The Lost World MEGAPACK®. Lin Carter

Tharn disposed his warriors swiftly in a double ring about the hill-crest, and the formation he selected inescapably reminded me of the famous “British square.” Which gave me something of an idea.

      “If a stranger may offer a suggestion,” I said, turning to Tharn. He grunted his assent, not taking his eyes from the edges of the trees.

      “If you will arm the first rank of your warriors with bows, and have them kneel,” I suggested, “while the second rank arm themselves with spears, and stand, one rank can discharge their weapons and rearm, while the second rank fire as the first are rearming. In this manner, you can maintain a continuous rate of fire upon the Drugars, and bring them to a standstill. It is worth a try, at least.”

      Something gleamed in Tharn’s eyes and was gone.

      “Your plan is not without virtue,” said Tharn, frowning thoughtfully. “Is it thus that the warriors of your people defend themselves against their foemen?”

      “That is so,” I nodded. While my people are American, their ancestors were British, so it was not exactly an untruth.

      In low, clear tones the Omad of Thandar passed his instructions to his warriors. It is to the credit of the men of Thandar that they instantly grasped the tactical advantage of the trick I had suggested. And I remembered reading, somewhere, that the human brain of modern man is in every respect identical with that of our Cro-Magnon ancestors tens of thousands of years before.

      Ignorant and superstitious savages these Stone Age men might be, but their intellects were as swift and keen as my own.

      “They are here,” said one of the bowmen, pointing.

      We looked; hulking, hairy figures lurked within the shadows of the trees. Daylight gleamed on the polished stone of axe-blade and spear-point.

      “Well, then, let them come,” said Tharn in a level voice, “and we shall see what we shall see.”

      He turned toward his warriors.

      “Warriors of Thandar,” he said in clear and ringing tones, “we have come into this region to rescue the gomad, my daughter, from her brutish and cowardly captors. Those who attack from ambush and steal our women are before you! They are no less mortal than are you, and their flesh may be pierced with sharpened stone as easily as can your own. But they are not true men, and are hence your inferiors, closer to the bestial than are you: prove, therefore, once and for all time, which is the superior—the Apemen of Kor, or the true men of Thandar!”

      Even as the Omad ceased speaking, a chorus of grunting, cries reached our ears, and hulking figures burst from the underbrush, waddling on thick, hairy, bowed legs toward our lines.

      And the battle began!

      * * * *

      Jorn and the Professor stared skyward at Darya, who suddenly vanished from their view. The enormous form of the mighty omodon also turned from view, leaving the two watchers in ignorance of the fate of the Cro-Magnon girl.

      “Do you see a way up the cliff?” inquired Professor Potter, anxiously.

      Jorn the Hunter searched the cliff face with keen eyes, and shook his head reluctantly.

      “The ledge which Darya seems to have been following ends shortly past the shelf on which she was attacked by the omodon,” he said in grimly solemn tones.

      “What, then, shall we do?” inquired the Professor, reluctant to give up, although it seemed a hopeless quest.

      “There!”

      The sharp eyes of the Hunter had spied a crevice in the clifflike wall of stone. It was a ravine, narrow as a man, which seemed to penetrate the mountain to some depth.

      “Is it a pass through the mountains to the other side, do you think, or an entrance into the mountain itself?” inquired the Professor. “Do you think the mountain is hollow?”

      Jorn shook his head, blond mane tousling.

      “One cave does not a hollow mountain make,” he said. “Still and all, we shall not know the truth of it until we trace the ravine to its end. Come—”

      And the Cro-Magnon youth turned on his heel and vanished into the dark and narrow crevice, leaving the Professor to follow as best he could.

      CHAPTER 22

      THE THUNDER-WEAPON

      As the mighty cave bear came down upon her, Darya hurled a handful of pebbles to her right. They clattered noisily against the stone shelf of the ledge.

      Its small eyes half-blinded by the sudden emergence from the darkness of the cave into the eternal day of Zanthodon, the huge beast swung clumsily in the direction from which that clattering sound had come—massive paws reaching.

      In that split-second, as the beast turned its side to her, Darya acted!

      Since there was nowhere to go but back the way she had come or into the black mouth of the cave bear’s lair, she chose the second route.

      In a moment the darkness of the cave swallowed her. The ragged stone roof was low, forcing the lithe girl to bend almost double as she penetrated the interior of the cave. The stench of the bear’s droppings was overpowering, but Darya gulped air and forced herself to go on. This cave might well prove to be a dead end, but the girl would never know until she discovered the fact for herself.

      Beyond the lair of the omodon, she found a very small passage which only one as slim and limber as herself could possibly negotiate. But once through it, the cavern opened to such a height that she could walk erect, although the darkness was utter and absolute.

      Extending her arms so that she could feel for any obstruction before her, the Cro-Magnon girl explored the length of the cave. At its end, she found a side-tunnel which sloped sharply downward. Since she had nothing at all to lose by being venturesome, she began to trace the steeply sloping path.

      * * * *

      It had been many hours since the girl had drunk or eaten or enjoyed a normal and restful slumber, and she was trembling with exertion and fatigue, and ferociously hungry. But the women of the Stone Age learn quite early on to endure such privations as they must, and Darya bravely closed her mind to the ache in her weary muscles, the thirst which dried her throat, and the hunger which gnawed at her belly.

      From the moment she had slain the uld everything had gone wrong, she thought to herself as she went down the steep incline in utter gloom. If only she had remained in the clearing with Jorn and the old man!

      If only someone brave and strong and resourceful were here with her, to share the danger and to comfort her in the darkness…if only the handsome stranger, Eric Carstairs, were here.…

      Resolutely, the Cro-Magnon princess wrenched her thoughts from such matters, and applied herself to the problems at hand.

      Caverns such as this were not entirely unknown to her experience. In her distant homeland, caves were found in the sides of the hills and mountains, and the Stone Age princess knew that at times they were the homes of fearsome creatures, like the xunth, the giant serpents which infest the interior of the earth, or the vathrib, the dreadful albino spiders of the abyss.

      Darya had no reason to suspect that such terrible creatures dwelt here in the mountains beyond the jungle country. On the other hand, she had no cause to think that they did not. Whichever the truth of the matter be, there was nothing else for her to do but to continue that terrible journey through the utter darkness of the mountain’s interior.

      To go back, to retrace her steps until she reentered the lair of the omodon, was sure and certain death.

      But to continue on forward offered her, at very least, a chance of survival.

      So she went forward…into the unknown.

      * * * *

      The howling mob of Neanderthal warriors burst from the edges of the jungle and charged, swinging the stone axes and jabbing their crude spears, upon the massed