KA-ZAR OF THE BEASTS

CHAPTER XX
Nono, the Wise One

C

ONCEALED in his tree, Ka-Zar had seen DeKraft's agitation on discovering his looted tent. He had heard him bellow in rage, seen the other white man run over to him and then the two had disappeared into the tent. A few minutes later the shot had crashed out and only Fat-Face had emerged.

Ka-Zar knew then what had happened and he was filled with a fierce joy. The red-headed one had not taken his warning--and he had died. And it was just as well that it had been at the hands of the evil, Fat-Face.

Later that day, Ka-Zar saw DeKraft drive the muttering blacks in the digging of a shallow hole. The body of the red-headed one was pitched unceremoniously into it and a few handfuls of earth shoveled in on him.

Throughout the brutal performance DeKraft had to lash his natives with tongue and whip. Momentarily they were becoming more surly, trembling on the borderline of revolt. They had been tricked in the first place and now they were convinced that some evil spirit hovered onminously over the camp.

Ka-Zar saw all these things and smiled to himself. One white man had already been disposed of. It would take little more of his manipulations to scatter the blacks in terror and send them fleeing through the jungle for the land from whence they had come. And then alone with Fat-Face, he would settle his score.

With the intention of returning again to the camp when the shades of night had fallen, Ka-Zar swung off swiftly through the trees in the direction of the cave.

Along the way he passed over N'Jaga. The leopard stopped, threw up his head and spat disdainfully. Ka-Zar had not forgotten the defeat he had suffered at N'Jaga's hands when he had been caught unaware in the lake, nor the trouble the leopard was stirring up against him. He fingered the haft of his knife.

For a moment he was tempted to descend from the tree and once and for all settle the feud that had burned between him and the leopard, ever since he could remember. But after a moment's consideration he changed his mind. Tempting as the opportunity was, he had to forego it. For if by any chance N'Jaga succeeded in killing him, there would be no one to drive the Oman from the jungle.

N'Jaga saw his hesitation and attributed it to fear. He snarled up a taunting challenge.

"Later, N'Jaga," called down Ka-Zar. "And sharpen your claws against the day we meet again."

N'Jaga snarled once more in answer and Ka-Zar swung off through the trees.

He found Zar and Trajah close to the cave and told them how he had stolen the fire-sticks and the little pieces of stone that weighed so much in the palm of the hand. He had disposed of them all in the swamp. He recounted, too, how the red-headed one had died; and then elaborated on his plans for the night.

Zar and Trajah heard him out patiently, expressed their pleasure at the good news he brought. Then the lion spoke from his store of wisdom.

"Beware of N'Jaga and treachery. The jungle beasts are restless today."

Ka-Zar stood up to the full of his majestic height. "Ka-Zar is the brother of Zar," he said simply. "He knows no fear."

Then he walked over to a fresh kill that Sha had dragged in a few minutes before, cut off a generous portion of the animal's flank, squatted on his haunches and ate.

H

e slept that day until the long shadows began to creep into the mouth of the cave. Then he rose, went to the stream to drink his fill, but did not eat. He preferred to have a lean belly for the night's work.

Into his belt he slipped his keenest knife and thus armed, he emerged from the cave again. He growled a few words to Zar, who was pacing restlessly before the lair, trumpeted a low farewell to Trajah and with a mighty leap swung himself up into the nearest tree. With a long, gliding swing from limb to limb he proceeded leisurely towards the camp of the Oman.

He had traveled but a short distance, however, when from an obscure branch above him Nono dropped down, landed on his shoulder and threw spidery arms around his neck.

Ka-Zar stopped and gently cuffed the monkey. "Not tonight, silly one. Go back. Tonight Ka-Zar goes into the camp of the Oman to see what mischief he can do."

Nono chattered, scolded, pleaded and begged to accompany him, but Ka-Zar was firm. Still scolding, his long tail drooping mournfully, the monkey watched the brother of the lion swing swiftly off through the trees.

H

igh in a tree, unseen, unheard, Ka-Zar watched the activities at DeKraft's camp come to an end. One by one the fires were banked for the night and in little huddled groups the blacks crept off to their shelters. As on the previous night, the four guards with their fire-sticks paced nervously the length of their posts.

The moon was setting behind the rim of the jungle when DeKraft emerged from his tent. He made a last tour of inspection around the clearing, barked a few words at the natives on guard, then returned to his tent.

Watching, Ka-Zar saw the interior of the shelter light up. For a few minutes the grotesque shadow of Fat-Face, as he moved about, was silhouetted against the walls of the tent. Then the light was snuffed out and silence reigned over the clearing, save for the muffled tread of the four men on guard.

With the patience of the great cats, Ka-Zar kept to the high branches of his tree, never moving. Only his eyes were alert as he took in every detail of the camp. He knew that the blacks were nervous and apprehensive and would be aroused at the slightest noise. He knew that Fat-Face slept with a fire-stick within easy reach.

Let them be deceived by the quiet; let them fall into deep, untroubled slumber. Then he would act.

The bats had ceased their blind wheeling about when at last he stirred. Silent as Sinassa, agile as Nono, he dropped swiftly from limb to limb to the ground. He withdrew the keen-bladed knife from his belt and crouching low, moved forward silently. His objective was the tent he had looted the night before. If he found more fire-sticks there, he would dispose of them as he had the others. If not, there was other work for him to do.

Moving like a blacker shadow in the shadowy night, he skirted the clearing and made his way swiftly to the rear of the supply tent. He paused here a moment, disturbed by a vague sense of danger. He threw up his head, sniffed the air and listened. The muffled tread of the black guards came to him with uninterrupted regularity. There was no other alien sound to break the alive stillness of the night.

It was through his nose that he scented danger. He sniffed the air again. The peculiar odor of the Oman was strong in his nostrils. Then he shrugged. It was only natural that it should be so, for wasn't he even then standing by one of the shelters in which the Oman had lived?

Grasping the haft of his knife tighter, he knelt down, lifted up the bottom of the tent and silently slipped inside.

He was still on his hand and knees, just in the act of rising, when suddenly a dazzling beam of light flashed in his eyes and blinded him.

Ka-Zar had never seen a flash-light before, had not the slightest conception of their construction or their use. The phenomena of this strange light startled and baffled him. Some magic of the Oman, no doubt, like that of their fire-sticks.

He straightened up slowly, tense, wary, every nerve and muscle on edge. The beam of light rose with him, still centered full in his eyes. It was impossible to see into it or beyond it. For a moment he stood there irresolute, undecided whether to charge blindly forward or to retreat. Then, with startling abruptness his decision was made for him. The light dropped from his eyes to his throat. And when his vision focused again a moment later, he saw his old enemy, Fat-Face, standing no more than three feet in front of him. In one hand he held a small tube from which the stream of light shot out--in the other a short fire-stick that was pointed directly at his heart.

Ka-Zar realized that he had fallen into a trap. And he realized, also, that Fat-Face intended to kill him, even as he would have done if the situation had been reversed.

N

o thought of begging for his life entered his head. He was too proud for that and he knew that it would avail him naught. For Fat-Face was as ruthlessly cruel as N'Jaga. From past observation he knew the terrible killing power of the short fire-stick but there was no avoiding it. Coolly he calculated his chances against it. Even if he must die he would try to take Fat-Face with him on the Long Sleep.

Then for the first time DeKraft spoke. "Caught, eh, like any dummy in a trap. The old man's brat grown up! So you're the jungle god who's been scaring hell out of my blacks. By heaven, that's rich!"

His lips curled and he spat at Ka-Zar's feet. The rolls of fat along his stomach quivered in secret mirth.

"Only Janko, the hyena laughs," said Ka-Zar evenly. "Because he is afraid."

DeKraft's eyes narrowed and he hefted the gun in his hand. "Afraid of what?" he snarled.

"Of Ka-Zar, brother of the lion. Kill, Fat-Face, while you have a chance."

DeKraft leered at him and shook his head. Not yet, you man-ape. Plenty of time for that later. First I'm going to show those niggers what they've been afraid of. Then I'm going to show 'em how easy it is to kill you--how easy it is to kill their evil jungle spirit. That'll hold 'em in their place."

Still keeping his gun leveled at Ka-Zar, he threw back his head and roared until the camp awoke with a hundred confused noises. Two of the guards rushed into the tent and stared, speechless with wonder at the bronzed giant of a man, lit up by their master's flash-light.

DeKraft snapped them out of their awe with a string of profanity. Then he spoke to them in their native tongue. "Fetch rope, Bwala. Quick, you dog. And tell your men that I have captured their jungle god. He will never bother them again."

With loud wails the two blacks rushed from the tent. Ka-Zar heard the excited babble of their voices and though he could not understand their strange words, he knew that they were spreading the news of his capture.

There was a great stir and confusion out in the clearing. Many tongues spoke at once, then a voice was raised in a mournful, wailing chant. A moment later the steady, ominous beat of a tom-tom sounded in the jungle clearing.

Ka-Zar's heart picked up a faster beat at the savage rhythm.

"Those devils mean to raise hell tonight," said DeKraft darkly.

Not understanding the meaning of his words, Ka-Zar did not answer. Then, with a shrill buzz of excited talk, the pack of natives had congregated about the entrance to the tent. With head cocked to one side, DeKraft listened to them and what he heard brought a satanic smile to his lips.

A moment later the flap of the tent parted and Aorangi, the chief of the blacks entered. He was flanked on either side by two others who carried lengths of stout rope in their hands. The trio eyed Ka-Zar with frightened glances, then Aorangi addressed himself lengthily to DeKraft.

The burden of his talk was to the effect that the blacks demanded that he give up the evil spirit of the jungle into their hands. They would make a sacrifice of him to the benevolent god of the forest, that their expedition might be blessed and protected from harm.

Fat-Face listened attentively and the more he heard, the more pleased he became. Death at his hands would be comparatively swift and painless. At the hands of the black devils, aroused to a feverish hysterical pitch by their superstitious fears, death would be an agonizingly slow process.

W

hen Aorangi had finished, DeKraft nodded. He spoke a few words in the native dialect and the two blacks that had accompanied Aorangi jumped to Ka-Zar's side. Swiftly they wrenched his hands behind his back, tied them securely.

In stolid silence Ka-Zar had listened to Aorangi's long dissertation. He had not understood one word of it but from the ugly sneer on DeKraft's face, he knew that they were planning his death. He was not afraid, he did not fear death but along with every other animal in the jungle, the will to survive was strong in him.

If he had been Chaka or Diki the jackal or even the wise Zar he might have made a futile break for liberty then. But despite his kinship to the beasts, Ka-Zar was something more than an animal. He had the brain of a man and he knew that it meant instant death from the fire-stick if he made his stand then.

The tying of the rope about his hands indicated to him that he was not to be killed immediately--that he was being made prisoner. An opportunity to escape might come later.

But his hopes were short lived. His hands tied, the two blacks propelled him out of the tent. His appearance was greeted by wild cries and wails from the assembled natives and the tom-tom took up a faster, more savage beat.

No time was wasted. Surrounded by a savage, snarling horde, each man armed with spear or knife, Ka-Zar was rushed across the clearing. Still holding his automatic, DeKraft followed after him, an evil grin on his lips. He was gomg to relish this--the niggers were going to put on a swell show for him.

A towering tree stood at the edge of the glade on the far side. Beneath it, the seething mob came to a halt. There was a few minutes of excited talk, then Aorangi raised his spear and commanded silence. He spoke authoritatively for a moment and at the conclusion of his words a fiendish howl rose from the lips of the blacks.

The skin prickled at the base of Ka-Zar's skull and his lips pulled back from his teeth. So these were the Oman--the two-legged creatures--his supposed brothers! Bah! He would have none of them. In their howling and gnashing of teeth they reminded him of a pack of jackals--cowards at heart, fearful to attack when alone but snarling and ferocious when the pack had a helpless quarry at bay.

Ka-Zar had no further time then to make his observation on the nature of the black man. He was seized roughly by a dozen hands; the bonds that held him were cut. He struggled desperately for a moment but the sheer weight of numbers overpowered him. Swiftly his arms were wrenched around the bole of the tree and his wrists tied together once more.

He had been made captive, even as Tuta the elephant. He tested the rope that held him. His muscles knotted and swelled and the veins stood out on his forehead. But the rope was strong and cunningly tied. Even as Tuta the elephant, all his magnificent strength could not break his bonds.

Then at a signal from Aorangi, the tom-tom commenced its maddening rhythm once more. With savage howls the blacks took up their wailing chant again and brandishing their spears and knives began a slow snake dance around their captive.

At the height of the confusion, Ka-Zar felt something light land upon his shoulder. Then Nono's spidery arms encircled his neck and the little monkey's excited chatter rang in his ear.

He shook his head, smiled in the darkness at the faithfulness of the little beast. "Flee, silly one," he urged. "There is nothing you can do."

Nono whimpered, clung the tighter to his neck.

To save him from the death that awaited him, Ka-Zar spoke sharply. "Go, silly one," he ordered. "Ka-Zar orders it."

S

till chattering, Nono untwined his arms and reluctantly climbed up into the tree.

Ka-Zar sighed a little sigh when he was gone, then gave his attention to what was going on around him. Faster and faster became the rhythm of the tom-tom--faster and faster danced the blacks. Their naked bodies glistened with sweat as they leaped high into the air; their features became distorted, bestial as the steady beat of the tom-tom worked them up to a fanatical pitch.

All their ignorance, their dark fears and superstitions were being expressed in the dance. With their mad gyrations the heart of darkest Africa had come to life. A human sacrifice was to be made that the jungle gods might he appeased.

Ka-Zar watched the ever increasing tempo of the dance with an ever-increasing hate. The insidious beat of the tom-tom got into his own brain, did something strange and inexplicable to him. His blood pounded through his veins, his eyes became hot, his mouth dry.

He was moved by a terrible urge to kill. And he knew that the same urge motivated the black men dancing about him--the urge to kill him--Ka-Zar.

With a maniacal fury he strained at his bonds until his head fell exhausted on his mighty chest.

Then sanity returned. The simple dignity of his untrammeled soul asserted itself. He ceased struggling, his head came up and proud as Zar, he faced his death unafraid.

Aorangi, leading the ritual dance saw and in his savage mind, somehow understood. With a loud cry he suddenly darted in from the circle of wildly dancing blacks. His long spear flashed out like the darting tongue of Sinassa and Ka-Zar was aware of a sharp pain in his side, followed by the sensation of hot flowing blood.

Once the first blow had been struck, once the first blood had been let, the other blacks followed suit. Once, during each mad circuit of the captive, each black would dart forward and back again. And each time Ka-Zar would feel the sharp bite of their blades.

With a cunningness beyond belief an ear was nicked, a cheek, an arm, a leg. Ka-Zar understood, then, their dark intentions. His was to be no swift, merciful death. He was to die slowly, painfully from a thousand wounds.

His lips set in a fixed smile. He made no sign of pain, no cry of mercy. Only he strained forward on his bonds to meet the cut of the spear heads as they flashed in at him.

How long the dance would last--how long it would be before he lost consciousness from loss of blood, Ka-Zar did not know. He resigned himself to death and if he had any regrets at his passing, it was that he could not say a last farewell to Zar, Sha and the cubs.

He was occupied with these thoughts, when for the second time that night, something from the limbs of the tree above him, dropped lightly onto his shoulder and again Nono clung to his neck. He was deeply touched by the loyalty of the little animal but he knew that the monkey only courted swift death if he stayed there.

"Go, Nono! Flee!" he ordered. "There is nothing you can do for Ka-Zar, silly one."

Nono's lips snuggled close to his ear and the monkey chattered excitedly. "Nono is a silly one no longer. Did he not see Ka-Zar with his knife free Tuta from the strong vine that held her. A strong vine now holds Ka-Zar--so. I have brought your knife from the cave."

A swift surge of exultation swept through Ka-Zar's heart. "You are wiser than Ka-Zar, Nono," he whispered. "Ka-Zar never thought of that. Quick. Cut the vine that holds me."

Chattering in his excitement, Nono swung around from Ka-Zar's neck to the back of the tree. Hanging head down by his tail from a low limb, he grasped the heavy knife in the slender fingers of his two hands and began to saw at the rope that held his friend's wrists. He was clumsy, he was awkward, he was slow. He cut as much of Ka-Zar's flesh as he did of the rope.

B

ut Ka-Zar did not mind that, did not know it in fact. All he was aware of was that the ritual dance was reaching its climax and that the bonds that held him were giving.

Patiently, laboriously Nono sawed away. Exerting his last ounce of strength Ka-Zar strained at the rope--felt it give, part--then fall away from his wrists. He was free. A moment later Nono pressed the haft of the knife in his hand. The cool feel of it sent the strength rushing through him in waves. He was free and armed and he knew that he would not die that night.

Motionless, his hands still behind the tree, he waited until Nono had swung to safety above him. Then slowly, cautiously he brought his hands forward and the haft of the knife dug deep into his palm.

The circle of dancing blacks about him was narrowing. Their unholy cries made the night hideous.

Tense in every nerve and muscle, his superb body braced back against the tree, Ka-Zar awaited his chance. He ignored the spear thrusts of the crew of lesser blacks and waited till that moment when Aorangi darted in to strike with dripping spear.

Then his left arm snaked out as swiftly as Sinassa strikes. He grasped Aorangi's spear a foot below the point and yanked it savagely to him.

The black was too startled, too amazed to let go. Before he knew what had happened he had been catapulted into Ka-Zar's arms. There was the swift glint of moonlight off cold steel as Ka-Zar's right arm rose and descended in a swift arc.

Then, even as Aorangi's lifeless body was slumping to the ground before the popping eyes of the blacks, Ka-Zar threw back his head and the mighty roar of the lion who has made his kill rumbled from his lips.

To the natives, they had witnessed a miracle. For some mysterious reason they could not understand, their intended sacrifice to the jungle god had not been acceptable. He had turned against them. Speaking with the voice of the lion from the mouth of their captive, he had slain their chief.

With wild howls they fell back, their frenzy of blood lust of a moment before, changed into a frenzy of fear and panic. In their anxiety to escape they knocked wildly into DeKraft who was as equally as surprised as they. There was a moment of utter confusion and chaos. And by the time DeKraft had regained his wits and had fought his way through the milling pack, gun in hand--Ka-Zar had disappeared.

A blind rage consumed DeKraft. With the mad idea of pursuing his prisoner into the jungle he turned and shouted hoarsely at his fleeing blacks. But the natives were pursued by a fear greater than that of the white man's wrath. They scattered wildly in all directions.

DeKraft realized then, for the first time, the utter panic that had seized them. He knew that it would be impossible to hold them there in the jungle; that by the morning the last man of them would be many miles away.

He went berserk. Snapping up his automatic he fired blindly into the backs of the fleeing natives. From the far side of the clearing a gun answered him--then another and another.

S

afe in the jungle fastness, with Nono perched triumphantly on his shoulder, Ka-Zar listened to the talk of the fire-sticks at the camp of the Oman. The shooting lasted for a long time, then died out. A brooding quiet fell over the jungle.

Proud of his one achievement that night, Nono leaped from Ka-Zar's shoulder to the nearest tree and started gaily on his second adventure.

He was back a few minutes later and made his report. Those of the black Oman who were not dead, had fled; the camp was deserted. And on the morrow there would be much work for Kru and his brothers to do.

Ka-Zar scratched the top of the monkey's head. "It is good, O, wise one," he said with a smile. "And now Ka-Zar goes to tend his wounds and sleep. On the morrow we shall find many bright things for you to play with in the camp of the Oman."

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