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I Stellara
II Disaster
III Amiocap
IV Letari
V The Tandor Hunter
VI The Island of Love
VII “Korsars!”
VIII Mow
IX Love and Treachery
X Pursuit
XI Gura
XII “I Hate You!”
XIII Prisoners
XIV Two Suns
XV Madness
XVI The Darkness Beyond
XVII Down to the Sea
Conclusion
PROLOGUE

Jason Gridley is a radio bug. Had he not been, this story never would have been written. Jason is twenty-three and scandalously good looking—too good looking to be a bug of any sort. As a matter of fact, he does not seem buggish at all—just a normal, sane, young American, who knows a great deal about many things in addition to radio; aeronautics, for example, and golf, and tennis, and polo.

But this is not Jason’s story—he is only an incident—an important incident in my life that made this story possible, and so, with a few more words of explanation, we shall leave Jason to his tubes and waves and amplifiers, concerning which he knows everything and I nothing.

Jason is an orphan with an income, and after he graduated from Stanford, he came down and bought a couple of acres at Tarzana, and that is how and when I met him.

While he was building he made my office his headquarters and was often in my study and afterward I returned the compliment by visiting him in his new “lab,” as he calls it—a quite large room at the rear of his home, a quiet, restful room in a quiet, restful house of the Spanish-American farm type—or we rode together in the Santa Monica Mountains in the cool air of early morning.

Jason is experimenting with some new principle of radio concerning which the less I say the better it will be for my reputation, since I know nothing whatsoever about it and am likely never to.

Perhaps I am too old, perhaps I am too dumb, perhaps I am just not interested—I prefer to ascribe my abysmal and persistent ignorance of all things pertaining to radio to the last state; that of disinterestedness; it salves my pride.

I do know this, however, because Jason has told me, that the idea he is playing with suggests an entirely new and unsuspected—well, let us call it wave.

He says the idea was suggested to him by the vagaries of static and in groping around in search of some device to eliminate this he discovered in the ether an undercurrent that operated according to no previously known scientific laws.

At his Tarzana home he has erected a station and a few miles away, at the back of my ranch, another. Between these stations we talk to one another through some strange, ethereal medium that seems to pass through all other waves and all other stations, unsuspected and entirely harmless—so harmless is it that it has not the slightest effect upon Jason’s regular set, standing in the same room and receiving over the same aerial.

But this, which is not very interesting to any one except Jason, is all by the way of getting to the beginning of the amazing narrative of the adventures of Tanar of Pellucidar.

Jason and I were sitting in his “lab” one evening discussing, as we often did, innumerable subjects, from “cabbages to kings,” and coming back, as Jason usually did, to the Gridley wave, which is what we have named it.

Much of the time Jason kept on his ear phones, than which there is no greater discourager of conversation. But this does not irk me as much as most of the conversations one has to listen to through life. I like long silences and my own thoughts.

Presently, Jason removed the headpiece. “It is enough to drive a fellow to drink!” he exclaimed.

“What?” I asked.

“I am getting that same stuff again,” he said. “I can hear voices, very faintly, but, unmistakably, human voices. They, are speaking a language unknown to man. It is maddening.”

“Mars, perhaps,” I suggested, “or Venus.”

He knitted his brows and then suddenly smiled one of his quick smiles. “Or Pellucidar.”

I shrugged.

“Do you know, Admiral,” he said (he calls me Admiral because of a yachting cap I wear at the beach), “that when I was a kid I used to believe every word of those crazy stories of yours about Mars and Pellucidar. The inner world at the earth’s core was as real to me as the High Sierras, the San Joaquin Valley, or the Golden Gate, and I felt that I knew the twin cities of Helium better than I did Los Angeles.

“I saw nothing improbable at all in that trip of David Innes and old man Perry through the earth’s crust to Pellucidar. Yes, sir, that was all gospel to me when I was a kid.”

“And now you are twenty-three and know that it can’t be true,” I said, with a smile.

“You are trying to tell me it is true, are you?” he demanded, laughing.

“I never have told any one that it is true,” I replied; “I let people think what they think, but I reserve the right to do likewise.”

“Why, you know perfectly well that it would be impossible for that iron mole of Perry’s to have penetrated five hundred miles of the earth’s crust, you know there is no inner world peopled by strange reptiles and men of the stone age, you know there is no Emperor of Pellucidar.” Jason was becoming excited, but his sense of humor came to our rescue and he laughed.

“I like to believe that there is a Dian the Beautiful,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but I am sorry you killed off Hooja the Sly One. He was a corking villain.”

“There are always plenty of villains,” I reminded him.

“They help the girls to keep their ‘figgers’ and their school girl complexions,” he said.

“How?” I asked.

“The exercise they get from being pursued.”

“You are making fun of me,” I reproached him, “but remember, please, that I am but a simple historian. If damsels flee and villains pursue I must truthfully record the fact.”

“Baloney!” he exclaimed in the pure university English of America.

Jason replaced his headpiece and I returned to the perusal of the narrative of an ancient liar, who should have made a fortune out of the credulity of book readers, but seems not to have. Thus we sat for some time.

Presently Jason removed his ear phones and turned toward me. “I was getting music,” he said; “strange, weird music, and then suddenly there came loud shouts and it seemed that I could hear blows struck and there were screams and the sound of shots.”

“Perry, you know, was experimenting with gunpowder down there below, in Pellucidar,” I reminded Jason, with a grin; but he was inclined to be serious and did not respond in kind.

“You know, of course,” he said, “that there really has been a theory of an inner world for many years.”

“Yes,” I replied, “I have read works expounding and defending such a theory.”

“It supposes polar openings leading into the interior of the earth,” said Jason.

“And it is substantiated by many seemingly irrefutable scientific facts,” I reminded him—“open polar sea, warmer water farthest north, tropical vegetation floating southward from the polar regions, the northern lights, the magnetic pole, the persistent stories of the Eskimos that they are descended from a race that came from a warm country far to the north.”

“I’d like to make a try for one of the polar openings,” mused Jason as he replaced the ear phones.

Again there was a long silence, broken at last by a sharp exclamation from Jason. He pushed an extra headpiece toward me.

“Listen!” he exclaimed.

As I adjusted the ear phones I heard that which we had never before received on the Gridley wave—code! No wonder that Jason Gridley was excited, since there was no station on earth, other than his own, attuned to the Gridley wave.

Code! What could it mean? I was torn by conflicting emotions—to tear off the ear phones and discuss this amazing thing with Jason, and to keep them on and listen.

I am not what one might call an expert in the intricacies of code, but I had no difficulty in understanding the simple signal of two letters, repeated in groups of three, with a pause after each group: “D.I., D.I., D.I.,” pause; “D.I., D.I., D.I.,” pause.

I glanced up at Jason. His eyes, filled with puzzled questioning, met mine, as though to ask, what does it mean?

The signals ceased and Jason touched his own key, sending his initials, “J.G., J.G., J.G.” in the same grouping that we had received the D.I. signal. Almost instantly he was interrupted—you could feel the excitement of the sender.

“D.I., D.I., D.I., Pellucidar,” rattled against our ear-drums like machine gun fire. Jason and I sat in dumb amazement, staring at one another.

“It is a hoax!” I exclaimed, and Jason, reading my lips, shook his head.

“How can it be a hoax?” he asked. “There is no other station on earth equipped to send or to receive over the Gridley wave, so there can be no means of perpetrating such a hoax.”

Our mysterious station was on the air again! “If you get this, repeat my signal,” and he signed off with “D.I., D.I., D.I.”

“That would be David Innes,” mused Jason.

“Emperor of Pellucidar,” I added.

Jason sent the message, “D.I., D.I., D.I.,” followed by, “what station is this,” and “who is sending?”

“This is the Imperial Observatory at Greenwich, Pellucidar; Abner Perry sending. Who are you?”

“This is the private experimental laboratory of Jason Gridley, Tarzana, California; Gridley sending,” replied Jason.

“I want to get into communication with Edgar Rice Burroughs; do you know him?”

“He is sitting here, listening in with me,” replied Jason.

“Thank God, if that is true, but how am I to know that it is true?” demanded Perry.

I hastily scribbled a note to Jason: “Ask him if he recalls the fire in his first gunpowder factory and that the building would have been destroyed had they not extinguished the fire by shoveling his gunpowder onto it?”

Jason grinned as he read the note, and sent it.

“It was unkind of David to tell of that,” came back the reply, “but now I know that Burroughs is indeed there, as only he could have known of that incident. I have a long message for him. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” replied Jason.

“Then stand by.”

And this is the message that Abner Perry sent from the bowels of the earth; from The Empire of Pellucidar.
INTRODUCTION

It must be some fifteen years since David Innes and I broke through the inner surface of the earth’s crust and emerged into savage Pellucidar, but when a stationary sun hangs eternally at high noon and there is no restless moon and there are no stars, time is measureless and so it may have been a hundred years ago or one. Who knows?

Of course, since David returned to earth and brought back many of the blessings of civilization we have had the means to measure time, but the people did not like it. They found that it put restrictions and limitations upon them that they never had felt before and they came to hate it and ignore it until David, in the goodness of his heart, issued an edict abolishing time in Pellucidar.

It seemed a backward step to me, but I am resigned now, and, perhaps, happier, for when all is said and done, time is a hard master, as you of the outer world, who are slaves of the sun, would be forced to admit were you to give the matter thought.

Here, in Pellucidar, we eat when we are hungry, we sleep when we are tired, we set out upon journeys when we leave and we arrive at our destinations when we get there; nor are we old because the earth has circled the sun seventy times since our birth, for we do not know that this has occurred.

Perhaps I have been here fifteen years, but what matter. When I came I knew nothing of radio—my researches and studies were along other lines—but when David came back from the outer world he brought many scientific works and from these I learned all that I know of radio, which has been enough to permit me to erect two successful stations; one here at Greenwich and one at the capital of The Empire of Pellucidar.

But, try as I would, I never could get anything from the outer world, and after a while I gave up trying, convinced that the earth’s crust was impervious to radio.

In fact we used our stations but seldom, for, after all, Pellucidar is only commencing to emerge from the stone age, and in the economy of the stone age there seems to be no crying need for radio.

But sometimes I played with it and upon several occasions I thought that I heard voices and other sounds that were not of Pellucidar. They were too faint to be more than vague suggestions of intriguing possibilities, but yet they did suggest something most alluring, and so I set myself to making changes and adjustments until this wonderful thing that has happened but now was made possible.

And my delight in being able to talk with you is second only to my relief in being able to appeal to you for help. David is in trouble. He is a captive in the north, or what he and I call north, for there are no points of compass known to Pellucidarians.

I have heard from him, however. He has sent me a message and in it he suggests a startling theory that would make aid from the outer crust possible if—but first let me tell you the whole story; the story of the disaster that befell David Innes and what led up to it and then you will be in a better position to judge as to the practicability of sending succor to David from the outer crust.

The whole thing dates from our victories over the Mahars, the once dominant race of Pellucidar. When, with our well organized armies, equipped with firearms and other weapons unknown to the Mahars or their gorilla-like mercenaries, the Sagoths, we defeated the reptilian monsters and drove their slimy hordes from the confines of The Empire, the human race of the inner world for the first time in its history took its rightful place among the orders of creation.

But our victories laid the foundation for the disaster that has overwhelmed us.

For a while there was no Mahar within the boundaries of any of the kingdoms that constitute The Empire of Pellucidar; but presently we had word of them here and there—small parties living upon the shores of sea or lake far from the haunts of man.

They gave us no trouble—their old power had crumbled beyond recall; their Sagoths were now numbered among the regiments of The Empire; the Mahars had no longer the means to harm us; yet we did not want them among us. They are eaters of human flesh and we had no assurance that lone hunters would be safe from their voracious appetites.

We wanted them to be gone and so David sent a force against them, but with orders to treat with them first and attempt to persuade them to leave The Empire peacefully rather than embroil themselves in another war that might mean total extermination.

Sagoths accompanied the expedition, for they alone of all the creatures of Pellucidar can converse in the sixth sense, fourth dimension language of the Mahars.

The story that the expedition brought back was rather pitiful and aroused David’s sympathies, as stories of persecution and unhappiness always do.

After the Mahars had been driven from The Empire they had sought a haven where they might live in peace. They assured us that they had accepted the inevitable in a spirit of philosophy and entertained no thoughts of renewing their warfare against the human race or in any way attempting to win back their lost ascendancy.

Far away upon the shores of a mighty ocean, where there were no signs of man, they settled in peace, but their peace was not for long.

A great ship came, reminding the Mahars of the first ships they had seen—the ships that David and I had built—the first ships, as far as we knew, that ever had sailed the silent seas of Pellucidar.

Naturally it was a surprise to us to learn that there was a race within the inner world sufficiently far advanced to be able to build ships, but there was another surprise in store for us. The Mahars assured us that these people possessed firearms and that because of their ships and their firearms they were fully as formidable as we and they were much more ferocious; killing for the pure sport of slaughter.

After the first ship had sailed away the Mahars thought they might be allowed to live in peace, but this dream was short lived, as presently the first ship returned and with it were many others manned by thousands of bloodthirsty enemies against whose weapons the great reptiles had little or no defense.

Seeking only escape from man, the Mahars left their new home and moved back a short distance toward The Empire, but now their enemies seemed bent only upon persecution; they hunted them, and when they found them the Mahars were again forced to fall back before the ferocity of their continued attacks.

Eventually they took refuge within the boundaries of The Empire, and scarcely had David’s expedition to them returned with its report when we had definite proof of the veracity of their tale through messages from our northernmost frontier bearing stories of invasion by a strange, savage race of white men.

Frantic was the message from Goork, King of Thuria, whose far-flung frontier stretches beyond the Land of Awful Shadow.

Some of his hunters had been surprised and all but a few killed or captured by the invaders.

He had sent warriors, then, against them, but these, too, had met a like fate, being greatly outnumbered, and so he sent a runner to David begging the Emperor to rush troops to his aid.

Scarcely had the first runner arrived when another came, bearing tidings of the capture and sack of the principal town of the Kingdom of Thuria; and then a third arrived from the commander of the invaders demanding that David come with tribute or they would destroy his country and slay the prisoners they held as hostages.

In reply David dispatched Tanar, son of Ghak, to demand the release of all prisoners and the departure of the invaders.

Immediately runners were sent to the nearest kingdoms of The Empire and ere Tanar had reached the Land of Awful Shadow, ten thousand warriors were marching along the same trail to enforce the demands of the Emperor and drive the savage foe from Pellucidar.

As David approached the Land of Awful Shadow that lies beneath Pellucidar’s mysterious satellite, a great column of smoke was observable in the horizonless distance ahead.

It was not necessary to urge the tireless warriors to greater speed, for all who saw guessed that the invaders had taken another village and put it to the torch.

And then came the refugees—women and children only—and behind them a thin line of warriors striving to hold back swarthy, bearded strangers, armed with strange weapons that resembled ancient harquebuses with bell-shaped muzzles—huge, unwieldy things that belched smoke and flame and stones and bits of metal.

That the Pellucidarians, outnumbered ten to one, were able to hold back their savage foes at all was due to the more modern firearms that David and I had taught them to make and use.

Perhaps half the warriors of Thuria were armed with these and they were all that saved them from absolute rout, and, perhaps, total annihilation.

Loud were the shouts of joy when the first of the refugees discovered and recognized the force that had come to their delivery.

Goork and his people had been wavering in allegiance to The Empire, as were several other distant kingdoms, but I believe that this practical demonstration of the value of the Federation ended their doubts forever and left the people of the Land of Awful Shadow and their king the most loyal subjects that David possessed.

The effect upon the enemy of the appearance of ten thousand well-armed warriors was quickly apparent. They halted, and, as we advanced, they withdrew, but though they retreated they gave us a good fight.

David learned from Goork that Tanar had been retained as a hostage, but though he made several attempts to open negotiations with the enemy for the purpose of exchanging some prisoners that had fallen into our hands, for Tanar and other Pellucidarians, he never was able to do so.

Our forces drove the invaders far beyond the limits of The Empire to the shores of a distant sea, where, with difficulty and the loss of many men, they at last succeeded in embarking their depleted forces on ships that were as archaic in design as were their ancient harquebuses.

These ships rose to exaggerated heights at stern and bow, the sterns being built up in several stories, or housed decks, one atop another. There was much carving in seemingly intricate designs everywhere above the water line and each ship carried at her prow a figurehead painted, like the balance of the ship, in gaudy colors—usually a life size or a heroic figure of a naked woman or a mermaid.

The men themselves were equally bizarre and colorful, wearing gay cloths about their heads, wide sashes of bright colors and huge boots with flapping tops—those that were not half naked and barefoot.

Besides their harquebuses they carried huge pistols and knives stuck in their belts and at their hips were cutlasses. Altogether, with their bushy whiskers and fierce faces, they were at once a bad looking and a picturesque lot.

From some of the last prisoners he took during the fighting at the seashore, David learned that Tanar was still alive and that the chief of the invaders had determined to take him home with him in the hope that he could learn from Tanar the secrets of our superior weapons and gunpowder, for, notwithstanding my first failures, I had, and not without some pride, finally achieved a gunpowder that would not only burn, but that would ignite with such force as to be quite satisfactory. I am now perfecting a noiseless, smokeless powder, though honesty compels me to confess that my first experiments have not been entirely what I had hoped they might be, the first batch detonated having nearly broken my ear-drums and so filled my eyes with smoke that I thought I had been blinded.

When David saw the enemy ships sailing away with Tanar he was sick with grief, for Tanar always has been an especial favorite of the Emperor and his gracious Empress, Dian the Beautiful. He was like a son to them.

We had no ships upon this sea and David could not follow with his army; neither, being David, could he abandon the son of his best friend to a savage enemy before he had exhausted every resource at his command in an effort toward rescue.

In addition to the prisoners that had fallen into his hands David had captured one of the small boats that the enemy had used in embarking his forces, and this it was that suggested to David the mad scheme upon which he embarked.

The boat was about sixteen feet long and was equipped with both oars and a sail. It was broad of beam and had every appearance of being staunch and seaworthy, though pitifully small in which to face the dangers of an unknown sea, peopled, as are all the waters of Pellucidar, with huge monsters possessing short tempers and long appetites.

Standing upon the shore, gazing after the diminishing outlines of the departing ships, David reached his decision. Surrounding him were the captains and the kings of the Federated Kingdoms of Pellucidar and behind these ten thousand warriors, leaning upon their arms. To one side the sullen prisoners, heavily guarded, gazed after their departing comrades, with what sensations of hopelessness and envy one may guess.

David turned toward his people. “Those departing ships have borne away Tanar, the son of Ghak, and perhaps a score more of the young men of Pellucidar. It is beyond reason to expect that the enemy ever will bring our comrades back to us, but it is easy to imagine the treatment they will receive at the hands of this savage, bloodthirsty race.

“We may not abandon them while a single avenue of pursuit remains open to us. Here is that avenue.” He waved his hand across the broad ocean. “And here the means of traversing it.” He pointed to the small boat.

“It would carry scarce twenty men,” cried one, who stood near the Emperor.

“It need carry but three,” replied David, “for it will sail to rescue, not by force, but by strategy; or perhaps only to locate the stronghold of the enemy, that we may return and lead a sufficient force upon it to overwhelm it.”

“I shall go,” concluded the Emperor. “Who will accompany me?”

Instantly every man within hearing of his voice, saving the prisoners only, flashed a weapon above his head and pressed forward to offer his services. David smiled.

“I knew as much,” he said, “but I cannot take you all. I shall need only one and that shall be Ja of Anoroc, the greatest sailor of Pellucidar.”

A great shout arose, for Ja, the King of Anoroc, who is also the chief officer of the navy of Pellucidar, is vastly popular throughout The Empire, and, though all were disappointed in not being chosen, yet they appreciated the wisdom of David’s selection.

“But two is too small a number to hope for success,” argued Ghak, “and I, the father of Tanar, should be permitted to accompany you.”

“Numbers, such as we might crowd in that little boat, would avail us nothing,” replied David, “so why risk a single additional life? If twenty could pass through the unknown dangers that lie ahead of us, two may do the same, while with fewer men we can carry a far greater supply of food and water against the unguessed extent of the great sea that we face and the periods of calm and the long search.”

“But two are too few to man the boat,” expostulated another, “and Ghak is right—the father of Tanar should be among his rescuers.”

“Ghak is needed by The Empire,” replied David. “He must remain to command the armies for the Empress until I return, but there shall be a third who will embark with us.”

“Who?” demanded Ghak.

“One of the prisoners,” replied David. “For his freedom we should readily find one willing to guide us to the country of the enemy.”

Nor was this difficult since every prisoner volunteered when the proposal was submitted to them.

David chose a young fellow who said his name was Fitt and who seemed to possess a more open and honest countenance than any of his companions.

And then came the provisioning of the boat. Bladders were filled with fresh water, and quantities of corn and dried fish and jerked meat, as well as vegetables and fruits, were packed into other bladders, and all were stored in the boat until it seemed that she might carry no more. For three men the supplies might have been adequate for a year’s voyage upon the outer crust, where time enters into all calculations.

The prisoner, Fitt, who was to accompany David and Ja, assured David that one fourth the quantity of supplies would be ample and that there were points along the route they might take where their water supply could be replenished and where game abounded, as well as native fruits, nuts and vegetables, but David would not cut down by a single ounce the supplies that he had decided upon.

As the three were about to embark David had a last word with Ghak.

“You have seen the size and the armament of the enemy ships, Ghak,” he said. “My last injunction to you is to build at once a fleet that can cope successfully with these great ships of the enemy and while the fleet is building—and it must be built upon the shores of this sea—send expeditions forth to search for a waterway from this ocean to our own. Can you find it, all of our ships can be utilized and the building of the greater navy accelerated by utilizing the shipyards of Anoroc.

“When you have completed and manned fifty ships set forth to our rescue if we have not returned by then. Do not destroy these prisoners, but preserve them well for they alone can guide you to their country.”

And then David I, Emperor of Pellucidar, and Ja, King of Anoroc, with the prisoner, Fitt, boarded the tiny boat; friendly hands pushed them out upon the long, oily swells of a Pellucidarian sea; ten thousand throats cheered them upon their way and ten thousand pairs of eyes watched them until they had melted into the mist of the upcurving, horizonless distance of a Pellucidarian seascape.

David had departed upon a vain but glorious adventure, and, in the distant capital of The Empire, Dian the Beautiful would be weeping.
I

STELLARA

The great ship trembled to the recoil of the cannon; the rattle of musketry. The roar of the guns aboard her sister ships and the roar of her own were deafening. Below decks the air was acrid with the fumes of burnt powder.

Tanar of Pellucidar, chained below with other prisoners, heard these sounds and smelled the smoke. He heard the rattle of the anchor chain; he felt the straining of the mast to which his shackles were bent and the altered motion of the hull told him that the ship was under way.

Presently the firing ceased and the regular rising and falling of the ship betokened that it was on its course. In the darkness of the hold Tanar could see nothing. Sometimes the prisoners spoke to one another, but their thoughts were not happy ones, and so, for the most part, they remained silent—waiting. For what?

They grew very hungry and very thirsty. By this they knew that the ship was far at sea. They knew nothing of time. They only knew that they were hungry and thirsty and that the ship should be far at sea—far out upon an unknown sea, setting its course for an unknown port.

Presently a hatch was raised and men came with food and water—poor, rough food and water that smelled badly and tasted worse; but it was water and they were thirsty.

One of the men said: “Where is he who is called Tanar?”

“I am Tanar,” replied the son of Ghak.

“You are wanted on deck,” said the man, and with a huge key he unlocked the massive, hand-wrought lock that held Tanar chained to the mast. “Follow me!”

The bright light of Pellucidar’s perpetual day blinded the Sarian as he clambered to the deck from the dark hole in which he had been confined and it was a full minute before his eyes could endure the light, but his guard hustled him roughly along and Tanar was already stumbling up the long stairs leading to the high deck at the ship’s stern before he regained the use of his eyes.

As he mounted the highest deck he saw the chiefs of the Korsar horde assembled and with them were two women. One appeared elderly and ill favored, but the other was young and beautiful, but for neither did Tanar have any eyes—he was interested only in the enemy men, for these he could fight, these he might kill, which was the sole interest that an enemy could hold for Tanar, the Sarian, and being what he was Tanar could not fight women, not even enemy women; but he could ignore them, and did.

He was led before a huge fellow whose bushy whiskers almost hid his face—a great, blustering fellow with a scarlet scarf bound about his head. But for an embroidered, sleeveless jacket, open at the front, the man was naked above the waist, about which was wound another gaudy sash into which were stuck two pistols and as many long knives, while at his side dangled a cutlass, the hilt of which was richly ornamented with inlays of pearl and semi-precious stones.

A mighty man was The Cid, chief of the Korsars—a burly, blustering, bully of a man, whose position among the rough and quarrelsome Korsars might be maintained only by such as he.

Surrounding him upon the high poop of his ship was a company of beefy ruffians of similar mold, while far below, in the waist of the vessel, a throng of lesser cutthroats, the common sailors, escaped from the dangers and demands of an arduous campaign, relaxed according to their various whims.

Stark brutes were most of these, naked but for shorts and the inevitable gaudy sashes and head cloths—an unlovely company, yet picturesque.

At The Cid’s side stood a younger man who well could boast as hideous a countenance as any sun ever shone upon, for across a face that might have taxed even a mother’s love, ran a repulsive scar from above the left eye to below the right hand corner of the mouth, cleaving the nose with a deep, red gash. The left eye was lidless and gazed perpetually upward and outward, as a dead eye might, while the upper lip was permanently drawn upward at the right side in a sardonic sneer that exposed a single fang-like tooth. No, Bohar the Bloody was not beautiful.

Before these two, The Cid and The Bloody One, Tanar was roughly dragged.

“They call you Tanar?” bellowed The Cid.

Tanar nodded.

“And you are the son of a king!” and he laughed loudly. “With a ship’s company I could destroy your father’s entire kingdom and make a slave of him, as I have of his son.”

“You had many ships’ companies,” replied Tanar; “but I did not see any of them destroying the kingdom of Sari. The army that chased them into the ocean was commanded by my father, under the Emperor.”

The Cid scowled. “I have made men walk the plank for less than that,” he growled.

“I do not know what you mean,” said Tanar.

“You shall,” barked The Cid; “and then, by the beard of the sea god, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Hey!” he shouted to one of his officers, “have a prisoner fetched and the plank run out. We’ll show this son of a king who The Cid is and that he is among real men now.”

“Why fetch another?” demanded Bohar the Bloody. “This fellow can walk and learn his lesson at the same time.”

“But he could not profit by it,” replied The Cid.

“Since when did The Cid become a dry nurse to an enemy?” demanded Bohar, with a sneer.

Without a word The Cid wheeled and swung an ugly blow to Bohar’s chin, and as the man went down the chief whipped a great pistol from his sash and stood over him, the muzzle pointed at Bohar’s head.

“Perhaps that will knock your crooked face straight or bump some brains into your thick head,” roared The Cid.

Bohar lay on his back glaring up at his chief.

“Who is your master?” demanded The Cid.

“You are,” growled Bohar.

“Then get up and keep a civil tongue in your head,” ordered The Cid.

As Bohar arose he turned a scowling face upon Tanar. It was as though his one good eye had gathered all the hate and rage and venom in the wicked heart of the man and was concentrating them upon the Sarian, the indirect cause of his humiliation, and from that instant Tanar knew that Bohar the Bloody hated him with a personal hatred distinct from any natural antipathy that he might have felt for an alien and an enemy.

On the lower deck men were eagerly running a long plank out over the starboard rail and making the inboard end fast to cleats with stout lines.

From an opened hatch others were dragging a strapping prisoner from the kingdom of Thuria, who had been captured in the early fighting in the Land of Awful Shadow.

The primitive warrior held his head high and showed no terror in the presence of his rough captors. Tanar, looking down upon him from the upper deck, was proud of this fellow man of the Empire. The Cid was watching, too.

“That tribe needs taming,” he said.

The younger of the two women, both of whom had stepped to the edge of the deck and were looking down upon the scene in the waist, turned to The Cid.

“They seem brave men; all of them,” she said. “It is a pity to kill one needlessly.”

“Poof! girl,” exclaimed The Cid. “What do you know of such things? It is the blood of your mother that speaks. By the beards of the gods, I would that you had more of your father’s blood in your veins.”

“It is brave blood, the blood of my mother,” replied the girl, “for it does not fear to be itself before all men. The blood of my father dares not reveal its good to the eyes of men because it fears ridicule. It boasts of its courage to hide its cowardice.”

The Cid swore a mighty oath. “You take advantage of our relationship, Stellara,” he said, “but do not forget that there is a limit beyond which even you may not go with The Cid, who brooks no insults.”

The girl laughed. “Reserve that talk for those who fear you,” she said.

During this conversation, Tanar, who was standing near, had an opportunity to observe the girl more closely and was prompted to do so by the nature of her remarks and the quiet courage of her demeanor. For the first time he noticed her hair, which was like gold in warm sunlight, and because the women of his own country were nearly all dark haired the color of her hair impressed him. He thought it very lovely and when he looked more closely at her features he realized that they, too, were lovely, with a sunny, golden loveliness that seemed to reflect like qualities of heart and character. There was a certain feminine softness about her that was sometimes lacking in the sturdy, self-reliant, primitive women of his own race. It was not in any sense a weakness, however, as was evidenced by her fearless attitude toward The Cid and by the light of courage that shone from her brave eyes. Intelligent eyes they were, too—brave, intelligent and beautiful.

But there Tanar’s interest ceased and he was repulsed by the thought that this woman belonged to the uncouth bully, who ruled with an iron hand the whiskered brutes of the great fleet, for The Cid’s reference to their relationship left no doubt in the mind of the Sarian that the woman was his mate.

And now the attention of all was focused on the actors in the tragedy below. Men had bound the wrists of the prisoner together behind his back and placed a blindfold across his eyes.

“Watch below, son of a king,” said The Cid to Tanar, “and you will know what it means to walk the plank.”

“I am watching,” said Tanar, “and I see that it takes many of your people to make one of mine do this thing, whatever it may be.”

The girl laughed, but The Cid scowled more deeply, while Bohar cast a venomous glance at Tanar.

Now men with drawn knives and sharp pikes lined the plank on either side of the ship’s rail and others lifted the prisoner to the inboard end so that he faced the opposite end of the plank that protruded far out over the sea, where great monsters of the deep cut the waves with giant backs as they paralleled the ship’s course—giant saurians, long extinct upon the outer crust.

Prodding the defenseless man with knife and pike they goaded him forward along the narrow plank to the accompaniment of loud oaths and vulgar jests and hoarse laughter.

Erect and proud, the Thurian marched fearlessly to his doom. He made no complaint and when he reached the outer end of the plank and his foot found no new place beyond he made no outcry. Just for an instant he drew back his foot and hesitated and then, silently, he leaped far out, and, turning, dove head foremost into the sea.

Tanar turned his eyes away and it chanced that he turned them in the direction of the girl. To his surprise he saw that she, too, had refused to look at the last moment and in her face, turned toward his, he saw an expression of suffering.

Could it be that this woman of The Cid’s brutal race felt sympathy and sorrow for a suffering enemy?

Tanar doubted it. More likely that something she had eaten that day had disagreed with her.

“Now,” cried The Cid, “you have seen a man walk the plank and know what I may do with you, if I choose.”

Tanar shrugged. “I hope I may be as indifferent to my fate as was my comrade,” he said, “for you certainly got little enough sport out of him.”

“If I turn you over to Bohar we shall have sport,” replied The Cid. “He has other means of enlivening a dull day that far surpass the tame exercise on the plank.”

The girl turned angrily upon The Cid. “You shall not do that!” she cried. “You promised me that you would not torture any prisoners while I was with the fleet.”

“If he behaves I shall not,” said The Cid, “but if he does not I shall turn him over to Bohar the Bloody. Do not forget that I am Chief of Korsar and that even you may be punished if you interfere.”

Again the girl laughed. “You can frighten the others, Chief of Korsar,” she said, “but not me.”

“If she were mine,” muttered Bohar threateningly, but the girl interrupted him.

“I am not, nor ever shall be,” she said.

“Do not be too sure of that,” growled The Cid. “I can give you to whom I please; let the matter drop.” He turned to the Sarian prisoner. “What is your name, son of a king?” he asked.

“Tanar.”

“Listen well, Tanar,” said The Cid impressively. “Our prisoners do not live beyond the time that they be of service to us. Some of you will be kept to exhibit to the people of Korsar, after which they will be of little use to me, but you can purchase life and, perhaps, freedom.”

“How?” demanded Tanar.

“Your people were armed with weapons far better than ours,” explained The Cid; “your powder was more powerful and more dependable. Half the time ours fails to ignite at the first attempt.”

“That must be embarrassing,” remarked Tanar.

“It is fatal,” said The Cid.

“But what has it to do with me?” asked the prisoner.

“If you will teach us how to make better weapons and such powder as your people have you shall be spared and shall have your freedom.”

Tanar made no reply—he was thinking—thinking of the supremacy that their superior weapons gave his people—thinking of the fate that lay in store for him and for those poor devils in the dark, foul hole below deck.

“Well?” demanded The Cid.

“Will you spare the others, too?” he asked.

“Why should I?”

“I shall need their help,” said Tanar. “I do not know all that is necessary to make the weapons and the powder.”

As a matter of fact he knew nothing about the manufacture of either, but he saw here a chance to save his fellow prisoners, or at least to delay their destruction and gain time in which they might find means to escape, nor did he hesitate to deceive The Cid, for is not all fair in war?

“Very well,” said the Korsar chief; “if you and they give me no trouble you shall all live—provided you teach us how to make weapons and powder like your own.”

“We cannot live in the filthy hole in which we are penned,” retorted the Sarian; “neither can we live without food. Soon we shall all sicken and die. We are people of the open air—we cannot be smothered in dark holes filled with vermin and be starved, and live.”

“You shall not be returned to the hole,” said The Cid. “There is no danger that you will escape.”

“And the others?” demanded Tanar.

“They remain where they are!”

“They will all die, and without them I cannot make powder,” Tanar reminded him.

The Cid scowled. “You would have my ship overrun with enemies,” he growled.

“They are unarmed.”

“Then they certainly would be killed,” said The Cid. “No one would survive long among that pack an’ he were not armed;” he waved a hand contemptuously toward the half naked throng below.

“Then leave the hatches off and give them decent air and more and better food.”

“I’ll do it,” said The Cid. “Bohar, have the forward hatches removed, place a guard there with orders to kill any prisoner who attempts to come on deck and any of our men who attempts to go below; see, too, that the prisoners get the same rations as our own men.”

It was with a feeling of relief that amounted almost to happiness that Tanar saw Bohar depart to carry out the orders of The Cid, for he knew well that his people could not long survive the hideous and unaccustomed confinement and the vile food that had been his lot and theirs since they had been brought aboard the Korsar ship.

Presently The Cid went to his cabin and Tanar, left to his own devices, walked to the stern and leaning on the rail gazed into the hazy upcurving distance where lay the land of the Sarians, his land, beyond the haze.

Far astern a small boat rose and fell with the great, long billows. Fierce denizens of the deep constantly threatened it, storms menaced it, but on it forged in the wake of the great fleet—a frail and tiny thing made strong and powerful by the wills of three men.

But this Tanar did not see, for the mist hid it. He would have been heartened to know that his Emperor was risking his life to save him.

As he gazed and dreamed he became conscious of a presence near him, but he did not turn, for who was there upon that ship who might have access to this upper deck, whom he might care to see or speak with?

Presently he heard a voice at his elbow, a low, golden voice that brought him around facing its owner. It was the girl.

“You are looking back toward your own country?” she said.

“Yes.”

“You will never see it again,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice, as though she understood his feelings and sympathized.

“Perhaps not, but why should you care? I am an enemy.”

“I do not know why I should care,” replied the girl. “What is your name?”

“Tanar.”

“Is that all?”

“I am called Tanar the Fleet One.”

“Why?”

“Because in all Sari none can outdistance me.”

“Sari—is that the name of your country?”

“Yes.”

“What is it like?”

“It is a high plateau among the mountains. It is a very lovely country, with leaping rivers and great trees. It is filled with game. We hunt the great ryth there and the tarag for meat and for sport and there are countless lesser animals that give us food and clothing.”

“Have you no enemies? You are not a warlike people as are the Korsars.”

“We defeated the warlike Korsars,” he reminded her.

“I would not speak of that too often,” she said. “The tempers of the Korsars are short and they love to kill.”

“Why do you not kill me then?” he demanded. “You have a knife and a pistol in your sash, like the others.”

The girl only smiled.

“Perhaps you are not a Korsar,” he exclaimed. “You were captured as I was and are a prisoner.”

“I am no prisoner,” she replied.

“But you are not a Korsar,” he insisted.

“Ask The Cid—he will doubtless cutlass you for your impertinence; but why do you think I am not a Korsar?”

“You are too beautiful and too fine,” he replied. “You have shown sympathy and that is a finer sentiment far beyond their mental capability. They are—”

“Be careful, enemy; perhaps I am a Korsar!”

“I do not believe it,” said Tanar.

“Then keep your beliefs to yourself, prisoner,” retorted the girl in a haughty tone.

“What is this?” demanded a rough voice behind Tanar. “What has this thing said to you, Stellara?”

Tanar wheeled to face Bohar the Bloody.

“I questioned that she was of the same race as you,” snapped Tanar before the girl could reply. “It is inconceivable that one so beautiful could be tainted by the blood of Korsar.”

His face flaming with rage, Bohar laid a hand upon one of his knives and stepped truculently toward the Sarian. “It is death to insult the daughter of The Cid,” he cried, whipping the knife from his sash and striking a wicked blow at Tanar.

The Sarian, light of foot, trained from childhood in the defensive as well as offensive use of edged weapons, stepped quickly to one side and then as quickly in again and once more Bohar the Bloody sprawled upon the deck to a well delivered blow.

Bohar was fairly foaming at the mouth with rage as he jerked his heavy pistol from his gaudy sash and aiming it at Tanar’s chest from where he lay upon the deck, pulled the trigger. At the same instant the girl sprang forward as though to prevent the slaying of the prisoner.

It all happened so quickly that Tanar scarcely knew the sequence of events, but what he did know was that the powder failed to ignite, and then he laughed.

“You had better wait until I have taught you how to make powder that will burn before you try to murder me, Bohar,” he said.

The Bloody One scrambled to his feet and Tanar stood ready to receive the expected charge, but the girl stepped between them with an imperious gesture.

“Enough of this!” she cried. “It is The Cid’s wish that this man live. Would you like to have The Cid know that you tried to pistol him, Bohar?”

The Bloody One stood glaring at Tanar for several seconds, then he wheeled and strode away without a word.

“It would seem that Bohar does not like me,” said Tanar, smiling.

“He dislikes nearly every one,” said Stellara, “but he hates you—now.”

“Because I knocked him down, I suppose. I cannot blame him.”

“That is not the real reason,” said the girl.

“What is, then?”

She hesitated and then she laughed. “He is jealous. Bohar wants me for his mate.”

“But why should he be jealous of me?”

Stellara looked Tanar up and down and then she laughed again. “I do not know,” she said. “You are not much of a man beside our huge Korsars—with your beardless face and your small waist. It would take two of you to make one of them.”

To Tanar her tone implied thinly veiled contempt and it piqued him, but why it should he did not know and that annoyed him, too. What was she but the savage daughter of a savage, boorish Korsar?

When he had first learned from Bohar’s lips that she was the daughter and not the mate of The Cid he had felt an unaccountable relief, half unconsciously and without at all attempting to analyze his reaction.

Perhaps it was the girl’s beauty that had made such a relationship with The Cid seem repulsive, perhaps it was her lesser ruthlessness, which seemed superlative gentleness by contrast with the brutality of Bohar and The Cid, but now she seemed capable of a refined cruelty, which was, after all, what he might have expected to find in one form or another in the daughter of the Chief of the Korsars.

As one will, when piqued, and just at random, Tanar loosed a bolt in the hope that it might annoy her. “Bohar knows you better than I,” he said; “perhaps he knew that he had cause for jealousy.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, enigmatically, “but no one will ever know, for Bohar will kill you—I know _him_ well enough to know that.”
II

DISASTER

Upon the timeless seas of Pellucidar a voyage may last for an hour or a year—that depends not upon its duration, but upon the important occurrences which mark its course.

Curving upward along the inside of the arc of a great circle the Korsar fleet ploughed the restless sea. Favorable winds carried the ships onward. The noonday sun hung perpetually at zenith. Men ate when they were hungry, slept when they were tired, or slept against the time when sleep might be denied them, for the people of Pellucidar seem endowed with a faculty that permits them to store sleep, as it were, in times of ease, against the time when sleep might be denied them, against the more strenuous periods of hunting and warfare when there is no opportunity for sleep. Similarly, they eat with unbelievable irregularity.

Tanar had slept and eaten several times since his encounter with Bohar, whom he had seen upon various occasions since without an actual meeting. The Bloody One seemed to be biding his time.

Stellara had kept to her cabin with the old woman, who Tanar surmised was her mother. He wondered if Stellara would look like the mother or The Cid when she was older, and he shuddered when he considered either eventuality.

As he stood thus musing, Tanar’s attention was attracted by the actions of the men on the lower deck. He saw them looking across the port bow and upward and, following the direction of their eyes with his, he saw the rare phenomenon of a cloud in the brilliant sky.

Some one must have notified The Cid at about the same time, for he came from his cabin and looked long and searchingly at the heavens.

In his loud voice The Cid bellowed commands and his wild crew scrambled to their stations like monkeys, swarming aloft or standing by on deck ready to do his bidding.

Down came the great sails and reefed were the lesser ones, and throughout the fleet, scattered over the surface of the shining sea, the example of the Commander was followed.

The cloud was increasing in size and coming rapidly nearer. No longer was it the small white cloud that had first attracted their attention, but a great, bulging, ominous, black mass that frowned down upon the ocean, turning it a sullen gray where the shadow lay.

The wind that had been blowing gently ceased suddenly. The ship fell off and rolled in the trough of the sea. The silence that followed cast a spell of terror over the ship’s company.

Tanar, watching, saw the change. If these rough seafaring men blenched before the threat of the great cloud the danger must be great indeed.

The Sarians were mountain people. Tanar knew little of the sea, but if Tanar feared anything on Pellucidar it was the sea. The sight, therefore, of these savage Korsar sailors cringing in terror was far from reassuring.

Someone had come to the rail and was standing at his side.

“When that has passed,” said a voice, “there will be fewer ships in the fleet of Korsar and fewer men to go home to their women.”

He turned and saw Stellara looking upward at the cloud.

“You do not seem afraid,” he said.

“Nor you,” replied the girl. “We seem the only people aboard who are not afraid.”

“Look down at the prisoners,” he told her. “They show no fear.”

“Why?” she asked.

“They are Pellucidarians,” he replied, proudly.

“We are all of Pellucidar,” she reminded him.

“I refer to The Empire,” he said.

“Why are you not afraid?” she asked. “Are you so much braver than the Korsars?” There was no sarcasm in her tone.

“I am very much afraid,” replied Tanar. “Mine are mountain people—we know little of the sea or its ways.”

“But you show no fear,” insisted Stellara.

“That is the result of heredity and training,” he replied.

“The Korsars show their fear,” she mused. She spoke as one who was of different blood. “They boast much of their bravery,” she continued as though speaking to herself, “but when the sky frowns they show fear.” There seemed a little note of contempt in her voice. “See!” she cried. “It is coming!”

The cloud was tearing toward them now and beneath it the sea was lashed to fury. Shreds of cloud whirled and twisted at the edges of the great cloud mass. Shreds of spume whirled and twisted above the angry waves. And then the storm struck the ship, laying it over on its side.

What ensued was appalling to a mountaineer, unaccustomed to the sea—the chaos of watery mountains, tumbling, rolling, lashing at the wallowing ship; the shrieking wind; the driving, blinding spume; the terror-stricken crew, cowed, no longer swaggering bullies.

Reeling, staggering, clutching at the rail Bohar the Bloody passed Tanar where he clung with one arm about a stanchion and the other holding Stellara, who would have been hurled to the deck but for the quick action of the Sarian.

The face of Bohar was an ashen mask against which the red gash of his ugly scar stood out in startling contrast. He looked at Tanar and Stellara, but he passed them by, mumbling to himself.

Beyond them was The Cid, screaming orders that no one could hear. Toward him Bohar made his way. Above the storm Tanar heard The Bloody One screaming at his chief.

“Save me! Save me!” he cried. “The boats—lower the boats! The ship is lost.”

It was apparent, even to a landsman, that no small boat could live in such a sea even if one could have been lowered. The Cid paid no attention to his lieutenant, but clung where he was, bawling commands.

A mighty sea rose suddenly above the bow; it hung there for an instant and then rolled in upon the lower deck—tons of crushing, pitiless, insensate sea—rolled in upon the huddled, screaming seamen. Naught but the high prow and the lofty poop showed above the angry waves—just for an instant the great ship strained and shuddered, battling for life.

“It is the end!” cried Stellara.

Bohar screamed like a dumb brute in the agony of death. The Cid knelt on the deck, his face buried in his arms. Tanar stood watching, fascinated by the terrifying might of the elements. He saw man shrink to puny insignificance before a gust of wind, and a slow smile crossed his face.

The wave receded and the ship, floundering, staggered upward, groaning. The smile left Tanar’s lips as his eyes gazed down upon the lower deck. It was almost empty now. A few broken forms lay huddled in the scuppers; a dozen men, clinging here and there, showed signs of life. The others, all but those who had reached safety below deck, were gone.

The girl clung tightly to the man. “I did not think she could live through that,” she said.

“Nor I,” said Tanar.

“But you were not afraid,” she said. “You seemed the only one who was not afraid.”

“Of what use was Bohar’s screaming?” he asked. “Did it save him?”

“Then you were afraid, but you hid it?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “I do not know what you mean by fear. I did not want to die, if that is what you mean.”

“Here comes another!” cried Stellara, shuddering, and pressing closer to him.

Tanar’s arm tightened about the slim figure of the girl. It was an unconscious gesture of the protective instinct of the male.

“Do not be afraid,” he said.

“I am not—now,” she replied.

At the instant that the mighty comber engulfed the ship the angry hurricane struck suddenly with renewed fury—struck at a new angle—and the masts, already straining even to the minimum of canvas that had been necessary to give the ship headway and keep its nose into the storm, snapped like dry bones and crashed by the board in a tangle of cordage. The ship’s head fell away and she rolled in the trough of the great seas, a hopeless derelict.

Above the screaming of the wind rose Bohar’s screams. “The boats! The boats!” he repeated like a trained parrot gone mad from terror.

As though sated for the moment and worn out by its own exertions the storm abated, the wind died, but the great seas rose and fell and the great ship rolled, helpless. At the bottom of each watery gorge it seemed that it must be engulfed by the gray green cliff toppling above it and at the crest of each liquid mountain certain destruction loomed inescapable.

Bohar, still screaming, scrambled to the lower deck. He found men, by some miracle still alive in the open, and others cringing in terror below deck. By dint of curses and blows and the threat of his pistol he gathered them together and though they whimpered in fright he forced them to make a boat ready.

There were twenty of them and their gods or their devils must have been with them, for they lowered a boat and got clear of the floundering hulk in safety and without the loss of a man.

The Cid, seeing what Bohar contemplated, had tried to prevent the seemingly suicidal act by bellowing orders at him from above, but they had no effect and at the last moment The Cid had descended to the lower deck to enforce his commands, but he had arrived too late.

Now he stood staring unbelievingly at the small boat riding the great seas in seeming security while the dismasted ship, pounded by the stumps of its masts, seemed doomed to destruction.

From corners where they had been hiding came the balance of the ship’s company and when they saw Bohar’s boat and the seemingly relative safety of the crew they clamored for escape by the other boats. With the idea once implanted in their minds there followed a mad panic as the half-brutes fought for places in the remaining boats.

“Come!” cried Stellara. “We must hurry or they will go without us.” She started to move toward the companionway, but Tanar restrained her.

“Look at them,” he said. “We are safer at the mercy of the sea and the storm.”

Stellara shrank back close to him. She saw men knifing one another—those behind knifing those ahead. Men dragging others from the boats and killing them on deck or being killed. She saw The Cid pistol a seaman in the back and leap to his place in the first boat to be lowered. She saw men leaping from the rail in a mad effort to reach this boat and falling into the sea, or being thrown in if they succeeded in boarding the tossing shell.

She saw the other boats being lowered and men crushed between them and the ship’s side—she saw the depths to which fear can plunge the braggart and the bully as the last of the ship’s company, failing to win places in the last boat, deliberately leaped into the sea and were drowned.

Standing there upon the high poop of the rolling derelict, Tanar and Stellara watched the frantic efforts of the oarsmen in the overcrowded small boats. They saw one boat foul another and both founder. They watched the drowning men battling for survival. They heard their hoarse oaths and their screams above the roaring of the sea and the shriek of the wind as the storm returned as though fearing that some might escape its fury.

“We are alone,” said Stellara. “They have all gone.”

“Let them go,” replied Tanar. “I would not exchange places with them.”

“But there can be no hope for us,” said the girl.

“There is no more for them,” replied the Sarian, “and at least we are not crowded into a small boat filled with cutthroats.”

“You are more afraid of the men than you are of the sea,” she said.

“For you, yes,” he replied.

“Why should you fear for me?” she demanded. “Am I not also your enemy?”

He turned his eyes quickly upon her and they were filled with surprise. “That is so,” he said; “but, somehow, I had forgotten it—you do not seem like an enemy, as the others do. You do not seem like one of them, even.”

Clinging to the rail and supporting the girl upon the lurching deck, Tanar’s lips were close to Stellara’s ear as he sought to make himself heard above the storm. He sensed the faint aroma of a delicate sachet that was ever after to be a part of his memory of Stellara.

A sea struck the staggering ship throwing Tanar forward so that his cheek touched the cheek of the girl and as she turned her head his lips brushed hers. Each realized that it was an accident, but the effect was none the less surprising. Tanar, for the first time, felt the girl’s body against his and consciousness of contact must have been reflected in his eyes for Stellara shrank back and there was an expression of fear in hers.

Tanar saw the fear in the eyes of an enemy, but it gave him no pleasure. He tried to think only of the treatment that would have been accorded a woman of his tribe had one been at the mercy of the Korsars, but that, too, failed to satisfy him as it only could if he were to admit that he was of the same ignoble clay as the men of Korsar.

But whatever thoughts were troubling the minds of Stellara and Tanar were temporarily submerged by the grim tragedy of the succeeding few moments as another tremendous sea, the most gigantic that had yet assailed the broken ship, hurled its countless tons upon her shivering deck.

To Tanar it seemed, indeed, that this must mark the end since it was inconceivable that the unmanageable hulk could rise again from the smother of water that surged completely over her almost to the very highest deck of the towering poop, where the two clung against the tearing wind and the frightful pitching of the derelict.

But, as the sea rolled on, the ship slowly, sluggishly struggled to the surface like an exhausted swimmer who, drowning, struggles weakly against the inevitability of fate and battles upward for one last gasp of air that will, at best, but prolong the agony of death.

As the main deck slowly emerged from the receding waters, Tanar was horrified by the discovery that the forward hatch had been stove in. That the ship must have taken in considerable water, and that each succeeding wave that broke over it would add to the quantity, affected the Sarian less than knowledge of the fact that it was beneath this hatch that his fellow prisoners were confined.

Through the black menace of his almost hopeless situation had shone a single bright ray of hope that, should the ship weather the storm, there would be aboard her a score of his fellow Pellucidarians and that together they might find the means to rig a makeshift sail and work their way back to the mainland from which they had embarked; but with the gaping hatch and the almost certain conclusion to be drawn from it he realized that it would, indeed, be a miracle if there remained alive aboard the derelict any other than Stellara and himself.

The girl was looking down at the havoc wrought below and now she turned her face toward his.

“They must all be drowned,” she said, “and they were your people. I am sorry.”

“Perhaps they would have chosen it in preference to what might have awaited them in Korsar,” he said.

“And they have been released only a little sooner than we shall be,” she continued. “Do you notice how low the ship rides now and how sluggish she is? The hold must be half filled with water—another such sea as the last one will founder her.”

For some time they stood in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. The bulk rolled in the trough and momentarily it seemed that she might not roll back in time to avert the disaster of the next menacing comber, yet each time she staggered drunkenly to oppose a high side to the hungry waters.

“I believe the storm has spent itself,” said Tanar.

“The wind has died and there has been no sea like the great one that stove in the forward hatch,” said Stellara, hopefully.

The noonday sun broke from behind the black cloud that had shrouded it and the sea burst into a blaze of blue and silver beauty. The storm had passed. The seas diminished. The derelict rolled heavily upon the great swells, low in the water, but temporarily relieved of the menace of immediate disaster.

Tanar descended the companionway to the lower deck and approached the forward hatch. A single glance below revealed only what he could have anticipated—floating corpses rolling with the roll of the derelict. All below were dead. With a sigh he turned away and returned to the upper deck.

The girl did not even question him for she could read in his demeanor the story of what his eyes had beheld.

“You and I are the only living creatures that remain aboard,” he said.

She waved a hand in a broad gesture that took in the sea about them. “Doubtless we alone of the entire ship’s company have survived,” she said. “I see no other ship nor any of the small boats.”

Tanar strained his eyes in all directions. “Nor I,” said he; “but perhaps some of them have escaped.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

“Yours has been a heavy loss,” sympathized the Sarian. “Besides so many of your people, you have lost your father and your mother.”

Stellara looked up quickly into his eyes. “They were not my people,” she said.

“What?” exclaimed Tanar. “They were not your people? But your father, The Cid, was Chief of the Korsars.”

“He was not my father,” replied the girl.

“And the woman was not your mother?”

“May the gods forbid!” she exclaimed.

“But The Cid! He treated you like a daughter.”

“He thought I was his daughter, but I am not.”

“I do not understand,” said Tanar; “yet I am glad that you are not. I could not understand how you, who are so different from them, could be a Korsar.”

“My mother was a native of the island of Amiocap and there The Cid, raiding for women, seized her. She told me about it many times before she died.

“Her mate was absent upon a great tandor hunt and she never saw him again. When I was born The Cid thought that I was his daughter, but my mother knew better for I bore upon my left shoulder a small, red birthmark identical with one upon the left shoulder of the mate from whom she had been stolen—my father.

“My mother never told The Cid the truth, for fear that he would kill me in accordance with the custom the Korsars follow of destroying the children of their captives if a Korsar is not the father.”

“And the woman who was with you on board was not your mother?”

“No, she was The Cid’s mate, but not my mother, who is dead.”

Tanar felt a distinct sense of relief that Stellara was not a Korsar, but why this should be so he did not know, nor, perhaps, did he attempt to analyze his feelings.

“I am glad,” he said again.

“But why?” she asked.

“Now we do not have to be enemies,” he replied.

“Were we before?”

He hesitated and then he laughed. “I was not your enemy,” he said, “but you reminded me that you were mine.”

“It has been the habit of a lifetime to think of myself as a Korsar,” exclaimed Stellara, “although I knew that I was not. I felt no enmity toward you.”

“Whatever we may have been we must of necessity be friends now,” he told her.

“That will depend upon you,” she replied.
III

AMIOCAP

The blue waters of the great sea known as Korsar Az wash the shores of a green island far from the mainland—a long, narrow island with verdure clad hills and plateaus, its coast line indented by coves and tiny bays—Amiocap, an island of mystery and romance.

At a distance, and when there is a haze upon the waters, it looks like two islands, rather than one, so low and narrow it is at one point, where coves run in on either side and the sea almost meets.

Thus it appeared to the two survivors from the deck of the Korsar derelict drifting helplessly with the sluggish run of an ocean current and at the whim of vagrant winds.

Time is not even a word to the people of Pellucidar, so Tanar had given no thought to that. They had eaten many times, but as there was still an ample supply of provisions, even for a large ship’s company, he felt no concern upon that score, but he had been worried by the depletion of their supply of good water, for the contents of many casks that he had broached had been undrinkable.

They had slept much, which is the way of Pellucidarians when there is naught else to do, storing energy for possible future periods of long drawn exertion.

They had been sleeping thus, for how long who may say in the measureless present of Pellucidar. Stellara was the first to come on deck from the cabin she had occupied next to that of The Cid. She looked about for Tanar, but not seeing him she let her eyes wander out over the upcurving expanse of water that merged in every direction with the blue domed vault of the brilliant sky, in the exact center of which hung the great noonday sun.

But suddenly her gaze was caught and held by something beside the illimitable waters and the ceaseless sun. She voiced a surprised and joyous cry and, turning, ran across the deck toward the cabin in which Tanar slept.

“Tanar! Tanar!” she cried, pounding upon the paneled door. “Land, Tanar, land!”

The door swung open and the Sarian stepped out upon the deck where Stellara stood pointing across the starboard rail of the drifting derelict.

Close by rose the green hills of a long shore line that stretched away in both directions for many miles, but whether it was the mainland or an island they could not tell.

“Land!” breathed Tanar. “How good it looks!”

“The pleasant green of the soft foliage often hides terrible beasts and savage men,” Stellara reminded him.

“But they are the dangers that I know—it is the unknown dangers of the sea that I do not like. I am not of the sea.”

“You hate the sea?”

“No,” he replied, “I do not hate it; I do not understand it—that is all. But there is something that I do understand,” and he pointed toward the land.

There was that in Tanar’s tone that caused Stellara to look quickly in the direction that be indicated.

“Men!” she exclaimed.

“Warriors,” said Tanar.

“There must be twenty of them in that canoe,” she said.

“And here comes another canoeful behind them.”

From the mouth of a narrow cove the canoes were paddling cut into the open sea.

“Look!” cried Stellara. “There are many more coming.”

One after another twenty canoes moved in a long column out upon the quiet waters and as they drew steadily toward the ship the survivors saw that each was filled with almost naked warriors. Short, heavy spears, bone-tipped, bristled menacingly; stone knives protruded from every G-string and stone hatchets swung at every hip.

As the flotilla approached, Tanar went to a cabin and returned with two of the heavy pistols left behind by a fleeing Korsar when the ship had been abandoned.

“Do you expect to repulse four hundred warriors with those?” asked the girl.

Tanar shrugged. “If they have never heard the report of a firearm a few shots may suffice to frighten them away, for a time at least,” he explained, “and if we do not go on the shore the current will carry us away from them in time.”

“But suppose they do not frighten so easily?” she demanded.

“Then I can do no more than my best with the crude weapons and the inferior powder of the Korsars,” he said with the conscious superiority of one who had, with his people, so recently emerged from the stone age that he often instinctively grasped a pistol by the muzzle and used it as a war club in sudden emergencies when at close quarters.

“Perhaps they will not be unfriendly,” suggested Stellara.

Tanar laughed. “Then they are not of Pellucidar,” he said, “but of some wondrous country inhabited by what Perry calls angels.”

“Who is Perry?” she demanded. “I never heard of him.”

“He is a madman who says that Pellucidar is the inside of a hollow stone that is as round as the strange world that hangs forever above the Land of Awful Shadow, and that upon the outside are seas and mountains and plains and countless people and a great country from which he comes.”

“He must be quite mad,” said the girl.

“Yet he and David, our Emperor, have brought us many advantages that were before unknown in Pellucidar, so that now we can kill more warriors in a single battle than was possible before during the course of a whole war. Perry calls this civilization and it is indeed a very wonderful thing.”

“Perhaps he came from the frozen world from which the ancestors of the Korsars came,” suggested the girl. “They say that that country lies outside of Pellucidar.”

“Here is the enemy,” said Tanar. “Shall I fire at that big fellow standing in the bow of the first canoe?” Tanar raised one of the heavy pistols and took aim, but the girl laid a hand upon his arm.

“Wait,” she begged. “They may be friendly. Do not fire unless you must—I hate killing.”

“I can well believe that you are no Korsar,” he said, lowering the muzzle of his weapon.

There came a hail from the leading canoe. “We are prepared for you, Korsars,” shouted the tall warrior standing in the bow. “You are few in numbers. We are many. Your great canoe is a useless wreck; ours are manned by twenty warriors each. You are helpless. We are strong. It is not always thus and this time it is not we who shall be taken prisoners, but you, if you attempt to land.

“But we are not like you, Korsars. We do not want to kill or capture. Go away and we shall not harm you.”

“We cannot go away,” replied Tanar. “Our ship is helpless. We are only two and our food and water are nearly exhausted. Let us land and remain until we can prepare to return to our own countries.”

The warrior turned and conversed with the others in his canoe. Presently he faced Tanar again.

“No,” he said; “my people will not permit Korsars to come among us. They do not trust you. Neither do I. If you do not go away we shall take you as prisoners and your fate will be in the hands of the Council of the Chiefs.”

“But we are not Korsars,” explained Tanar.

The warrior laughed. “You speak a lie,” he said. “Do you think that we do not know the ships of Korsar?”

“This is a Korsar ship,” replied Tanar; “but we are not Korsars. We were prisoners and when they abandoned their ship in a great storm they left us aboard.”

Again the Warriors conferred and those in other canoes that had drawn alongside the first joined in the discussion.

“Who are you then?” demanded the spokesman.

“I am Tanar of Pellucidar. My father is King of Sari.”

“We are all of Pellucidar,” replied the warrior; “but we never heard of a country called Sari. And the woman—she is your mate?”

“No!” cried Stellara, haughtily. “I am not his mate.”

“Who are you? Are you a Sarian, also?”

“I am no Sarian. My father and mother were of Amiocap.”

Again the warriors talked among themselves, some seeming to favor one idea, some another.

“Do you know the name of this country?” finally demanded the leading warrior, addressing Stellara.

“No,” she replied.

“We were about to ask you that very question,” said Tanar.

“And the woman is from Amiocap?” demanded the warrior.

“No other blood flows in my veins,” said Stellara, proudly.

“Then it is strange that you do not recognize your own land and your own people,” cried the warrior. “This is the island of Amiocap!”

Stellara voiced a low cry of pleased astonishment. “Amiocap!” she breathed softly, as to herself. The tone was a caress, but the warriors in the canoes were too far away to hear her. They thought she was silent and embarrassed because they had discovered her deception.

“Go away!” they cried again.

“You will not send me away from the land of my parents!” cried Stellara, in astonishment.

“You have lied to us,” replied the tall warrior. “You are not of Amiocap. You do not know us, nor do we know you.”

“Listen!” cried Tanar. “I was a prisoner aboard this ship and, being no Korsar, the girl told me her story long before we sighted this land. She could not have known that we were near your island. I do not know that she even knew its location, but nevertheless I believe that her story is true.

“She has never said that she was from Amiocap, but that her parents were. She has never seen the island before now. Her mother was stolen by the Korsars before she was born.”

Again the warriors spoke together in low tones for a moment and then, once more, the spokesman addressed Stellara.

“What was your mother’s name?” he demanded. “Who was your father?”

“My mother was called Allara,” replied the girl. “I never saw my father, but my mother said that he was a chief and a great tandor hunter, called Fedol.”

At a word from the tall warrior in the bow of the leading canoe from the warriors paddled slowly nearer the drifting hulk, and as they approached the ship’s waist Tanar and Stellara descended to the main deck, which was now almost awash, so deep the ship rode because of the water in her hold, and as the canoe drifted alongside, the warriors, with the exception of a couple, laid down their paddles and stood ready with their bone-tipped spears.

Now the two upon the ship’s deck and the tall warrior in the canoe stood almost upon the same level and face to face. The latter was a smooth-faced man with finely molded features and clear, gray eyes that bespoke intelligence and courage. He was gazing intently at Stellara, as though he would search her very soul for proof of the veracity or falsity of her statements. Presently he spoke.

“You might well be her daughter,” he said; “the resemblance is apparent.”

“You knew my mother?” exclaimed Stellara.

“I am Vulhan. You have heard her speak of me?”

“My mother’s brother!” exclaimed Stellara, with deep emotion, but there was no answering emotion in the manner of the Amiocap warrior. “My father, where is he? Is he alive?”

“That is the question,” said Vulhan, seriously. “Who is your father! Your mother was stolen by a Korsar. If the Korsar is your father, you are a Korsar.”

“But he is not my father. Take me to my own father—although he has never seen me he will know me and I shall know him.”

“It will do no harm,” said a warrior who stood close to Vulhan. “If the girl is a Korsar we shall know what to do with her.”

“If she is the spawn of the Korsar who stole Allara, Vulhan and Fedol will know how to treat her,” said Vulhan savagely.

“I am not afraid,” said Stellara.

“And this other,” said Vulhan, nodding toward Tanar. “What of him?”

“He was a prisoner of war that the Korsars were taking back to Korsar. Let him come with you. His people are not sea people. He could not survive by the sea alone.”

“You are sure that he is no Korsar?” demanded Vulhan.

“Look at him!” exclaimed the girl. “The men of Amiocap must know the people of Korsar well by sight. Does this one look like a Korsar?”

Vulhan was forced to admit that he did not. “Very well,” he said, “he may come with us, but whatever your fate, he must share it.”

“Gladly,” agreed Tanar.

The two quit the deck of the derelict as places were made for them in the canoe and as the little craft was paddled rapidly toward shore neither felt any sorrow at parting from the drifting hulk that had been their home for so long. The last they saw of her, just as they were entering the cove, from which they had first seen the canoes emerge, she was drifting slowly with the ocean current parallel with the green shore of Amiocap.

At the upper end of the cove the canoes were beached and dragged beneath the concealing foliage of the luxuriant vegetation. Here they were turned bottom side up and left until occasion should again demand their use.

The warriors of Amiocap conducted their two prisoners into the jungle that grew almost to the water’s edge. At first there was no sign of trail and the leading warriors forced their way through the lush vegetation, which fortunately was free from thorns and briers, but presently they came upon a little path which opened into a broad, well beaten trail along which the party moved in silence.

During the march Tanar had an opportunity to study the men of Amiocap more closely and he saw that almost without exception they were symmetrically built, with rounded, flowing muscles that suggested a combination of agility and strength. Their features were regular, and there was not among them one who might be termed ugly. On the whole their expressions were open rather than cunning and kindly rather than ferocious; yet the scars upon the bodies of many of them and their well worn and efficient looking, though crude, weapons suggested that they might be bold hunters and fierce warriors. There was a marked dignity in their carriage and demeanor which appealed to Tanar as did their taciturnity, for the Sarians themselves are not given to useless talk.

Stellara, walking at his side, appeared unusually happy and there was an expression of contentment upon her face that the Sarian had never seen there before. She had been watching him as well as the Amiocapians, and now she addressed him in a whisper.

“What do you think of my people?” she asked, proudly. “Are they not wonderful?”

“They are a fine race,” he replied, “and I hope for your sake that they will believe that you are one of them.”

“It is all just as I have dreamed it so many times,” said the girl, with a happy sigh. “I have always known that some day I should come to Amiocap and that it would be just as my mother told me that it was—the great trees, the giant ferns, the gorgeous, flowering vines and bushes. There are fewer savage beasts here than in other parts of Pellucidar and the people seldom war among themselves, so that for the most part they live in peace and contentment, broken only by the raids of the Korsars or an occasional raid upon their fields and villages by the great tandors. Do you know what tandors are, Tanar? Do you have them in your country?”

Tanar nodded. “I have heard of them in Amoz,” he said, “though they are rare in Sari.”

“There are thousands of them upon the island of Amiocap,” said the girl, “and my people are the greatest tandor hunters in Pellucidar.”

Again they walked on in silence, Tanar wondering what the attitude of the Amiocapians would be towards them, and if friendly whether they would be able to assist him in making his way back to the distant mainland, where Sari lay. To this primitive mountaineer it seemed little short of hopeless even to dream of returning to his native land, for the sea appalled him, nor did he have any conception as to how he might set a course across its savage bosom, or navigate any craft that he might later find at his disposal; yet so powerful is the homing instinct in the Pellucidarians that there was no doubt in his mind that so long as he lived he would always be searching for a way back to Sari.

He was glad that he did not have to worry about Stellara, for if it was true that she was among her own people she could remain upon Amiocap and there would rest upon him no sense of responsibility for her return to Korsar; but if they did not accept her—that was another matter; then Tanar would have to seek for means of escape from an island peopled by enemies and he would have to take Stellara with him.

But this train of thought was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Stellara. “Look!” she cried. “Here is a village; perhaps it is the very village of my mother.”

“What did you say?” inquired a warrior, walking near them.

“I said that perhaps this is the village where my mother lived before she was stolen by the Korsars.”

“And you say that your mother was Allara?” inquired the warrior.

“Yes.”

“This was indeed the village in which Allara lived,” said the warrior; “but do not hope, girl, that you will be received as one of them, for unless your father also was of Amiocap, you are not an Amiocapian. It will be hard to convince any one that you are not the daughter of a Korsar father, and as such you are a Korsar and no Amiocapian.”

“But how can you know that my father was a Korsar?” demanded Stellara.

“We do not have to know,” replied the warrior; “it is merely a matter of what we believe, but that is a question that will have to be settled by Zural, the chief of the village of Lar.”

“Lar,” repeated Stellara. “That is the village of my mother! I have heard her speak of it many times. This, then, must be Lar.”

“It is,” replied the warrior, “and presently you shall see Zural.”

The village of Lar consisted of perhaps a hundred thatched huts, each of which was divided into two or more rooms, one of which was invariably an open sitting room without walls, in the center of which was a stone fireplace. The other rooms were ordinarily tightly walled and windowless, affording the necessary darkness for the Amiocapians when they wished to sleep.

The entire clearing was encircled by the most remarkable fence that Tanar had ever seen. The posts, instead of being set in the ground, were suspended from a heavy fiber rope that ran from tree to tree, the lower ends of the posts hanging at least four feet above the ground. Holes had been bored through the posts at intervals of twelve or eighteen inches and into these were inserted hardwood stakes, four or five feet in length and sharpened at either end. These stakes protruded from the posts in all directions, parallel with the ground, and the posts were hung at such a distance from one another that the points of the stakes, protruding from contiguous posts, left intervals of from two to four feet between. As a safeguard against an attacking enemy they seemed futile to Tanar, for in entering the village the party had passed through the open spaces between the posts without being hindered by the barrier.

But conjecture as to the purpose of this strange barrier was crowded from his thoughts by other more interesting occurrences, for no sooner had they entered the village than they were surrounded by a horde of men, women and children.

“Who are these?” demanded some.

“They say that they are friends,” replied Vulhan, “but we believe that they are from Korsar.”

“Korsars!” cried the villagers.

“I am no Korsar,” cried Stellara, angrily. “I am the daughter of Allara, the sister of Vulhan.”

“Let her tell that to Zural. It is his business to listen, not ours,” cried one. “Zural will know what to do with Korsars. Did they not steal his daughter and kill his son?”

“Yes, take them to Zural,” cried another.

“It is to Zural that I am taking them,” replied Vulhan.

The villagers made way for the warriors and their prisoners and as the latter passed through the aisles thus formed many were the ugly looks cast upon them and many the expressions of hatred that they overheard, but no violence was offered them and presently they were conducted to a large hut near the center of the village.

Like the other dwellings of the village of Lar, the floors of the chief’s house were raised a foot or eighteen inches above the ground. The thatched roof of the great, open living room, into which they were conducted, was supported by enormous ivory tusks of the giant tandors. The floor, which appeared to be constructed of unglazed tile, was almost entirely covered by the hides of wild animals. There were a number of low, wooden stools standing about the room, and one higher one that might almost have been said to have attained the dignity of a chair.

Upon this larger stool was seated a stern faced man, who scrutinized them closely and silently as they were halted before him. For several seconds no one spoke, and then the man upon the chair turned to Vulhan.

“Who are these,” he demanded, “and what do they in the village of Lar?”

“We took them from a Korsar ship that was drifting helplessly with the ocean current,” said Vulhan, “and we have brought them to Zural, chief of the village of Lar, that he may hear their story and judge whether they be the friends they claim to be, or the Korsar enemies that we believe them to be. This one,” and Vulhan pointed to Stellara, “says that she is the daughter of Allara.”

“I am the daughter of Allara,” said Stellara.

“And who was your father?” demanded Zural.

“My father’s name is Fedol,” replied Stellara.

“How do you know?” asked Zural.

“My mother told me.”

“Where were you born?” demanded Zural.

“In the Korsar city of Allaban,” replied Stellara.

“Then you are a Korsar,” stated Zural with finality. “And this one, what has he to say for himself?” asked Zural, indicating Tanar with a nod.

“He claims that he was a prisoner of the Korsars and that he comes from a distant kingdom called Sari.”

“I have never heard of such a kingdom,” said Zural. “Is there any warrior here who has ever heard of it?” he demanded. “If there is, let him in justice to the prisoner, speak.” But the Amiocapians only shook their heads for there was none who had ever heard of the kingdom of Sari. “It is quite plain,” continued Zural, “that they are enemies and that they are seeking by falsehood to gain our confidence. If there is a drop of Amiocapian blood in one of them, we are sorry for that drop. Take them away, Vulhan. Keep them under guard until we decide how they shall be destroyed.”

“My mother told me that the Amiocapians were a just and kindly people,” said Stellara; “but it is neither just nor kindly to destroy this man who is not an enemy simply because you have never heard of the country from which he comes. I tell you that he is no Korsar. I was on one of the ships of the fleet when the prisoners were brought aboard. I heard The Cid and Bohar the Bloody when they were questioning this man, and I know that he is no Korsar and that he comes from a kingdom known as Sari. They did not doubt his word, so why should you? If you are a just and kindly people how can you destroy me without giving me an opportunity to talk with Fedol, my father. He will believe me; he will know that I am his daughter.”

“The gods frown upon us if we harbor enemies in our village,” replied Zural. “We should have bad luck, as all Amiocapians know. Wild beasts would kill our hunters and the tandors would trample our fields and destroy our villages. But worst of all the Korsars would come and rescue you from us. As for Fedol, no man knows where he is. He is not of this village and the people of his own village have slept and eaten many times since they saw Fedol. They have slept and eaten many times since Fedol set forth upon his last tandor hunt. Perhaps the tandors have avenged the killing of many of their fellows, or perhaps Fedol fell into the clutches of the Buried People. These things we do not know, but we do know that Fedol went away to hunt tandors and that he never came back and that we do not know where to find him. Take them away, Vulhan, and we shall hold a council of the chiefs and then we shall decide what shall be done with them.”

“You are a cruel and wicked man, Zural,” cried Stellara, “and no better than the Korsars themselves.”

“It is useless, Stellara,” said Tanar, laying a hand upon the girl’s arm. “Let us go quietly with Vulhan;” and then in a low whisper, “Do not anger them, for there is yet hope for us in the council of the chiefs if we do not antagonize them.” And so without further word Stellara and Tanar were led from the house of Zural the chief surrounded by a dozen stalwart warriors.
IV

LETARI

Stellara and Tanar were conducted to a small hut in the outskirts of the village. The building consisted of but two rooms; the open living room with the fireplace and a small dark, sleeping apartment. Into the latter the prisoners were thrust and a single warrior was left on guard in the living room to prevent their escape.

In a world where the sun hangs perpetually at zenith there is no darkness and without darkness there is little opportunity to escape from the clutches of a watchful enemy. Yet never for a moment was the thought of escape absent from the mind of Tanar the Sarian. He studied the sentries and as each one was relieved he tried to enter into conversation with his successor, but all to no avail—the warriors would not talk to him. Sometimes the guards dozed, but the village and the clearing about it were always alive with people so that it appeared unlikely that any opportunity for escape might present itself.

The sentries were changed, food was brought to the prisoners and when they felt so inclined they slept. Thus only might they measure the lapse of time, if such a thing occurred to them, which doubtless it did not. They talked together and sometimes Stellara sang—sang the songs of Amiocap that her mother had taught her, and they were happy and contented, although each knew that the specter of death hovered constantly above them. Presently he would strike, but in the meantime they were happy.

“When I was a youth,” said Tanar, “I was taken prisoner by the black people with tails. They build their villages among the high branches of lofty trees and, at first they put me in a small hut as dark as this and much dirtier and I was very miserable and very unhappy for I have always been free and I love my freedom, but now I am again a prisoner in a dark hut and in addition I know that I am going to die and I do not want to die, yet I am not unhappy. Why is it, Stellara, do you know?”

“I have wondered about the same thing myself,” replied the girl. “It seems to me that I have never been so happy before in my life, but I do not know the reason.”

They were sitting close together upon a fiber mat that they had placed near the doorway that they might obtain as much light and air as possible. Stellara’s soft eyes looked thoughtfully out upon the little world framed by the doorway of their prison cell. One hand rested listlessly on the mat between them. Tanar’s eyes rested upon her profile, and slowly his hand went out and covered hers.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I should not be happy if you were not here.”

The girl turned half frightened eyes upon him and withdrew her hand. “Don’t,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know, only that it makes me afraid.”

The man was about to speak again when a figure darkened the opening in the doorway. A girl had come bringing food. Heretofore it had been a man—a taciturn man who had replied to none of Tanar’s questions. But there was no suggestion of taciturnity upon the beautiful, smiling countenance of the girl.

“Here is food,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“Where there is nothing else to do but eat I am always hungry,” said Tanar. “But where is the man who brought our food before?”

“That was my father,” replied the girl. “He has gone to hunt and I have brought the food in his stead.”

“I hope that he never returns from the hunt,” said Tanar.

“Why?” demanded the girl. “He is a good father. Why do you wish him harm?”

“I wish him no harm,” replied Tanar, laughing. “I only wish that his daughter would continue to bring our food. She is far more agreeable and much better looking.”

The girl flushed, but it was evident that she was pleased.

“I wanted to come before,” she said, “but my father would not let me. I saw you when they brought you into the village and I have wanted to see you again. I never before saw a man who looked like you. You are different from the Amiocapians. Are all the men of Sari as good looking as you?”

Tanar laughed. “I am afraid I have never given much thought to that subject,” he replied. “In Sari we judge our men by what they do and not by what they look like.”

“But you must be a great hunter,” said the girl. “You look like a great hunter.”

“How do great hunters look?” demanded Stellara with some asperity.

“They look like this man,” replied the girl. “Do you know,” she continued, “I have dreamed about you many times.”

“What is your name?” asked Tanar.

“Letari,” replied the girl.

“Letari,” repeated Tanar. “That is a pretty name. I hope, Letari, that you will bring our food to us often.”

“I shall never bring it again,” she said, sadly.

“And why?” demanded Tanar.

“Because no one will bring it again,” she said.

“And why is that? Are they going to starve us to death?”

“No, the council of the chiefs has decided that you are both Korsars and that you must be destroyed.”

“And when will that be?” asked Stellara.

“As soon as the hunters return with food. We are going to have a great feast and dance, but I shall not enjoy it. I shall be very unhappy for I do not wish to see Tanar die.”

“How are they going to destroy us?” asked the man.

“Look,” said the girl, pointing through the open doorway. There, in the distance, the two prisoners saw men setting two stakes into the ground. “There were many who wanted to give you to the Buried People,” said Letari, “but Zural said that it has been so long since we have had a feast and a dance that he thought that we should celebrate the killing of two Korsars rather than let the Buried People have all the pleasure, and so they are going to tie you to those two stakes and pile dry wood and brush around you and burn you to death.”

Stellara shuddered. “And my mother taught me that you were a kindly people,” she said.

“Oh we do not mean to be unkind,” said Letari, “but the Korsars have been very cruel to us and Zural believes that the gods will take word to the Korsars that you were burned to death and that perhaps it will frighten them and keep them away from Amiocap.”

Tanar arose to his feet and stood very straight and stiff. The horror of the situation almost overwhelmed him. He looked down at Stellara’s golden head and shuddered. “You cannot mean,” he said, “that the men of Amiocap intend to burn this girl alive?”

“Why, yes,” said Letari. “It would do no good to kill her first for then her spirit could not tell the gods that she was burned and they could not tell the Korsars.”

“It is hideous,” cried Tanar; “and you, a girl yourself, have you no sympathy; have you no heart?”

“I am very sorry that they are going to burn you,” said Letari, “but as for her, she is a Korsar and I feel nothing but hatred and loathing for her, but you are different. I know that you are not a Korsar and I wish that I could save you.”

“Will you—would you, if you could?” demanded Tanar.

“Yes, but I cannot.”

The conversation relative to escape had been carried on in low whispers, so that the guard would not overhear, but evidently it had aroused his suspicion for now he arose and came to the doorway of the hut. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Why do you stay in here so long, Letari, talking with these Korsars? I heard what you said and I believe that you are in love with this man.”

“What if I am?” demanded the girl. “Do not our gods demand that we love? What else do we live for upon Amiocap but love?”

“The gods do not say that we should love our enemies.”

“They do not say that we should not,” retorted Letari. “If I choose to love Tanar it is my own affair.”

“Clear out!” snapped the warrior. “There are plenty of men in Lar for you to love.”

“Ah!” sighed the girl as she passed through the doorway, “but there is none like Tanar.”

“The hateful little wanton,” cried Stellara after the girl left.

“She does not hesitate to reveal what is in her heart,” said Tanar. “The girls of Sari are not like that. They would die rather than reveal their love before the man had declared his. But perhaps she is only a child and did not realize what she said.”

“A child nothing,” snapped Stellara. “She knew perfectly well what she was saying and it is quite apparent that you liked it. Very well, when she comes to save you, go with her.”

“You do not think that I intended to go with her alone even though an opportunity for escape presented itself through her, do you?” demanded Tanar.

“She told you that she would not help me to escape,” Stellara reminded him.

“I know that, but it would be only in the hope of helping you to escape that I would take advantage of her help.”

“I would rather be burned alive a dozen times than to escape with her help.”

There was a venom in the girl’s voice that had never been there before and Tanar looked at her in surprise. “I do not understand you, Stellara,” he said.

“I do not understand myself,” said the girl, and burying her face in her hands she burst into tears.

Tanar knelt quickly beside her and put an arm about her. “Don’t,” he begged, “please don’t.”

She pushed him from her. “Go away,” she cried. “Don’t touch me. I hate you.”

Tanar was about to speak again when he was interrupted by a great commotion at the far end of the village. There were shouts and yells from men, mingled with a thunderous noise that fairly shook the ground, and then the deep booming of drums.

Instantly the men setting the stakes in the ground, where Tanar and Stellara were to be burned, stopped their work, seized their weapons and rushed in the direction from which the noise was coming.

The prisoners saw men, women and children running from their huts and all directed their steps toward the same point. The guard before their door leaped to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the running villagers. Then, without a word or backward glance, he dashed off after them.

Tanar, realizing that for the moment at least they were unguarded, stepped from the dark cell out into the open living apartment and looked in the direction toward which the villagers were running. There he saw the cause of the disturbance and also an explanation of the purpose for which the strange hanging barrier had been erected.

Just beyond the barrier loomed two gigantic mammoths—huge tandors, towering sixteen feet or more in height—their wicked eyes red with hate and rage; their great tusks gleaming in the sunlight; their long, powerful trunks seeking to drag down the barrier from the sharpened stakes of which their flesh recoiled. Facing the mammoths was a shouting horde of warriors, screaming women and children, and above all rose the thundering din of the drums.

Each time the tandors sought to force their way through the barrier, or brush aside its posts, these swung about so that the sharpened stakes threatened their eyes or pricked the tender flesh of their trunks, while bravely facing them the shouting warriors hurled their stone-tipped spears.

But however interesting or inspiring the sight might be, Tanar had no time to spare to follow the course of this strange encounter. Turning to Stellara, he seized her hand. “Come,” he cried. “Now is our chance!” And while the villagers were engrossed with the tandors at the far end of the village, Tanar and Stellara ran swiftly across the clearing and entered the lush vegetation of the forest beyond.

There was no trail and it was with difficulty that they forced their way through the underbrush for a short distance before Tanar finally halted.

“We shall never escape them in this way,” he said. “Our spoor is as plain as the spoor of a dyryth after a rain.”

“How else then may we escape?” asked Stellara.

Tanar was looking upward into the trees examining them closely. “When I was a prisoner among the black people with long tails,” he said, “I had to learn to travel through the trees and this knowledge and the ability have stood me in good stead many times since and I believe that they may prove our salvation now.”

“You go then,” said Stellara, “and save yourself, for certainly I cannot travel through the trees, and there is no reason why we should both be recaptured when one of us can escape.”

Tanar smiled. “You know that I would not do that,” he said.

“But what else may you do?” demanded Stellara. “They will follow the trail we are making and recapture us before we are out of hearing of the village.”

“We shall leave no trail,” said Tanar. “Come,” and leaping lightly to a lower branch he swung himself into the tree that spread above them. “Give me your hand,” he said, reaching down to Stellara, and a moment later he had drawn the girl to his side. Then he stood erect and steadied the girl while she arose to her feet. Before them a maze of branches stretched away to be lost in the foliage.

“We shall leave no spoor here,” said Tanar.

“I am afraid,” said Stellara. “Hold me tightly.”

“You will soon become accustomed to it,” said Tanar, “and then you will not be afraid. At first I was afraid, but later I could swing through the trees almost as rapidly as the black men themselves.”

“I cannot even take a single step,” said Stellara. “I know that I shall fall.”

“You do not have to take a step,” said Tanar. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on tightly,” and then he stooped and lifted her with his left arm while she clung tightly to him, her soft white arms encircling his neck.

“How easily you lifted me!” she said; “how strong you are; but no man living could carry my weight through these trees and not fall.”

Tanar did not reply, but instead he moved off among the branches seeking sure footing and secure handholds as he went. The girl’s soft body was pressed close to his and in his nostrils was the delicate sachet that he had sensed in his first contact with Stellara aboard the Korsar ship and which now seemed a part of her.

As Tanar swung through the forest, the girl marveled at the strength of the man. She had always considered him a weakling by comparison with the beefy Korsars, but now she realized that in those smoothly rolling muscles was concealed the power of a superman.

She found a fascination in watching him. He moved so easily and he did not seem to tire. Once she let her lips fall until they touched his thick, black hair and then, just a little, almost imperceptibly, she tightened her arms about his neck.

Stellara was very happy and then, of a sudden, she recalled Letari and she straightened up and relaxed her hold. “The vile wanton,” she said.

“Who?” demanded Tanar. “What are you talking about?”

“That creature, Letari,” said Stellara.

“Why she is not vile,” said Tanar. “I thought she was very nice and she is certainly beautiful.”

“I believe you are in love with her,” snapped Stellara.

“That would not be difficult,” said Tanar. “She seemed very lovable.”

“Do you love her?” demanded Stellara.

“Why shouldn’t I?” asked Tanar.

“Do you?” insisted the girl.

“Would you care if I did?” asked Tanar, softly.

“Most certainly not,” said Stellara.

“Then why do you ask?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Stellara. “I do not care.”

“Oh,” said Tanar. “I misunderstood,” and he moved on in silence, for the men of Sari are not talkative, and Stellara did not know what was in his mind for his face did not reflect the fact that he was laughing inwardly, and, anyway, Stellara could not see his face.

Tanar moved always in one direction and his homing instinct assured him that the direction lay toward Sari. As far as the land went he could move unerringly toward the spot in Pellucidar where he was born. Every Pellucidarian can do that, but put them on the water, out of sight of land, and that instinct leaves them and they have no more conception of direction than would you or I if we were transported suddenly to a land where there are no points of compass since the sun hangs perpetually at zenith and there is no moon and no stars. Tanar’s only wish at present was to put them as far as possible from the village of Lar. He would travel until they reached the coast for, knowing that Amiocap was an island, he knew that eventually they must come to the ocean. What they should do then was rather vague in his mind. He had visions of building a boat and embarking upon the sea, although he knew perfectly well that this would be madness on the part of a hill dweller such as he.

Presently he felt hungry and he knew that they must have traveled a considerable distance.

Sometimes Tanar kept track of distance by computing the number of steps that he took, for by much practice he had learned to count them almost mechanically, leaving his mind free for other perceptions and thoughts, but here among the branches of the trees, where his steps were not of uniform length, he had thought it not worth the effort to count them and so he could only tell by the recurrence of hunger that they must have covered considerable distance since they left the village of Lar.

During their flight through the forest they had seen birds and monkeys and other animals and, on several occasions, they had paralleled or crossed game trails, but as the Amiocapians had stripped him of his weapons he had no means of obtaining meat until he could stop long enough to fashion a bow and some arrows and a spear.

How he missed his spear! From childhood it had been his constant companion and for a long time he had felt almost helpless without it. He had never become entirely accustomed or reconciled to carrying firearms, feeling in the bottom of his primitive and savage heart that there was nothing more dependable than a sturdy, stone shod spear.

He had rather liked the bow and arrows that Innes and Perry had taught him to make and use, as the arrows had seemed like little spears. At least one could see them, whereas with the strange and noisy weapons, which belched forth smoke and flame, one could not see the projectile at all. It was most unnatural and uncanny.

But Tanar’s mind was not occupied with such thoughts at this time. Food was dominant.

Presently they came to a small, natural clearing beside a crystal brook and Tanar swung lightly to the ground.

“We shall stop here,” he said, “until I can make weapons and get meat for us.”

With the feel of the ground beneath her feet again Stellara felt more independent. “I am not hungry,” she said.

“I am,” said Tanar.

“There are berries and fruits and nuts in plenty,” she insisted. “We should not wait here to be overtaken by the warriors from Lar.”

“We shall wait here until I have made weapons,” said Tanar, with finality, “and then I shall not only be in a position to make a kill for meat, but I shall be able better to defend you against Zural’s warriors.”

“I wish to go on,” said Stellara. “I do not wish to stay here,” and she stamped her little foot.

Tanar looked at her in surprise. “What is the matter with you, Stellara? You were never like this before.”

“I do not know what is the matter with me,” said the girl. “I only know that I wish I were back in Korsar, in the house of The Cid. There, at least, I should be among friends. Here I am surrounded only by enemies.”

“Then you would have Bohar the Bloody One as a mate, if he survived the storm, or if not he another like him,” Tanar reminded her.

“At least he loved me,” said Stellara.

“And you loved him?” asked Tanar.

“Perhaps,” said Stellara.

There was a peculiar look on Tanar’s face as his eyes rested upon the girl. He did not understand her, but he seemed to be trying to. She was looking past him, a strange expression upon her face when suddenly she voiced an exclamation of dismay and pointed past him.

“Look!” she cried. “Oh, God, look!”