoor of Jean and the warriors, he did not notice them at first.
Tarzan was by what remained of an old shed. The shed bad been built as a shade for the warriors of Ur. A place where they might rest before returning to the city after a raid, or a hunting party, but the thatched covering to the shed had long since worn away, and now there were only the posts. Out in a natural meadow of wild grasses, Tarzan observed hobbled zebras eating grass. He con! tell immediately by the way they ignored him that the were domesticated. He knew, too, that this area must not attract many wild animals. Man's spoor was too strong here even if animals like the zebras were easy picking That meant this road was well traveled by humans, an therefore Tarzan concluded there must be a large gathering of humans nearby. It stood to reason that would be the city the Hansons sought. Ur.
Tarzan saw something sticking out of the tall grass near where the zebras grazed. It was a stone fragment, and he went to examine it. It was part of what had once been a wall. At one point, perhaps the city of Ur extended all the way to this point. Or perhaps the city had been moved to a more convenient locale. Perhaps when watering source dried up.
On the stone were strange hieroglyphics. At first glance Tarzan thought they represented men, but on closer examination he saw they showed some sort a sticklike creature in various postures. The postures were familiar to Tarzan. He had seen poses like them When he studied the Chinese fighting arts on the outskirts of Peking under the tutelage of a former Shaolin priest. They were not the exact moves Tarzan had learned, but the hieroglyphics certainly had more than a passing resemblance to the Seven Star Praying Mantis system. Tarzan found this baffling. There were a number of African fighting systems, so why would people in Africa adopt a Chinese system? Could the Chinese have brought their methods here to Africa in ancient times? Possible. but...
Well, now that he studied the stone closer, he realized the system
was not quite Chinese. The moves were reminiscent of Chinese movements, but many of the stances did not appear possible for a human being to form; the human anatomy did not function in that manner.
Tarzan marked the stone up as a mystery that perhaps he could investigate later. Just as he turned from the stone, one of the four warriors took Tarzan into sights and fired an arrow. The arrow shot straight true, traveling so fast it was inevitable that it would find its mark.
Or such would have been the case had Tarzan been any ordinary man, but in the moment the arrow was flung from its bow, the wind shifted, and on it rode the snap of the bowstring, and the scent of the warriors. Tarzan, his ears stuffed with the sound, his nostrils full of the smell of the warriors, turned. Even as the arrow sped to its mark, the ape man, as if snatching a horsefly, seized the arrow in flight, whipped it about in his hand, flung it with all his might back at the warrior who had fired it.
The warrior was not as quick as Tarzan. The arrow struck him in the right eye and came out the back of his head with such ferocity it sent a jagged chunk of skull flying before a stream of blood and gray matter.
The remaining warriors let out yells of surprise, fear, and anger. Clutching their spears, they charged Tarzan.
Tarzan turned sideways, went into a shallow crouch. As the first of his assailants reached him, the warrior leapt high into the air and tossed the spear. Tarzan dodged. The spear slammed deep into the earth beside the ape-man, and as the warrior landed on his feet an tried to draw his sword, Tarzan sprang forward, grabbed the back of the warrior's head with one hand, and slammed his other into the warrior's chin. The motion of jerking and striking broke the man's neck. The bone snapped like a pottery shard beneath a jackboot.
The two remaining warriors attacked simultaneously. They were fast, trained, and very good. But they were not as good as Tarzan. He moved to the outside, letting them run past him. He stuck out his foot and tripped one. The other raced past, perplexed. Where had the man gone? How could he move that fast? Nothing moved that fast.
Tarzan was suddenly behind the confused warrior. His arms locked around the man's throat, and by dropping to one knee, jerking, he snapped the man's neck and back as easily as an ordinary man might snap a pencil.
The warrior he had tripped was on his feet now, and even though he had not lost his spear, he broke off running. He ran toward the old shed. Tarzan picked up on the warrior's spears, took a deep breath, and tossed the weapon.
It was a good toss, but Tarzan's target stumbled slightly, and was saved by luck The spear soared just over his head and smote the ground in front of him. The warrior regained his footing, reached one of the upright shed posts just as Tarzan took hold of another spear.
The warrior peeked out from behind the post. Nearby, the zebras grazed He thought if he could reach one of them he might escape bareback, using his heels to guide the animal.
He paused to consider his plan a moment more, and that was his undoing. Tarzan launched the spear. The warrior, looking around the post, saw the launch, and ducked back out of sight.
The spear struck the post with such impact it shook and split, and the blade passed through the post and the warrior. This was done as neat and clean as if the spear were a hot knife cutting through butter. The man's knees folded and he hung there against the post, supported by the blade of the spear.
Tarzan dragged the bodies out of sight, chose one of the warriors' spears, recovered the bow and arrows from his first assailant, and set about nabbing one of the zebras.
In short time this was done. Using his knees to guide the beast, clutching the mane which he had plaited for a makeshift bridle, Tarzan started off down the road toward Ur, and Jean.
From his perch in the tree, Small could see much of the countryside by the dying red light of the afternoon sun, but he could not see Tarzan. He heard something down below, but he doubted it was Tarzan. Too much noise. It sounded like a hippo coming through the jungle. Birds took to the sky in a flurry, and in the distance monkeys fled through the trees.
Small climbed higher and looked out. Now and then he glimpsed the author of the noise, but couldn't quite make it out. It was moving through the bush and he could see it now and then, but never quite clearly. Whatever it was, it was moving in his direction.
Moments later, he realized what it was. Men. Four of them. The two in front were side by side, the two in back were side by side. He watched carefully. Soon he recognized one of the men. His boss, Hanson. A moment later, he recognized the other two.
"Uh-oh," Small said softly.
Small watched with amazement as the four men came directly toward his tree. It was obvious that Hanson and the black man- probably one of Hanson's bearers- were captive.
Wilson and Cannon had rifles and they were walking with that overbearing manner he had noticed the moment they first stepped into his and Hunt's camp. Self-righteous anger surged through him.
Small concluded that if they kept on the path- and at was likely as everywhere else the jungle was thick with undergrowth- within a few minutes they would ass beneath his tree. He could re main calm, let them go, wait on Tarzan for aid, or he could do something now.
What if Tarzan didn't come back? And there was another thing. If he let these four pass on, and something happened to Tarzan, he wouldn't have any chance, not out here by himself without a gun and supplies. He would be better off to stop Wilson and Cannon, kill them even, toss his lot with Hanson and the other.
And maybe, Small thought, I can borrow some pants here might be some clean clothes in one of the packs, and if not, well, one of the renegades could do without his.
But how could he take two armed men?
Small observed that neither Hanson nor the bearer was tied. Wilson and Cannon obviously felt their rifles were all were needed to keep Hanson and the other in line.
But what if he surprised Wilson and Cannon? They wouldn't expect an attack from above. What if, for a moment their guns were put out of commission? He fell certain that if this were so, if he could provide enough time, a distraction, Hanson and his partner would turn on Wilson and Cannon and help him dispose of them. That would make it three against two, odds in their favor. Add in the element of surprise. . . well, that was like a whole other person.
Four against two.
Small looked about, found a liana he could cling to. It was perfect The path it would follow was perfect. All he had to do was swing on it. Wait until they were in the right spot, then swing.
Taking hold of the liana, freeing it from a limb, Small gave a tug. It felt firm, as if it could hold his weight.
He looked down at the four men.
Could he do it?
Sure, he told himself. Sure, I can.
But, man, what a drop that was. The vine didn't hold he caught a limb . . . bad business.
And the renegades, they've got guns and they don't mind using them in the least
Yeah, but they won't expect me, Small told himself Surprise is on my side.
And if you're off just a little bit...
Don't think about it, Small told himself. Don't think at all. Just do it.
Small took a deep breath and waited.
One...
Two...
Three...
Three and a half...
Oh, goodness, Small thought. This will be something me swinging out of the trees in my underwear. Why have I got to be in my drawers?
Four...
Six ought to do it. I count to six, I'm going.
Five...
Got to do this just right.
SIX!
Small clutched the vine, whispered a prayer, pushed off with his legs, and swung.
SMALL REALIZED TOO late that he had timed incorrectly, and that his vine would reach the ground well in front of Wilson and Cannon. In fact, he swung between Hanson and Billy and one of his legs struck Hanson and knocked him down. Small went twisting, causing him to lose his grip on the vine, and he hit the ground and started to roll.
His roll sent him hurtling against Cannon's legs with enough force to knock him backwards. Cannon hit the ground and lost his grip on the rifle. Small scuttled on top of him and began to use his fist like a hammer, breaking Cannon's nose.
Wilson jumped forward, brought the stock of his rifle down on the back of Small's head knocking him off of Cannon. Billy leapt on Wilson and knocked him backwards. They scuffled for the rifle.
Hanson scrambled to his feet, got hold of Cannon's rifle, wheeled, and yelled, "Stop it!" Wilson quit struggling with Billy, but they both held on to the rifle.
"Give him the rifle," Hanson said to Wilson. "Give it to him, and no tricks."
Wilson reluctantly let Billy have the rifle.
"All right," Hanson said. "The worm has turned."
"Not completely," Cannon said.
Hanson wheeled to cover Cannon, and his heart sank.
Cannon had scooped up the unconscious Small and was holding him under the chin with one hand, lifting his feet off the ground. With the other he had his knife against Small's throat. Blood ran from Cannon's broken nose and over his lips. His breath rattled out of his chest in locomotive blasts.
"I get any trouble," Cannon said, "I give this one another mouth."
Wilson grinned. "You might as well give up, Hanson," he said. "You two aren't up for it. You're hurt, and you haven't got the guts for it."
"We're not giving up anything," Hanson said. "Let him go, fat man."
"Not likely," Cannon said. "Wilson, you come over here."
Wilson got up confidently, started toward Cannon. Billy brought the stock of the captured rifle around quickly and caught Wilson hard enough in the forehead to knock him down again. Wilson raised up on one elbow and rubbed the goose egg that had already appeared on his forehead.
"You sonofabitch," Wilson said.
"Now, now," Billy said. "No use to talk bad. Lay down now so Billy
not have to shoot hole in your head."
Wilson settled back, but his eyes blazed.
Small's eyes blinked open, then went wide when he realized the position he was in.
"Easy," said Cannon to Small, "get nervous, you're likely to get some kind of cut. Hear?"
"I hear," Small said.
"Let him go," Hanson said.
"I let him go, you shoot me," Cannon said.
"You don't, we're going to shoot you," Hanson said. "You let him go, we'll let you live. Tie you up, but let you live."
"I don't think so," Cannon said, and he pressed the knife tight against Small's throat. A necklace of blood appeared on Small's neck, ran onto his bare chest. "I might just cut him anyway. Just for the hell of it. I done had two guys in their underwear give me trouble. The first one, this wild man, Wilson and me, we done him in. This one, he's gonna die too."
"The ape-man is alive," Small said.
"Th' hell he is," Cannon said.
"I was with him earlier today. He is very much alive."
"That cinches it then," Cannon said. "I ain't gonna wait around for him to show up."
With a quick jerk of his wrist, Cannon cut Small's throat, bolted off the trail and into the thickness of the jungle.
Small collapsed as if he were a marionette being gently lowered on strings. He fell to his knees, then backwards, his legs tucked under him as if he were about to be folded and placed in a trunk.
"Small!" Hanson yelled.
Billy fired after Cannon, two quick shots, but the shots were wild and the man darted deeper into the underbrush and out of sight.
Hanson rushed over to Small, dropped the rifle, and tried to hold the cut on Small's throat together with his hands. It was useless. It was too deep. The blood gushed through Hanson's fingers like milk through a sieve.
Small tried to talk, but his voice only gurgled. Hanson lowered his ear to Small's mouth so that he might hear. He thought what he heard Small say was: "Not in my drawers."
Small's body went limp. Hanson lowered him to the ground, gently. Hanson glared at Wilson. He picked up t
he rifle and pointed it at him. Sweat was popping off Hanson's forehead and his teeth were clenched. He could hardly get the words out. "One word. Just one. And I fertilize the dirt with your brains."
Wilson glared, but held his tongue. He had his eyes on Hanson's trigger finger. It was vibrating.
Billy said, "Watch him, Bwana. I get the other one." Billy went into the jungle after Cannon.
Night dipped down full and complete. The moon rose up like a shiny balloon. Hanson sat beside the. body of Small, his rifle pointed at Wilson.
Out in the jungle, in the dark, Billy stalked Cannon.
Earlier, when Jean first heard the movement in the dungeon, without really thinking, she said, "Who's there?"
There was a long moment of silence, then came "Nyama. I am Nyama and soon I die."
Jean squinted into the darkness. Her eyes were adjusting, and she could see the shape of the speaker. A woman.
"You speak English," Jean said.
"Missionaries," Nyama said. "I can read too. And quote Bible verses. You like to hear them?"
"Not just now," Jean said. "Maybe you can teach them to me later.
. . how did you get here? What missionaries? Missionaries to this city?"
"No," Nyama said. "Of course not. I am from the high forest land. One day these people of Ur raided us and I was one of those they stole away. I do not know if any of the others of my people who were brought here are still alive. I think not."
"How long have you been here?"
"I do not know. Long time in the city of Ur. But here, in this place. Not long. Since Kurvandi tired of me."
"Kurvandi?"
"He is the King of Ur. One in a long line of Kurvandis. I was brought here to be one of his wives, and he forced me. . . I made him miserable. Finally, he had me brought here. Soon, I die. But, I had it to do again, I would still make him miserable. I prefer this to his bedchambers. not like to be treated like a breeding cow. You are lucky he did not like your looks."