As Tarzan and Om-at climbed back into the foyer of Pan-at-cave and took their place next to Taden ready for any punishment for Es-Sat’s death, the sun appearing in the eastern hills also touched a sleeper in a distant thorny field, awakening him again to the day of inexhaustible persecution, along a weak and rapidly fading trail.
There was silence in Kor-ul at that time. The members of the tribe waited, looking at some time down to the spiritless pile that had been their chief, sometimes to each other, and always between Om-at and the two standing on either side of him. Then Om-at spoke. “I’m Om-at,” he cried. “Who says Om-at is not Kor-ul-jan gund?”
He waited for the acceptor of his challenge. A pair of tanakahk young bitches moved restlessly, staring at him, but there was no answer.
“So Om-at is a gund,” he said decisively. “Tell me now, where is Pan-at-li, his father and brother?”
Elsewhere, the old warrior spoke. “Pan-at-lin should be in his cave. Who would know it better than you yourself, who are there now? His father and brother were sent to keep an eye on Kor-ul-Luli; but neither of those questions raises any teasing in our bosom. There is a question that wakes up: can Om-at be the chief of Kor-ul-jan and yet stand against his own people with some ho-don and bring a terrible man by his side – a terrible man without a tail? then Om-atin is fit to be a gund. ”
Neither Tarzan nor Ta-den crocheted a word; they just stood watching Om-ati and waiting for his decision, a fine smile fluttering on the monkey man’s lips. Ta-den at least knew the old warrior spoke the truth – the waz-don do not provide protection to aliens and do not take prisoners from a foreign tribe.
Then spoke to Om. “There’s always change,” he pointed out. “Even Pal-ul-don’s old hills never look the same twice – the brilliant sun, the floating cloud, the moon, the fog, the changing seasons, the globular serenity that follows the storm, they all bring new change to our hills. From birth to death, day by day, we all change .Variability is thus the laws of Jad-ben-Othon.
“- Now I, Om-at, your temptation, bring change again.
Strangers who are brave men and good friends, do not
kill Kor-ul-jan’s waz-donis anymore!”
There were murmurs and mutterings, and the warriors moved restlessly, looking at each other to see who would take the initiative against Om-at, a vicious reformer.
“Stop grumbling,” urged the new gund. “I am the master of My Word is your law you have played no role in my coming as Head of Others of you helped Es-satia banishing me to my ancestors cave;… Others allow it I do not have anything to you owe only these two, that ye be willing me to destroy,.. were loyal to me, I Gund, and if anyone doubts it, then let him speak -. was younger he can not die. ”
Tarzan was fine. Here was a man according to his own heart. He admired the fearlessness of Om-at’s challenge and was a good enough human expert to know that he hadn’t listened to the needy beating of the wind – Om-at would advocate his words until death if necessary, and the probable possibility was that death would not be his. Apparently, the majority of Kor-uls had the same belief.
“I will be a good gund for you,” said Om-at when he saw that no one seemed willing to dispute his rights. “Your wife and daughter are allowed to be safe – they were not safe during the reign of Es-Sat. Now go to your persecutors and your trapping trees. I’m going to look for Pan-at-l. Let Jad-ben-Otho smile at you. ”
He turned to Tarzan and ho-don. “And you, friends,” he said, “you are free to move among the people; the cave of my ancestors is yours; do whatever you want.”
“I’m going with Om-at to look for Pan-at,” Tarzan announced.
“And I,” Ta-den agreed.
Om smiled. “Good!” he exclaimed. “And when we find him, we go together for the affairs of Tarzan and Ta-den. Where do we look first?” He turned to the warriors. “Who knows where he might be?”
No one knew except that Pan-at-li had gone to his cave with the others the night before – there was no hint of his presence.
“Show me where he sleeps,” Tarzan presented; “Let me see something belonging to him – a piece of clothing – so I can probably help you.”
Two young warriors snapped closer to the embankment on which Om-at stood.
They were In-sad and O-dan, and the latter spoke.
“Kor-ul-jan gund,” he offered, “we would like to go with you in search of Pan-at-l.”
“O-dan and In-sad are allowed to come along,” Om-at announced, “we don’t need more. Come on, Tarzan, I’ll show you Pan-at-lin’s sleeping quarters, even if you don’t understand why you want to know – he’s not there. I actually watched. ”
They stepped into the cave for two, and Om-at went above to the room where
Es-sat had surprised Pan-at-lin the night before.
“Everything here is his,” Om-at explained, “except that wart on the main floor – it was Es-Satin.”
The monkey man moved silently in the room, and his companions barely noticed the vibration of the sensitive nostrils, just wondering what benefit might be of stopping here, and feeling the restlessness of the delay.
“Come!” said the ape, and went above to the porch. There, their three partners were waiting. Tarzan stepped to the left side of the closet and looked at the pieces sticking out of reach. He looked at them, but they were not examined by his eyes. More sharp than the sharp gaze was the miraculously trained sense of smell that had first developed in him as a child, cared for by his foster mother – the female monkey Kaala – and, as an excellent teacher, further sharpened by the instinct for self-preservation in the cruel jungles.
From the left side of the closet, he turned left. Om-at began to become impatient.
“Let’s go,” he pointed out. “We have to look for Pan-at if we want to find him.”
“Where do we have to look?” would ask Tarzan.
Om-at scratched his head. “Where?” he repeated. “Well, the whole Pal-ul-don, if necessary.”
“Big deal,” crocheted Tarzan. “Come,” he added, “he went through this,” and he moved on to the pieces that led to the law of the rock. Here, he easily followed the scent because no one had visited it since the Pan-at-lin escape. At the point where he had deviated from the regular pieces and started using the ones he was carrying, Tarzan stood plagued. “He went from this ridge,” he said to Om-at, who was closest to him; “But there are no pieces here.”
“I don’t understand how you know he’s gone from this,” said Om-at; “But the pieces we do get. In-sad, you go back and pick up the climbing cups for five.”
The young warrior soon returned, and the calves were distributed. Om-at handed Tarzan five and explained their use. The monkey gave one back, “I only need four,” he said.
Om smiled. “What a wonderful creature you would be if you didn’t have a limb fracture,” he exclaimed.
“I admit myself a little flawed,” Tarzan replied. “Go ahead of the others and leave the pieces in place for me. I’m afraid it would otherwise be a slow job when I can’t hold the pieces in my toes like you.”
“All is well,” confirmed Om-at; “Ta-den, In-sad and I go ahead, you follow and O-dan comes at the back, collecting the pieces – because of our enemies we can’t leave them here.”
“Can’t your enemies bring their own pieces?” Tarzan asked.
“Yes; but it slows them down and makes our defense easier, and they don’t know which of all these holes are deep enough for the pieces – others are made to deceive enemies, the pieces don’t stay in them.”
On the cliff of the rock, Tarzan again found the trail at the foot of the curvy tree. The scent here was just as intense as on the pieces, and the monkey rushed over the ridge in the direction of Kor-ul-Lul.
After Tov, he stopped and turned to Om-at.
“Here he moved fast, running at full speed, and, Om-at, he was chased by a lion.”
“Can you read it on the grass?” asked O-dan as others gathered around the monkey man.
Tarzan nodded. “I don’t think the lion got him,” he added.
“So where can he be?” said Om-at.
“We can only follow as long as the trail is fresh,” the monkey replied; and again, beginning his interrupted persecution, he led them down the ridge, until a sharp turn of the path to the left delivered them to the hill, which perpendicularly sank into Kor-ul-lul. For a moment he examined Tarza’s crust on the right and left, then he straightened and, pointing to Om-at, pointed to the gorge.
Sighing stared at the waz-don down to the green crack, at the bottom of which the river was bubbling down along its cliffs; then he closed his eyes as if from a flash of sudden pain and turned away.
“You mean – that – he jumped?” he asked.
“To avoid the lion,” Tarzan replied. “The beast was all over his hocks – look, you can see four paws sinking into the peat as it stops its assault right on the edge of the abyss.”
“Is there any possibility -” began Om-at; but Tarzan’s warning gesture suddenly silenced him.
“Down!” whispers the hops; “A lot of men are coming. They’re running – below the ridge.” He sank into his stomach in the grass, and others followed his example.
For a minute they waited like that, and then others heard the rumble of the run and soon a hoarse cry that many others in the same accompanied.
“It’s a kor-ul-luli war cry,” whispered Om-at, “a hunting cry from the hunters. Soon we will see them, and if Jad-ben-Otho is favorable to us, their numbers will not be very much greater than ours.”
“There are many of them,” said Tarzan, “forty or fifty, I would say, but it is impossible to guess how many are harassed and how many pursuers, except that the latter must be in great superiority because they would not otherwise rush so quickly.”
“Here they come,” crocheted Ta-den.
“There’s An-un, Pan-at-lin’s father, and his two sons,” exclaimed O-dan. “They’ll whine past without seeing us if we’re not in a hurry,” he added, looking at Om-at, the chief, waiting for the sign.
“Come on!” the latter shouted, popping on his feet and running to break the direction of those three refugees. Others followed him.
“Five friends!” slipped Om-at, An-un and his sons invented them.
” Adenen yo !” accompanied by O-dan and In-sad.
The refugees barely stopped as unexpected auxiliaries joined them, but strangely they stared at Ta-Den and Tarzan.
“There are a lot of Kor-ul-lules,” shouted An-un. “As long as we can stand to fight; but we must first warn Es-satia and our people.”
“Yes,” confirmed Om-at, “we must warn our people.”
“Es-sat is dead,” In-sad announced.
“Who’s in charge?” asked one of An-un’s sons.
“Om-at,” replied O-dan.
“That’s good,” exclaimed An-un. “Pan-at-li assured you that you would come back and kill Es-Sat.”
Now an enemy appeared behind them.
“Come on!” shouted Tarzan; “Let us turn to rush against them, raising a great shout. They haunt only three, and seeing eight attacking against them, they think a lot of men are coming to fight.
“All right,” Om-at decided. “Id-an, you are nimble – take the word to the warriors of Kor-ul-jan that we are fighting kor-ul-lule on the ridge and that Ab-on must send a hundred men.”
Id-an, the son of An-un, swarmed kor-ul-jai to the rock dwellings, while others rushed to fight the approaching kor-ul-lul, and in a strange hole in harmony rose and fell the cries of war of those two tribes. The leaders of the Kor-ul-luli stopped to notice the auxiliary forces, apparently waiting for those left behind to arrive on the scene and possibly also to find out how large a crowd was facing them. The leaders, perhaps faster runners than the others, were far ahead, and no other crowd had yet emerged from the bush; and now that Om-at and his companions showed in their attack the ferocity exalted by necessity, they turned back, so that when their companions finally appeared, they seemed to be in complete escape. The natural result was that others also turned to slip away.
Encouraged by this first success, Om-at followed them into the bush; his small team rushed boldly on either side of him, and loud and scary were the wild howls they let out at the feet of the fleeing enemy. The shrub was not so dense that it would have prevented the passage, but its height hid the team men from each other as they got a few feet apart. So Tarzan, always vigorous and always fierce to fight, soon drove the enemy far ahead of the others – and that lack of understanding came to his defeat.
The warriors of Kor-ul-Lul, no doubt as bold as their opponents, only retreated to a more favorable position in the bush, and it did not take long for them to realize that the pursuers were in the minority. Then they took the densest shrub as their stopping place; it was an ambush, and here ran the Monkey Tarzan. They tricked him nicely. So, sad to say, they tricked the cunning ruler of the jungle. But they fought in their own territory, every inch of which they knew as your stewardship room, and they followed their own methods of fighting, of which Tarzan knew nothing.
Tarzan looked like a lone black warrior, as if in retardation as a retarder of a retreating enemy, and thus, as he retreated, he seduced Tarzan forward. Finally, he turned, defying the ape man with a mallet and a revealed knife, and as Tarzan attacked, twenty vile waz-don jumped out of the bush of the surroundings. Immediately, but too late, I realized the danger of my giant tarmang. The revelation of her lost partner flashed in her eyes, and a great and gruesome remorse swelled in her soul that if Jane was alive, she could no longer hope, for though she would never hear of her husband’s end, she would inevitably have to seal her judgment.
And with this thought he was drawn to his power by the wrath of anger against these beings who dared to thwart his intentions and threaten the life of his wife. With a wild growl, he threw at the warrior in front of him, twisting a heavy gavel from his hand like a small child, and by tensing the weight and tenderness of his giant carcass with his left fist, he would punch the waz-don face in the middle of the murderous blow — a blow that crushed the mouth. He then turned against the others, swinging their fallen partner’s gavel to the right and left with huge, ruthless insults that struck down their own weapons until the chips from the monkey man were thrown. Both sides whispered to the tantrum from his gavel; so dumb was the direction of his beats, so cat-like the change in his postures that in the first moments of the struggle he seemed invulnerable to their attacks. But it couldn’t be endured — he had twenty on his face, and a defeat was thrown at his defeat. It froze in the back of the head. Tovin he stood swaying, and then, like the great Honka carpenter, he crashed to the ground.
Other kor-ul-lules had attacked Om-at’s actual team. The noise of that fight was heard a little distance away, and it was obvious that the kor-ul-yas were retreating to their leisurely, and as they retreated, shouted Om-at to his missing partner, “Terrible Tarzan! Terrible Tarzan!”
“Jad-guru indeed,” repeated kor-ul-lul, among other things, as he rose from the root of the bush where Tarzan had bumped him. “Tarzan-jad-guru! He was worse.”