The Greatest Works of Otis Adelbert Kline - 18 Books in One Edition. Otis Adelbert Kline

to me, and found her a new Loralie—tender, yielding, passionate.

      “I’ve loved you since the very hour we met,” she said, “when you tossed my presuming cousin into the shrubbery.”

      Her hand caressed my cheek, roving softly over my rugged face. But as I bent to claim the sweetness of her lips, I heard a twig crack behind me, and I whirled about, hand on hilt.

      To my amazement I beheld Prince Gadrimel, standing only a short distance from us. “A thousand pardons for this intrusion,” he lisped. “By the beard of Thorth, I could not find the heart to disturb so pretty a love scene, were it not that darkness approaches and the camp is a considerable journey from here.”

      Too astonished to reply, I could only stare at him as he stood with a mocking smile on his effeminate features, toying with a jeweled pendant on his breast and ogling Loralie.

      “No doubt you are glad to see me, fair cousin,” he continued in his mincing Patoa, grinning at the princess, “so glad that the joy of my coming overwhelms you—renders you speechless. Come, haven’t you at least a little cousinly kiss for your deliverer who has come so far to rescue you? You appear to lavish your caresses quite generously outside the family.”

      My blood boiled at his studied insolence, his air of proprietorship, yet I strove to control my feelings as I answered him. “The kisses of the Princess Loralie are her own to bestow. You will do well to remember that, Prince Gadrimel.”

      “And you, Prince Zinlo, will do well to speak only when spoken to.” Gadrimel held out a hand to Loralie. “Come, cousin, let us get to camp before darkness falls. By tomorrow we will be aboard my flagship and well on our way to my father’s palace.”

      The princess drew closer to me and looked up into my face as she answered, “Prince Zinlo is my fiance. I’ll go where he goes.”

      “This nonsense has gone far enough,” said Gadrimel, sharply. “Ho, warriors!”

      Scarcely had he uttered his call ere there closed in on us from the surrounding fern brakes a full hundred armed men of Adonijar.

      “Seize and bind this interloper,” he commanded, pointing to me.

      When this had been done, Gadrimel stationed a stalwart soldier at my side. “Remain here with the prisoner, until we have passed out of earshot. Then…” He stepped close to the soldier and whispered something to him. “For which,” he concluded, as he stepped back, “you may have his weapons, accouterments and anything else of value he may have with him.”

      Loralie attempted to come to me as I stood there, bound hand and foot, but two soldiers prevented her.

      “What are you going to do to him?” she cried.

      “Now, now. Calm yourself, sweet cousin,” said Gadrimel. “I am but sending him on a journey. I must insist that you hurry to camp with me at once, or darkness will overtake us on the way; the night-roving beasts will not be pleasant to meet in this forest.”

      In spite of her struggles he dragged her away. Behind them moved the entire company of warriors with the single exception of the one who had been instructed to remain with me. He stood immobile, listening until the sound of voices and the clank of weapons had died away in the distance. Then he turned to me.

      “I have been commanded to kill you, Highness,” he said, simply. “Never before have I slain a bound and helpless man, but I am a soldier of Adonijar and may not disobey the command of my prince. However, I was not instructed as to how I should kill you, and I bear you no malice. By what weapon do you choose to die?”

      “The sword,” I replied, “has ever been my favorite weapon. If I must die now, let it be by the sword.”

      “The sword?” he asked in puzzlement.

      “That long straight-bladed weapon in the sheath at my feet,” I answered. “Plunge it into my heart and get it over quickly.”

      Slowly he bent over and withdrew the sword from its sheath. He examined it curiously, testing the sharpness of its point with his palm and the keenness of its edge with his thumb.

      “By the blood of Thorth!” he exclaimed. “This is a beautiful weapon. And it will be mine as soon as I have slain you. Make ready, now, to die.”

      Chapter 12

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      As I stood there in the fern forest bound hand and foot and helplessly awaiting the death blow at the hands of Prince Gadrimel’s henchman, I was suddenly knocked flat by the drop of a huge, furry body from the limbs of the tree above me. Half dazed, I sat up just in time to see a female cave-ape crush the head of my would-be slayer with her sawedged club.

      She turned, and as she did so, I recognized her features.

      “Chixa!” I exclaimed.

      “Long have the cave-apes sought their Rogo,” she said, “and great will be their rejoicing when he returns.”

      With her flint knife she quickly cut my bonds, and I stood erect once more, stamping my feet and chafing my wrists to restore circulation, scarcely able, as yet, to understand that I was really alive.

      “Do you cave-apes still consider me their king?”

      “According to the custom you would lose your kingdom if you remained away for more than one endir. But you have been gone only a few days. As there is much judging to be done, we have been searching for you.”

      “Where are the other searchers?” I asked.

      “Many of them are within call.”

      “Then call them, and let them call as many others as they can.”

      With marvelous agility for a creature of such great size, she scampered up to the leaf crown of a tall tree-fern. Then, cupping her paws, she gave utterance to a queer, trilling cry. It was answered, not once, but many times, from various points far and near.

      Then she descended the tree and dropped into the glade beside me.

      Presently there came swinging through the branches a great, yellow-tusked male who, as soon as he saw me, roared, “Hail, Zinlo!” and dropped to the ground near me. Another emerged from the fern brakes, repeating the salute of the first, and it was not long before I was surrounded by more than two score males and about half as many females.

      As these shaggy man-beasts sat grouped around me, respectfully waiting for me to speak, their demeanor showed that they recognized me as their king without question.

      “My subjects,” I said, “I have work for you in which there is much danger and much fighting.”

      “Will there be food-men?”

      “There will be many food-men.”

      “Good!” This answer was unanimous.

      “We will start as soon as I have issued full instructions.”

      But the great, yellow-tusked male who had first responded to the summons of Chixa protested, “There is judging to be done. Will you not first do the judging, so we may go into the fight with our differences settled?”

      “Who are you,” I asked, “to question the edicts of your Rogo?”

      “I am Griff, mighty warrior, mighty hunter,” he replied, puffing out his broad, hairy chest. “But I do not question your edicts. I only ask that you hold the judging now.”

      Before I could answer him there came a sharp cry from a female who had perched herself in the branches above our heads in order that she might better observe everything that went on.

      “Danger! Danger!” she shrieked. “A silticum!”

      Every cave-ape instantly took to the trees, and I heard the crashing of a huge