Part 18 (1/2)

CHAPTER VIII

A PRIZE FOR VOKAL

”I tell you it is useless, Jotan,” Tamar said. ”For three suns now we have beat the jungle searching for some sign of her. How long do you expect to keep up this useless hunt?”

There were five of them in the group: Jotan, Tamar and three of the former's best fighting men. They were seated on a fallen log at the edge of a narrow stream, having finished was.h.i.+ng away the stains of jungle travel only minutes before. Directly overhead hung the midday sun, flooding them with humid heat, and hemming them in on all sides stood towering giants of the forest.

Jotan shook his head and said nothing. The strain and hopelessness of the last three days had aged him visibly: there were new lines in his face and his eyes were haggard. He recognized his injustice in subjecting his friends to the dangers of jungle travel, especially when their number was so small; but Dylara meant everything to him and he could not give her up without a struggle.

”I beg of you,” Tamar persisted; ”give up the search that we may turn about and rejoin the others. We are not equipped to follow this trail all the way back to Sephar. Already we have lost two of our men--one of them the only man among us who was qualified to track her down. For all we know she may be dead--the victim of one of the numerous cats infesting this section of the country.”

”You may return if you like,” snapped Jotan, stung by that last remark.

”I am going on--alone if necessary! Oh, I know why you want to call it off,” he went on, scowling. ”You never had any use for her because she is a girl of the caves instead of a n.o.bleman's daughter. But whether you like it or not, Dylara is the only woman I shall ever love and I am going to find her--or give my life in the attempt.”

Tamar, hearing, knew his friend meant exactly what he said. It was useless to plead with him on the basis of not being able to pick up her trail. But there was another way--and he bored into it, playing it up for all it was worth.

”Your life is your own, Jotan,” he said stiffly. ”But do you have the right to sacrifice the lives of the rest of us in a quest that is completely hopeless? If we had found anything to indicate we were on the right trail I would not for an instant try to dissuade you. It is true I do not think the girl worthy of your love--but that is not important.

You do love her and I would fight against the world in defense of your choice.”

”But to go on this way without a single lead to show us we have even the faintest chance for success, to throw away the lives of these three men--and our own--is rank folly! Perhaps you regard it as some sort of admirable determination; in truth it is sheer stubbornness.”

For a long time Jotan sat there staring with unseeing eyes at the sluggishly moving waters of the tiny river. There was no denying the truth in Tamar's words. He knew his best friend meant every word of his statement that he would back Jotan's choice of a mate against a world; he had proved that back in Sephar by saving Dylara's life by a bit of quick thinking, when he might as easily have let a plot against her go on to its inevitable end. Equally as undeniable was his statement that it was sheer injustice to sacrifice needlessly the lives of loyal men on what could only be cla.s.sified as a fool's errand.

Impulsively he turned to one of the three warriors sitting in a stolid row beside him. ”Tell me, Itak,” he said, ”what is your greatest desire at this moment?”

”To serve you, n.o.ble Jotan,” the man replied promptly and with complete honesty.

”And after that?”

Itak's dark face split in a wide smile. ”When we left for Ammad, my mate was heavy with child. I would like to learn if I have a son or a daughter.”

Slowly Jotan rose from the log and stretched his long, powerful arms.

”We have rested long enough,” he said, his face empty of all emotion.

”Let us be on our way--back to join our companions!”

Open relief showed in the three warriors' faces. Only Tamar fully understood what those words had cost his friend and he stood up and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. For only a second he left it there and neither spoke.

Then packs were swung to stalwart backs and the five men disappeared among the trees along the narrow game trail leading into the south--and Ammad.

Consciousness returned to Dylara at the moment the spider man was placing her roughly on a heap of foul-smelling gra.s.ses. In the almost impenetrable darkness she was aware that his hands were moving lingeringly along the contours of her body and in sudden terror she struck out at his face, guided by the sound of hoa.r.s.e rapid breathing.

Her nails struck home and she raked them fiercely across an unseen cheek, bringing forth a startled cry of pain and anger. An open hand caught her heavily above the ear and once more her senses swam, leaving her weak and defenseless.

Dimly she was aware that the awful creature was dropping to its knees beside her and once more long slender hair-covered fingers tugged at her tunic.