Even as the stricken banar-gatah rider twirled on his heels and fell, his hands clawing ineffectually at the arrow piercing his throat, an understanding of what was happening began to seep into the exhausted thought processes of the Protectress of the Quagga God. She became aware that the killing of the warrior was not an isolated phenomenon. In fact, gazing back and forth as she clung to the lance as an aid to fending off the waves of dizziness which were threatening to engulf her, she found that a full scale and very effective attack was being launched almost simultaneously upon the rest of Elidor’s unsuspecting supporters.
As was the almost invariable habit of male Mun-Gatah warriors when beyond the walls of their homes (the only exception being when they were dealing with the pacific jungle dwelling Telongas) the men were clad in round metal helmets, specially prepared rhinoceros-hide breastplates, thick leather kilts with slits at the front and rear for ease when mounted, stout greaves and sandals of the same material. All had swords for defensive purposes sheathed on their belts, which they supplemented by lances and war-axes. However, the former type of offensive weapon had been left either stuck into the ground alongside its owner’s mount or was suspended by a loop at the point of balance being passed around the saddle horn and the butt in a metal ‘shoe’ on the right stirrup iron. The axes were also hanging from their users’ rigs and were unavailable for immediate use.
Not that any of the warriors was granted an opportunity to arm and defend himself!
Taking advantage of the fact that the men had been so completely absorbed in watching the fight between the two women, their assailants had approached as near as possible without alarming the gatahs which were trained to act as lookouts. At such close quarters, the otherwise effective protecting clothing offered little of the usual safeguards against the weapons of enemies.
While the breastplates could withstand the arrows from all bows except those of the mysterious “Earths”, xxxix and the helmets offered resistance to most weapons, long experience had taught the other warrior nations how to circumvent the advantages of the Mun-Gatahs’ garments. One weak spot, although only practical from a short distance, was the gap between the bottom rim of the helmet and the collar of the breastplate. Small though it might be, as was demonstrated by the killing of the banar-gatah rider and two more of the men with arrows, the exposed area was vulnerable.
Hissing and twirling through the air at great speed, two curved pieces of wood felled the fourth and fifth warriors. One was struck at the rear of his helmet, which suffered a deep indentation. His head was slammed forward and there was a sharp pop as his neck was broken. Caught in the middle of the back, the breastplate—which was thinner at the rear—proved no protection and the other went down with his spinal column snapped.
Nor did the last man fare any better. The cause of his death was a circular disc of metal shaped like two saucers stuck together, about six inches in diameter and with a hole through the middle. Skimming along at a gentle downwards angle, it struck the ground some feet to his rear. The convex curve caused it to ricochet and imparted an even more vicious spin as it rose. Brushing open the slit at the back of his kilt, its razor-sharp edge buried into the inside of his left thigh to sever the great femoral artery. Although he managed to draw his sword, the way in which the blood gushed and spurted from the wound prevented him from putting it to use. He was dying on his feet and collapsed just after the weapon had left its sheath.
If Charole had not been so debilitated, she could have drawn conclusions from the weapons that had been used. While the Amazons xl and the Gruziak were archers, the former did not employ the simple but very effective throwing stick. xli As the female warriors and the horse-riding Gruziak lived respectively to the east and north of the Mun-Gatahs’ domain, this reduced the chances of members of either race being so far to the west of their home territories as they now were. Furthermore, there was only one race that carried the kind of metal disc that had killed the sixth warrior. The proximity to the salt-water ‘Lake With Only One Shore’ gave an added clue to the attackers’ identity. Unlike the land-based nations, the Cara-Bunte travelled to and from their raids in large boats propelled by oars and sails.
Charole was not kept for long before she received her first sight of the attackers and discovered to which nation they belonged. They left their places of concealment and darted forward, passing the gatahs whose snorts of alarm would have betrayed their presence if they had attempted to close in before dealing with the warriors. There were four men and two women, which had been the reason why they had struck from a distance instead of approaching and giving the enemy an opportunity to fight.
The male members of the party were all of medium height, but thickset and heavily muscled, with olive-colored skin and the broad Mongoloid features of Earth’s Oriental races. Apart from a black tuft growing from the center to dangle behind in a braid, their heads were devoid of hair. Barefooted, and moving with the somewhat rolling gait of sailors ashore, they had on voluminous knee-length pantaloons of various colors, broad silk sashes around their midriffs and short, sleeveless soft leather jerkins. For hand-to-hand combat, each carried thrust through his sash a sword shaped like a Sumatran lading in a colorful metal tipped wooden sheath. Its double-edged, spear shaped blade was twenty inches in length and had a breadth of two inches at its widest point, but the concave wood—with one exception’s— handle had no guard. Two of them held short recurved bows which were supplied from the quivers of arrows swung across their shoulders. Empty-handed, another pair had flung the throwing sticks which had dispatched the fourth and fifth Mun-Gatah warriors.
Clearly the last man had not participated in the killing. Tallest, heaviest and oldest of the male Cara-Buntes, his jerkin was decorated on each breast by a silver filigree sailfish curving in the kind of leap which made the species Istiophorus Albicans so highly prized by big game anglers, and he had a portrait of a killer whale emblazoned across the back. As further proof of his superior status, the ivory hilt of his lading was inlaid with silver as was its sheath, and there was a broad golden bracelet embossed with a sailfish on each wrist. He was further armed with a short spear, the head of which was shaped like a crescent moon and sharpened all around its edge.
Having attractive Oriental features and coloration, with black hair taken back in what on Earth would be called a ponytail, neither of the women was more than five foot four inches in height. The smaller, a girl in her late teens, was also the younger and she lacked two inches of that height. She had a curvaceous, if slender, build. For all that, armed with a bow only slightly less powerful than those of the men, it had been she whose arrow had killed the banar-gatah rider. The elder, who had attained her middle thirties, was buxom rather than lithe. However, there was no sign of fat on her firm body. It was she who had thrown the halaka as the razor-edged discs were known.
Each of the female Cara-Buntes wore a short, loose fitting, wide sleeved white smock and very little else. The smocks were not fastened in any way, their fronts being kept closed by a black cloth sash. Through the left side of this was tucked the sheath of a twenty inches long weapon resembling an Atjeh’s rentjong in having a wavy single-edged blade and a hilt in the shape of a duck’s head. Neither had any footwear. Like the tallest man, the older woman’s smock bore the sailfish and killer whale patterns and the bracelets she wore sported the same motif. A second halaka hung on a hook attached to the right side of her sash.
‘Take that woman alive!’ shouted the eldest man, his voice sibilant.
‘Leave her to me,’ ordered the older woman, with a similar intonation which made some of the T’s sound like V’s. “Did you hear me, Muchkio?’
‘I hear you, Shushi,’ the girl answered sullenly, letting the bow she had been raising sink down, and relaxing its string.
Listening to what was being said, Charole made a desperate effort and drew free the head of the lance. Deprived of its support, she felt as if the ground was heaving beneath her feet. Desperately she spread her legs apart, lifting the weapon and wishing that she did not feel so helpless. She knew it would only take a short while for her excellent physical condition to throw off the worst of the exhaustion, but was equally and bitterly aware that the time would not be granted to her.
Advancing swiftly, the buxom woman did not trouble to draw her rentjong. Instead, she suddenly lunged and, as Charole made an ineffectual attempt to turn the lance on her, she caught hold of it with both hands. Giving a sharp and twisting heave, she wrenched it from its owner’s grasp.
Staggering a few steps from the force with which she had been disarmed, Charole contrived to remain—albeit uncertainly—upright.
It proved to be of no benefit to the Protectress!
Throwing the lance aside with a contemptuous gesture, Shushi followed as Charole came to a halt and endeavored to assume a defensive posture. It was to no avail. When close enough, the buxom woman pivoted on her left leg while snapping out the right in a fast yet power-packed kick.
The leather hard sole of the foot caught the Protectress in the solar plexus and, even if she had been in full possession of all her faculties, the impact would still have been more than her well-developed stomach muscles could withstand. Giving a strangled croak of torment as what little breath she had was driven from her lungs, she folded over at the waist and her legs began to buckle like candles near a flame. Before they collapsed completely under her, Shushi struck again. Not with the foot this time, but just as effectively. Folding its thumb across the palm, but keeping the fingers extended and together, the woman chopped the heel of her right hand viciously against the back of Charole’s neck. Everything went black for the already barely conscious Protectress and she fell face forward, as if she had been pole-axed, to sprawl motionless at her assailant’s feet.
‘Kill those gatahs,’ commanded the oldest of the men, who was a senior warlord of the Cara-Bunte nation. ‘You’ll stay here and start butchering them, Roshta, Muchkio. I’ll send some of the others to help you bring in the meat and the loot. Keep your hands off that until the Lady Shushi and I have looked it over and taken what we want.’
‘Yes, Lord Torisaki,’ the younger of the male archers assented and the girl gave a surly nod of concurrence.
‘Get something to lift her on so we can take her to the landing place, Goti!’ Shushi ordered, indicating Charole’s flaccid body, as Muchkio employed the arrow she had refrained from drawing to kill the Protectress’s banar-gatah. Then she turned to her husband and went on, ‘The Dragon God has smiled on us, Lord Torisaki, bringing this one to us so soon after we landed.’
‘Yes,’ the warlord agreed, thinking of certain ambitions he and his wife had frequently discussed in the privacy of their living quarters. The raid upon which they were engaged had been organized with their future plans in mind. Having been making what they had expected to be an unproductive reconnaissance, they had seen Elidor’s party taking up the ambush positions. While ordering his party to separate into two, each being able to deal with Mun-Gatahs, Charole had arrived and enabled them to approach with greater ease than if there had been no distraction. ‘There will be much honor in taking such a one as her back to Tansha-Bunte. Take care of her and tend her wounds, my lady. She won’t be able to walk for a while, but she’s not too badly hurt and we want her in the best of health so that she can put up a good fight when we put her into the arena before the Emperor.’
~*~
As the unconscious body of the Protectress of the Quagga God—bound hand and foot and suspended from a sapling cut for that purpose—was being lifted ready to be carried to the Cara-Buntes’ landing place, far to the southwest a struggle for domination between two magnificent looking females of different species was about to commence.
Having secured the isabelline mare to her in the Nemenuh fashion, Dawn Drummond-Clayton took hold of the reins. Starting to lead Isabel into the water, she experienced no greater reluctance than Shambulia had displayed over following Bunduki. Employing the Australopithecus’ language as fluently and effectively as her husband-to-be had, she coaxed the mare to follow her. She expected a similar response on mounting. Nor was she disappointed. However, from Isabel’s first reaction to the discovery that a living creature was sitting upon her, it was apparent that she intended to fight in a different fashion—though no less vigorously—to that of the big stallion. Being somewhat smaller and lighter than Shambulia, she did not place her reliance on the ‘bucking straight away’ which had formed his main line of defense. This in no way detracted from the spirited manner in which she carried out her efforts to dislodge the unwanted burden.
Commencing the proceedings by ‘chinning the moon’, and having it countered in the same manner as that of the stallion, the mare took off in a series of high and ‘fence-cornering’ xlii leaps. Despite entailing repeated changes of direction, to a rider of Dawn’s experience these presented no difficulties—beyond making sure they did not allow her mount to reach the shallow water. However, on taking off for the eighth time, having found that she had not succeeded in removing her burden by such methods, Isabel elected to ‘swap ends.’ Curving her body in mid-flight, she turned a complete half circle while in the air. Taken unprepared, the girl gave a howl of distress and, sliding sideways from the saddle, went head first into the lake.
Seeing Dawn being unseated, Joar-Fane let out a frightened squeal and At-Vee the Hunter gave vent to a string of Telonga obscenities he only very rarely employed in the presence of a woman.
While equally alarmed, Bunduki wasted no time in verbally expressing his concern. Instead, having already made preparations to render assistance if it should be required, he shook loose the noose of the lariat which At-Vee had brought from the tree-house’s corral and which Dawn had been holding during the conquest of Shambulia.
The blond giant appreciated that his wife-to-be was facing two major dangers. Even if her superbly tuned reflexes and rider’s instincts had not had time to take over, the water would lessen the impact of her fall. Although she would doubtless alight without injury, Isabel might turn upon her. Or, if the mare should make a distress signal, Shambulia’s feelings as a former manadero xliii might prompt him to dash to her rescue. So Bunduki was ready to deal with either, or both, threats to Dawn’s well-being.
The need did not arise!
Feeling herself relieved of the insidious burden, Isabel’s natural inclination was to put as much distance as possible between herself and whatever it had been. So, grunting with a mixture of alarm and relief, she went onwards for a couple more bounds.
Then the rope attached from Dawn’s waist to the saddle horn snapped tight!
Despite having been caught unawares, the girl justified Bunduki’s faith in her ability to fall without injury-aided by the Nemenuh method of water breaking which had proved equally efficacious on countless other occasions over the years—and was already starting to sit up when Isabel reached the end of the rope. Spitting out the liquid she had inadvertently swallowed Dawn was jerked under again.
Although the girl’s weight brought Isabel to a halt, she did not react as the blond giant had feared by either returning to the attack or signaling to the stallion that she required help. Instead, she did no more than swing around until she was facing Dawn. Shambulia was still exhausted and having received no request for assistance, he remained passive and did not attempt to pull free the lead-rope by which he was tethered to a bush. ‘Hey, expert!’ Bunduki called, relief plain on his face, watching the soaking and bedraggled girl rising. ‘That’s a fancy way of doing it!’
‘Yes,’ agreed At-Vee, his concern alleviated by the discovery that Dawn was unharmed. ‘But I thought you were supposed to be riding Isabel, not teaching her to swim.’
‘Don’t let those brutes mock you, sister,’ Joar-Fane encouraged, sharing the men’s sentiments, as the other girl glared towards the shore. ‘She can’t beat us!’
‘All right, Isabel,’ Dawn gritted, returning her attention to the mare. Taking the rope in both hands, but making sure she did not tug at it, she advanced slowly. As she moved, she continued to speak in a soft, soothing voice which was at odds with the content of the words she was uttering. ‘All right, you tricky something-or-other, so-and-so, something-else. I’m going to get back on and stay there until you something-well give up.’ xliv
As the language of the Australopithecus did not include obscenities, being limited to purposeful word-sounds, and sharing At-Vee’s feelings on the subject of profanity—even though it was possibly justifiable under the circumstances—the girl conducted her, as it proved, effective method of calming the mare in English.
Coming alongside Isabel without having aroused a display of hostility, Dawn unhurriedly returned to the saddle. Pacific as the mare had been until that happened, she started to exhibit her objections almost as soon as the girl was settled on her back. Showing speed rather than strength, she intermingled ‘swapping ends’ with ‘chinning the moon, ‘sunfishing’, xlv ‘crawfishing’, xlvi but without the murderously effective ‘pinwheeling’, xlvii and never in the same order, and put her rider through a long and grueling struggle. At last, however, hampered by the water—which she had been continually prevented from quitting—and countered by Dawn’s superlative exhibition of equestrianism, she too was finally driven to a state of exhausted submission.
Even as the tired, but delighted, girl was returning to join them, the congratulations of her husband-to-be and friends were brought to an abrupt end.
Bunduki was the first of the party to notice that two boats filled with people and propelled by sails were turning from the river into the mouth of the lake. Long, narrow, carvel-built xlviii and somewhat spoon-shaped, they reminded him of the ghe ca vom river craft he had seen in and around Saigon while on an expedition which his adoptive father had been carrying out for the International Union for Conservation and Natural Resources. The resemblance even extended to the fact that the single mast was stepped well forward and carried what looked like an oblong combination of an Oriental gaff xlix and lugsail. l There was a small bamboo deckhouse to shelter at least some of the dozen or so crewmembers; and the rudder, mounted on the sternpost, curved gracefully beneath the hull so as to offer a greater purchase, control and maneuverability on restricted water-ways. Oculus, eye-like, insignia decorated the bows, but the remainder was unpainted.
Not only had the blond giant never heard of the Telongas operating such boats, although he knew they used canoes on the rivers, but he found something else disconcerting. The occupants had the same skin pigmentation of facial characteristics as his jungle-dwelling hosts, but all but one of the men were completely hairless, and their clothing was made from animal skins of various kinds. Even the women amongst them carried weapons.
While the Telonga hunters went armed—although their weapons were more in the nature of tools for hunting—the same did not apply to the male non-hunting members of their communities. Nor, apart from Joar-Fane—who had recently adopted the practice—did any of the women carry weapons.
All of these details presented possibilities for which Bunduki did not care. Watching the boats approaching with all the facility for maneuvering offered by the archaic-looking rigging, he sent his right hand flashing to the hilt of the bowie knife he had retrieved from At-Vee.
‘Get back to the house, girls!’ the blond giant ordered, wishing that he had thought to bring his bow and arrows as they would have been far more adequate than the knife for repelling what he believed to be an alien invasion. ‘We’ll try to stop them landing.’