JERRY smiled grimly. “Last night we were in the sacrifice pen of the Torturer,” he said. “Every man in that pen considered himself doomed. Don’t give up hope.”
“Although I can see no ray of hope, you somehow give me courage,” said Yewd. “At least we have weapons. There is a sheaf of javelins fastened to the saddle. I modestly confess that few men are my equal with spear or javelin. One has to be quick and accurate to spear fish.”
He climbed up, removed the sheaf of javelins from the saddle, and after passing one of the multibarbed weapons to Jerry, slung the rest over his back.
“It is unfortunate that we have no water bottles to take with us,” said Jerry. “But we had best drink our fill from the pool before we start, blood or no blood. And now shall we start?”
“I am ready,” said the giant.
And so they set off across the rolling dunes of ochre-yellow sand.
When noon arrived both men were tired and thirsty, but there was no sight of an oasis and pool.
Presently they came to a gently sloping hillside, strewn with gray boulders, and by mutual consent, decided to pause for a rest.
Jerry sank down on one of the boulders, and to his surprise, found it soft and yielding. With suddenly aroused curiosity he pricked it with the point of his javelin and a clear viscous liquid welled forth.
“Look, Yewd!” he exclaimed. “Here is a stone that bleeds.”
The giant looked, then dipped a finger into the sticky liquid and tasted it.
“Deza be thanked!” he exclaimed. “These are not stones, but fungoid plants that we call torfals. Had you not made this discovery we might have died from hunger and thirst in the midst of plenty. But this liquid supplies a balanced ration of food and water.”
Jerry tasted the liquid. It was sweet and slightly acid, with a syrupy consistency, and a flavor that reminded him both of bananas and muskmelons. Pressing on the skin around the incision he had made, he drank his fill. Yewd, meanwhile, had tapped another torfal, and was drinking thirstily.
When both had finished they arose, refreshed, and each taking as many medium-sized torfals as he could conveniently carry, they plodded on into the afternoon.
The sun was midway toward the horizon when suddenly, upon crossing an unusually high ridge of sand they came to a large oasis where the waters of a small lake gleamed among the tree trunks. With glad cries, they hurried toward it. But they had scarcely entered its grateful shade, when they heard shouts, cries, and the clash of weapons from some distance beyond. They judged from the sounds that a considerable force of men was engaged in some sort of cavalry battle, but because of the intervening trees and shrubbery, were unable to see the contest. Here was a serious situation for Jerry and Yewd. They were hidden for the moment, but they were in grave danger of being discovered.
Cautiously Jerry and Yewd crept forward in the concealment of the shrubbery, until Jerry, parting the branches ahead of them, saw two parties of warriors, each numbering about a thousand men, in deadly combat.
Those nearest the oasis were mounted on the backs of large, two-legged creatures that were neither true birds nor reptiles. They stood about five feet high at the shoulder, but their long necks, covered with bright green scales, held their ugly reptilian heads to a height of ten feet. These heads were much like those of large serpents, except that they were tipped by crests of curling white plumes and there was a sharp, straight horn on the snout of each. Their birdlike bodies were covered with thick yellow down, and the legs, like the necks, were armored with bright green scales. The wings were merely short bunches of white plumes attached to tiny useless stubs.
They were fitted with saddles somewhat similar to those used on the gawrs, and equipped with large quivers that held the javelins of the riders.
The riders were obviously of the white race, though well tanned by the sun. Their clothing consisted of cloaks, evidently made from the downy hides of creatures like those which they bestrode, headdresses of the white plumes, which were attached to the back of the head and spread out, fanwise above the face, and cinctures and boots of leather. Their thighs, arms, and torsos were protected by scaly plates, evidently made from the leg coverings of their mounts. And in addition to javelins, sword, dagger, and mace, each was armed with a long shaft like that of a lance, but tipped with a pair of sharp tongs.
Their enemies were similarly mounted and armed, with the exception that their mounts had black plumes instead of white, and they used these for their headdresses. All the riders of both warring factions wore the crystal disks which marked them as worshipers of the sun.
The battleground was strewn with dead and dying warriors, whose comrades on both sides fought above them. Although they were using every type of weapon, their favorite seemed to be the strange shaft tipped with tongs. With these, riders on both sides seized their enemies and dragged them from their saddles, the sharp points piercing them deeply.
The chief purpose of the things, as was plainly evident, was not to kill, but to capture enemies. On each side, Jerry noticed a detail of warriors guarding wounded prisoners who had been dragged from their mounts to the back of the lines.
“Who are these people?” Jerry asked his companion.
“Wild desert lorwocks,” Yewd replied. “They are ferocious fighters and slave-raiders. Perhaps you have noticed that the tuzars, the long weapons they carry, are admirably adapted for slave taking.”
“Rather hard on the slaves, I should say. But when those things once grip them, they have to come.”
While they watched, the battle surged nearer and nearer the oasis. Jerry’s attention was attracted to one of the white-plumed lorwocks, evidently the chief. And though his force was being driven steadily backward by their black-plumed opponents, he charged again and again into the lines of the enemy, each time dragging back a limp, bleeding prisoner at the end of his tuzar, while he fended off hurled javelins with his sword blade.
But presently, as he returned to the fray, a cloud of javelins descended upon him simultaneously from many directions. Some he parried and some he dodged, but there was one that pierced his neck, whereupon he went limp in the saddle. His mount wandered erratically for a moment, then turned and charged straight into the bushes where Jerry and Yewd were concealed. They leaped aside just in time, but the thing stopped and looked inquiringly at Jerry as if asking him to relieve it of its limp burden.
Yewd sprang in and caught the guiding rod, while Jerry examined the stricken chieftain. He was quite dead.
“Here are weapons, and a mount for one!” exclaimed Yewd. “If we only had another rodal, we would not need to walk or fear to encounter armed enemies.”
At this instant, another riderless mount dashed into the bushes. With a swift spring, Yewd seized the guiding rod and leaped into the saddle.
“Come, let us be off before the warriors see us,” he said.
“No, wait. I have a more ambitious plan,” Jerry told him.
Swiftly he removed his own clothing, and stripping that of the dead chieftain from him, donned it, along with his weapons. The tuzar had been lost, but the other weapons were intact.
“By the power and glory of Deza!” exclaimed Yewd, when he had finished and leaped into the saddle. “You seem a very lorwock chief. But come, let us start before we are detected.”
“I have a better plan,” Jerry told him. “From what I have seen, I am convinced that we could not travel far without being traced by these tribesmen. But if we join them they may accept us as friends and allies. Will you follow me into that battle?”
“With all my heart.”
Jerry handed him all of the javelins but two from his own quiver.
“You prefer javelins—I the sword. Follow closely, keeping off enemies from my sides and back. I will attend to those in front. Let us see if we cannot turn the tide of battle.”
By this time the black-plumed lorwocks had driven their closely pressed adversaries into a defensive semicircle by executing an encircling movement at each end of the line. And the horns of the great crescent thus formed were swiftly drawing together.
One horn of the crescent had just reached the oasis when Jerry pushed forward on the guiding rod. His rodal charged.
The Earthman steered his swift mount so that instead of charging with the other white-plumed warriors, he was riding behind the attacking line of black-plumes. As these warriors had their tuzars extended toward the line of white-plumed warriors, they could not use them on him, but could only turn in their saddles, snatching out their swords or javelins for defense.
Some who thus turned their attention away from enemies in front of them were instantly dragged from their saddles by the tuzars of the white-plumes. Some fell beneath Jerry’s flashing blade; the others were pierced by the javelins of Yewd.
As a result, the line of black-plumes was thrown into confusion. In less than five minutes the entire right horn of their crescent had been shattered and put to rout. But Jerry continued on through the center and around to the left horn, cutting and thrusting as he rode, while the deadly javelins of Yewd kept off enemies from his sides and back.
The Earthman’s unexpected coup completely turned the tide of battle and won the day for the white-plumed lorwocks. With shouts of triumph they pursued the shattered remnant of their fleeing enemies, dragging them from their mounts with their tuzars, while others captured and herded together the riderless rodals. Jerry estimated that at least seventy-five per cent of the black-plumed warriors had been killed or captured. The rest were fleeing for their lives.
When the last enemy and rodal had been rounded up, the white-plumed warriors and their lesser officers crowded around Jerry and his giant companion. Then one of the jens, who had evidently been constituted spokesman by his fellow officers, said:
“Though we know not who you are nor whence you came, riding the rodal of our jendus and wearing his garments, my comrades and I salute you and your slave, and bid you welcome.” So saying, he raised both hands before his eyes, and all the others followed his example.
“There has been a prophecy among you that a fighting man would come to lead you to victory,” said Jerry. “An impostor, who hides his face behind a mask, and blasphemously calls himself the reincarnation of Sarkis the Sun God, has gathered a considerable following. But I tell you now that I am he who has come in answer to your prophecy. I learned the art of war on another planet; I am that leader for whom you have been waiting.”
When he had finished he calmly took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and lighted it. The effect on the lorwocks when they saw smoke ensuing from his mouth and nostrils was instantaneous. To a man, they clapped their hands over their eyes and bowed to their saddle horns.
“As I told you,” said Jerry, when the warriors ventured to look up once more, “I do not claim to be the reincarnation of Sarkis. I am Jerry Morgan of Dhu Gong, and will be so called. I have come to gather the desert hordes beneath my banner. And those who ride after me now will have the honor of being the first to do so. For the present, I ride north.”
So saying, he wheeled his mount, and with Yewd following close after him, rode away. To a man, the lorwocks fell in behind him with their prisoners and captured rodals.