The Lost World MEGAPACK®. Lin Carter

lay somewhere behind us, down along the shores of the prehistoric sea which the Professor and I had been admiring when the Neanderthal men came upon us. This sea was known to the people of Zanthodon as the Sogar-Jad, or “Great Sea.” There was another sea somewhere ahead of us and farther inland called the Lugar-Jad, or “Lesser Sea,” which I heard mentioned when I was sufficiently familiar enough with the language to be able to understand conversations between the savages.

      As for the Apemen, their country was called Kor, and it lay across the sea on a large island called Ganadol. It was toward this country of Kor that we were presently heading with all such speed as the Apemen could force out of us. I presumed their urgent desire to return to Kor stemmed from the fear that Darya’s father, Tharn, and his warriors, might be on their tracks at this very moment, striving to recapture his daughter.

      I had no way of guessing how the Apemen planned to cross the Sogar-Jad to their island kingdom; from their primitive weapons and accouterments, they certainly didn’t seem sophisticated enough to have invented anything like boats.

      * * * *

      During one of our brief rest stops, I fell into conversation with Jorn, the young hunter whom I liked. I asked him why the Apemen—they were called “Drugars” by the Cro-Magnons: the name meant something like “the Ugly Ones”—had come so far down the coast of the Great Sea, merely to capture a few slaves.

      He gave me a solemn look. “In your country, Eric Carstairs, are not the women considered sacred?” he inquired.

      “We treat them with considerable respect,” I admitted. He shrugged his strong, tanned shoulders.

      “Well, in Thandar we regard them as the precious vessels of the future,” he said firmly. “For it is from their wombs that the warriors and chieftains and hunters of the next generation will spring into being.

      Without women, a tribe will soon perish.”

      “I can understand that way of thinking,” I nodded.

      “The Drugars have no women of their own, or very few,” he continued. “And those that are born are very ugly—”

      “Uglier even than the males?” I asked with a grin. “That is difficult to believe, Jorn!”

      He flashed white teeth in a somber smile. “Nevertheless, Eric Carstairs, it is so. Even the male Drugars loathe and shun them. Therefore, they steal the women from other tribes, whenever they can find them.

      Always, the most beautiful women, for they hope thereby to breed stronger sons and less repulsive females…”

      Something within me tightened at the thought of the slim, tender body of Darya crushed in the hairy embrace of a shaggy Ape-man like One-Eye. And my revulsion must have been visible in my features, for Jorn smiled, and laid his hand on my shoulder.

      “Now you understand why there has always been war between the men of Thandar and the Drugars,” he said quietly. “For they are stronger and more numerous than we, and for generations we have seen our wives and daughters and sisters carried off into the most horrible form of slavery by the Ugly Ones.”

      “Why, then, did they capture only one woman?” I inquired.

      His face was somber. “The Drugars were not on a woman-hunting expedition this time, and seized the maiden Darya only by chance. Once they realized who she was, they knew that they had captured a valuable prize, and they are making tracks to return to the safety of their island country before Darya’s father, Tharn of Thandar, catches up to them.”

      “I see…”

      “Yes, Eric Carstairs: she is the gomad, and they mean to demand of her father many young and beautiful women in ransom for her safe return.”

      I already understood that the High Chief of the Cro-Magnon tribe was called the Omad, or king. Darya, then, was the gomad, or princess of her people, and would doubtless inherit the rule after her sire. If she had been a boy, she would have been the jamad or prince. This struck me as rather sophisticated for what were, after all, only a Stone Age people, so I asked Jorn about that.

      “Is the chiefship of your tribe, then, a matter of inheritance rather than a prize to be won in personal combat by the strongest challenger?”

      He shrugged. “Not exactly…if an Omad has only a daughter to succeed him, the strongest and most brave of the warriors contest for her hand, and the gomad must wed the victor.…”

      That certainly gave me something to think about.

      “Since Tharn is still the Omad of your tribe, how, then, can you call Fumio the leading suitor for her hand?” I demanded, unable to understand the implied contradictions.

      Jorn smiled. “It is a little complicated, Eric Carstairs…what I meant to say was that Fumio has already declared his willingness to do battle against any challenger for the hand of Darya. And thus far, none of the warriors or chieftains of the tribe have dared accept his challenge, for he is the mightiest of us all.”

      I had to admit that Fumio was a tall and very powerfully built man, for all his pretty looks and sly, cunning ways. He was, in fact, the most muscular of all the men of Zanthodon I had yet encountered, except for the Apemen themselves.

      “And how does Darya feel about this?” I dared to ask. Jorn spread his hands in resignation.

      “Our women are not permitted to select their own mates,” he told me. “Since her mate will father the children who will grow into future chieftains of the tribe, it is her duty toward the future of Thandar to accept the greatest and most powerful champion.”

      “But does she like Fumio?”

      “That you shall have to inquire of Darya herself,” he replied.

      * * * *

      By the middle of the next day we reached a point along the coast from which, I was given to understand, we were to embark for the island of Ganadol.

      Concealed beneath the reeds I was surprised to discover a row of crude canoes—mere hollowed-out logs they were, but doubtless seaworthy for all their crudeness.

      The Apemen made haste to drive their captives into these rude seacraft, but this required untying us from the long rope, since otherwise all of the captives would have had to ride in the same canoe, and there was not one that was capacious enough to accommodate so many.

      And this looked to me like the best chance to escape that had yet come our way. I said as much to the Professor and to Jorn and Darya in a low voice. The Professor blinked at me dubiously from behind his owlish spectacles.

      “And how do you plan to fight off a dozen Neanderthals, my boy?” he inquired testily.

      “I don’t,” I replied. “The important thing is to get Darya away from the Apemen. We will stage a slaverevolt, and half of the Cro-Magnons will run in one direction while you and I, Darya and Jorn will go in the other. In the confusion, it may well prove that the Drugars will pursue the wrong bunch. Listen, it’s worth a try, anyway! Once we get across the sea to Kor, there will be no chance of making an escape with half an ocean between us and safety. Now pass the word along.”

      While the Drugars were engaged in loading aboard their weapons and provisions, the word of my plan went down the line of tethered captives in a whisper. I saw the glint of approval in the eyes of the stalwart blond savages; it was obvious that they would risk all for the chance of getting their princess to freedom.

      Grunting coarse oaths in their guttural voices, the Apemen waddled down the line of their captives, untethering us one by one from the main rope to which our slave collars were attached. When they were finished and we stood, for the moment, free, I seized my brief opportunity—

      Roaring a wild rebel yell, I slammed my balled fist into the hairy paunch of the Drugar who was nearest me. He gasped, gagged, clutched at his belly, and fell forward into the mud.

      That blow was the signal the Cro-Magnons had been waiting for. Hurling themselves upon the ponderous