BENT LOW OVER the horn of her saddle as an aid to greater speed, the leading rider was female. Not only was she encouraging her finely built, fourteen hand, blaze faced bay mare to run faster, she was urging it towards the foot of the kopje. From her attitude, she clearly considered she was fleeing for her life. Yet it was equally obvious she was not behaving, in a state of blind panic, but had some definite purpose in mind for coming in that direction.
Not more than five foot in height, slender without being puny or skinny, the fleeing woman looked to be about the apparent age of Beryl Snowhill and was equally ‘well preserved’. She had somewhat frizzy black hair rising in a pile on top of her head, and a tanned, attractive face set at that moment in lines of grim determination. Her attire was skimpy, but functional. A brassiere made from shining brass cups, clearly moulded to the contours of the breasts it covered, was held in place by slender chains of the same metal. It, a short skirt cut from the hide of a ‘black panther’14 and a pair of heelless black cross strap sandals similar to those worn by the three watchers from Earth, formed her only raiment. She had on a choker necklace of silver discs and bracelets of the same material adorned both wrists, but only the left bicep, and no other jewellery. There was a wooden hilted sword on an identical type of belt to those supplied to Charlotte Topper and Jill Jervis and she carried a crescent shaped shield like that of the beautiful platinum blonde on her left arm. Two light throwing spears hung in loops attached to the near side skirt of a saddle which might have been copied from the ‘Cheyenne roll.’ pattern that had been popular with some cowhands during the Old West cattle-raising days of the United States of America15.
The five pursuers were mounted upon either skewbald or paint horses16. Their saddles also had single girths, but were almost skeletal in design and sporting very high pommels and cantles after the fashion of the North American Plains Indians17. Nor did the similarity with those highly competent nations of equestrian fighting warriors end there. In fact, apart from some of his armament, the solitary male member of the party would not have been too out of place helping to fight against the United States’ Cavalry in the various campaigns which had taken place during the mid-1800’ s and until the turn of that century.
Apparently the male warrior was bringing up the rear from choice. He was sitting on his big skewbald stallion with the relaxed grace of an exceptionally good rider and it was easily up to carrying his weight. About six foot in height, he was well muscled and powerful, appearing to be in his mid-thirties. Shoulder lone and dangling in two thick braids, his straight black hair framed savage, yet not brutal, dark coppery red aquiline features. He wore a scarlet head band, a buckskin breechclout drawn through a broad leather weapon belt and hanging at front and rear, calf length fringed leggings and moccasins. Only the long, extremely curved sword hanging on slings attached to his belt was not in keeping with the appearance of being a North American Indian. Rather it resembled a Persian shamsir, or—as it is more generally known—scimitar. The round shield, its rim decorated by a fringe of white egret feathers, hanging on the right side of his saddle’s pommel, and the war club with a stone head which swung by a rawhide loop from his right wrist might have belonged to a Comanche ‘brave-heart’.
Like the man and woman they were pursuing, the four female riders—who had already become spread out because of the different qualities of their mounts and respective ability—had black hair. However, they clearly belonged to his nation and not hers.
Furthermore, they too were all carrying weapons and presented an equally warlike demeanour.
Somewhat stocky in build, although curvaceous, firm fleshed and not too tall, the ages of the pursuing, women ranged from about forty to the early ’teens. All were good looking, with coppery bronze complexions and their hair too was plaited into a braid on each side of the head. Their costume was comprised of a simple, short-sleeved, one-piece dress of fringed buckskin. Figure hugging, its décolleté was extreme and it ended just above knee level. Their legs were bare and they had on moccasins. The garments were decorated by different amounts of Indian style patterning made from green, red, white, blue and yellow beads. As they wore no jewellery, or other ornamentation, these seemed indicative of rank.
The armament of the women varied. None of them carried a sword like the one worn by the man. Only the oldest, who alone was equipped for archery, had a shield. It and a quiver filled with arrows were suspended on either side of her pommel. She and the next in status, as could be established by the amount of beadwork on their dresses, had long and curved knives like Turkish yataghan sheathed on their waist belts. The others carried tomahawks of traditional Red Indian fashion thrust through the decorative bands of rawhide about their midsections. For fighting beyond arm’s length, the second woman held a lance some eight foot in length. The third and fourth respectively had a war club and a thirty inches long, slightly curved, hardwood throwing stick.
‘Oh Lord!’ Jill breathed and, although her hands were steady enough as she held the bow with a war arrow nocked to the string—selected as instinctively as her stalking of the Thomson’s gazelle had been—her voice expressed the tension she was feeling. ‘It looks as if she’s going to lead them this way!’
‘So it does,’ Cha agreed, being in a posture of equal readiness to employ her skill at archery if needed.
‘Wait and see what happens!’ Beryl counselled, glancing from side to side. She noticed, in spite of how nervous the redhead had sounded, the appropriate choice had been made of the type of arrows which might be required. ‘If they go by, all well and good. We’ll stay hidden here and let them.’
‘But what about the woman they’re chasing, ma’am?’ Jill inquired, looking at the blonde and raising a point which she felt sure her companions were also considering.
‘If we have to,’ Beryl replied without hesitation, ‘we’ll help her!’
‘If we do,’ the beautiful brunette commented, darting a quick glance at the bow she was holding. ‘It will mean fighting!’
‘It will,’ the blonde agreed, her voice expressing deadly earnest. ‘And, should it come to that, both of you, remember we’re not on Earth any more. Don’t hesitate to kill!’
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‘Yes, ma’am!’ Jill said quietly and, realizing the instruction had been mainly for her benefit, stirring uneasily at the prospect.
‘Don’t let it worry you just yet,’ Beryl advised reassuringly, having observed the reaction from the redhead. ‘She’s lighter, smaller, just as good a rider and equally well mounted. So there’s a better than even chance she can outrun them.’
‘Not if that woman in the lead has anything to do with it,’ Cha contradicted grimly. ‘She’s going to use her bow!’
‘So she is!’ Beryl breathed and, despite realizing that do so would betray their presence, continued, ‘can you stop her?’
‘Not even Howard Hill could promise that from this distance,’ the brunette replied, having learned much of what she knew about archery from him. ‘The little woman is between us and I might just as easily hit her at this range. I’ll have to let them come closer.’
‘Then let them come,’ the blonde authorized immediately.
Having contrived to forge a short distance ahead of her companions, the oldest of the female pursuers—who also displayed the most ornamental beadwork—had clearly come close enough to consider she was at an acceptable range for her offensive armament. Without slackening the pace of her swiftly galloping paint stallion, in spite of it already having, started to ascend the side of the kopje, she dropped the one-piece reins across its neck. Guiding it by pressure from her knees, signals with her legs and movements of her curvaceously buxom body, she reached forward with her right hand. Showing the kind of seemingly effortless dexterity which was only acquired by long training, she slid an arrow from the quiver and necked it to the string of her thirty-six inches long, and powerful ‘compound’ bow made from a combination of bois d’arc wood and the horn of a buffalo.
‘Damn it!’ Cha ejaculated, having raised without yet drawing her own weapon. ‘I still can’t get a shot at her from here!
Even as the brunette was delivering the summation and wondering if she should move to a position from which she could intervene, hopefully without allowing her presence to become known to the pursuers, the mutter was taken from her hands.
Employing a chest draw and making sure of her aim, the woman on the paint stallion loosed her arrow!
Struck by the missile, the horse belonging to the fleeing rider screamed and began to collapse beneath her!
In spite of being caught unawares, giving a masterly display of equestrian skill, the little woman liberated her feet from the stirrup irons and leapt clear. She alighted on her feet some thirty yards from where the Earth trio were in concealment. Running a few steps closer, under the impulsion of having to quit the saddle in such a hurried fashion, she snatched the sword from its sheath with a rapid motion even before she regained control of her other movements. Spinning around and coming to a halt as she completed arming herself, she faced the approaching riders and raised the shield defensively.
Her whole posture was that of a person who was all too aware of what she was up against, but was ready to make the best of a desperate situation!
FOR her outwards appearance, the woman who had been unhorsed was both puzzled and alarmed by her predicament!
However, the emotions did not stem from fear!
Nor were they detracting from her readiness to defend herself!
An ‘active’ member of the Amazon race, the jewellery and skirt worn by the woman served to identify her as having attained the high rank of an ‘Apex’ in the nation’s senior, Black Panther Regiment. Promotion in her all female race of warriors was, with only a few exceptions, attained and held by merit alone and this was how she had acquired it.18 Nobody who was cowardly, or incompetent could rise through the ranks as she had done. In fact, for a person of such a diminutive build to have achieved so important a status indicated she must possess courage, intelligence and ability beyond the average.
This was certainly true of the little Apex!
As a tribute to her willingness to fight, while she was still a young girl, the name she was given at birth had been permanently supplanted by the sobriquet, ‘Kit Fox’. Her aggression was backed by a courage and speed which made her every bit as capable of defending herself as the small, dainty, fragile looking, yet very efficient predator, Vulpes Velox. Not only did she refuse to backdown from anybody, on more than one occasion she had emerged victorious from conflict against larger and heavier rivals.
Nevertheless, having attained her present age, Kit Fox was no longer reckless nor impulsive!
The change of outlook was making the predicament in which the Apex found herself most disturbing. It had come about, she realized, through the kind of error in tactics one could have expected from a recently joined recruit rather than a seasoned leader of warriors. Watching her assailants, she was unable to decide what had brought about the sudden and inexplicable, yet somehow irresistible, impulse to scale the kopje. Until acting upon this uncontrollable whim, she had been behaving in a manner far more suited to her position in life and ability.
Although she had been scouting alone, Kit Fox was leading, a ‘Finger’ of her Regiment on a hunting expedition in the vicinity. At the first discovery that she had been located by the five Gruziak warriors, her instinct had been to rejoin her companions as quickly as possible. Setting out with that intention, she had found herself compelled in some strange way to change her mind. Of course, she would have had a better chance of seeing and being seen by her party from the top of the kopje.
Against that, she would have had an equally good chance of outdistancing her pursuers if she had stayed upon the level ground of the savannah. What was more, if she had done so, she might have been able to lead the Gruziaks into the hands of the ten strong Finger and its two scouts of the Antelope Regiment.
However, the Apex had yielded to the unaccountable urge to make for the high ground.
Conforming with the impulse had cost Kit Fox a good horse and now she must pay the other consequences which she knew would be forthcoming!
All that remained for the little Apex was to fight to the best of her ability, try to take as many of her assailants as possible with her and ensure her ultimate fate was death rather than capture. If the Gruziaks treated captives as her nation did female warriors who fell into their hands—men always being killed outright—the latter would eventually and inevitably end in the former. She would be put into the arena, either competing against prisoners from other races in gladiatorial combat or as an initiation test for aspiring warriors.
TO the surprise of the watching Earth women, although not that of their intended victim, the pursuers made no attempt to follow the obvious course of remaining mounted and riding down their unhorsed quarry!
Instead, letting out whoops of delight, all five brought the paints and skewbalds to a halt some yards from her and started to spring: to the ground!
Dismounting, from the right side of the horse, as was the general practice amongst the Indians of North America, the archer showed she did not intend to continue employing the methods by which she had ended the chase. Lifting the shield from the pommel of her saddle and slipping it on to her left amas soon as she had alighted, she replaced it with the bow. Then, drawing, the yatnshan with her right hand, she glanced at other three women who had also come to a stop and were jumping to the ground.
‘She’s mine!’ the erstwhile archer snapped and started to resume her advance on foot.
‘Only if you can get to her first!’ contradicted the lance carrier, grasping the weapon in both hands and following, with the woman holding: the war club close on her heels.
Taking everything in and listening, Beryl Snowhill, Charlotte Topper and Jill Jervis found they were able to understand what was being said by the two women.
However, there was no time for the trio to discuss this latest example of how the Suppliers must have conditioned them to cope with life on Zillikian.
Events were moving far too swiftly for there to be a moment to spare to do anything except watch what was taking place and consider how they would always certainly need to become involved!
Although the male rider had dismounted, he did not offer to accompany his companions. Such behaviour was in accordance with the code of the Gruziak race. If the numbers had been equal, he would have fought alongside the women and counted any coups he declared as being of identical merit to those obtained against adversaries of his own gender. Their sex notwithstanding, the fighting abilities of the Amazons made them deadly and, therefore, worthwhile foes. However, under the prevailing conditions, She Bear, Dry Runner and Catamount would object most strenuously to any intervention on his part.
Furthermore and of even greater importance, Elk Bull had a duty to his family which overrode considerations of personal aggrandizement. He had brought his niece, Late Comer, on her first raiding expedition. It was his responsibility to ensure she benefitted from the experience and, if possible, acquired the prestige which came from counting coup upon an enemy or gathering loot. Unfortunately, there were problems to doing either where the little Amazon was concerned. Youngest and most poorly mounted of the quintet, Late Comer had fallen behind in the chase. She could not hope to count coup by personal contact, always regarded as the more highly praiseworthy way, but there was a means by which she might gain a somewhat lesser acclaim. The weapon with which to do it was in her right hand.
‘Use your tanat, girl!’ the warrior advised, quietly yet urgently.
Having duplicated the summations of her uncle, Late Comer had reached a similar conclusion. Without acknowledging his suggestion verbally, she darted a few steps to the right of her horse and obtained an unobstructed view of her intended victim. Raising the hardwood throwing stick, she began to run forward with the intention of propelling at the little Amazon.
It was the way in which the girl had elected to intervene which ruled out whatever slight hope the watching Earth women might have retained over the possibility of there being no need for them to intercede and be brought fully into the fray!
Seeing and identifying the device held by the youngest of the pursuers, the beautiful brunette in particular knew there was no time to lose. Primitive though it undoubtedly was, in competent hand, a throwing stick was very deadly and effective weapon for killing or inflicting an incapacitating injury19. Even if the little woman saw it coming and danced to interpose her shield, the impact could put her at a serious disadvantage and the odds were already high enough against her.
f
Having accepted there was no other choice, Cha acted swiftly!
Drawing her bow, the brunette noticed from the corner of her eye that Jill was duplicating her movements. However, she dare not wait to question the intentions of the maid. Making sure there was none of the foliage in the way to deflect the arrow, she released the string. In spite or only very recently having come into possession of the weapon, she found the mental conditioning given by the Suppliers caused her to know it as well as she had those with which she had carried out her archery on Earth. As the shaft was being thrust forward across her right forefinger, her instincts suggested she had held true on her ‘sight position’.
Sure enough, the arrow sped away to take Late Comer in the left shoulder an instant before her right hand began its forward movement to throw the tanat!
While Cha had not intended to make such a comparatively unharmful hit, it served her purpose. For all that, her relief at not having been compelled to kill the girl washed away by the realization that she still might have to take the life of another human being before the affair was over. Having intervened, she and her companions would in all probability soon be fighting to prevent themselves, as well as the little woman they were trying to save, from being killed.
Watching the injured girl spin around with a cry of pain and release rather than throw the wooden missile, Jill let out a little sigh of relief. She had once again been allowing the conditioning implanted by the Suppliers to govern her behaviour and was prepared to release her arrow if Cha missed. However, like the brunette and the blonde, she appreciated there would almost certainly be more fighting and, in the course of it, she might—probably would—be granted no other choice than kill or be killed.