So intense was my interest that it almost proved my undoing. During the day I left the Yaga's legs unbound, as he swore that he could not fly otherwise, but I kept his wrists bound. In my engrossment I did not notice him furtively gnawing at the thong. My dagger was in its sheath, since he had shown no recent sign of rebellion. My first intimation of revolt was when he wheeled suddenly sidewise, so that I lurched and almost lost my grip on him. His long arm curled about my torso and tore at my girdle, and the next instant my own dagger gleamed in his hand.
There ensued one of the most desperate struggles in which I have ever participated. My near fall had swung me around, so that instead of being on his back, I was in front of him, maintaining my position only by one hand clutching his hair, and one knee crooked about his leg. My other hand was locked on his dagger wrist, and there we tore and twisted, a thousand feet in the air, he to break away and let me fall to my death, or to drive home the dagger in my breast, I to maintain my grip and fend off the gleaming blade.
On the ground my superior weight and strength would quickly have settled the issue, but in the air he had the advantage. His free hand beat and tore at my face, while his unimprisoned knee drove viciously again and again for my groin. I hung grimly on, taking the punishment without flinching, seeing that our struggles were dragging us lower and lower toward the earth.
Realizing this, he made a final desperate effort. Shifting the dagger to his free hand, he stabbed furiously at my throat. At the same instant I gave his head a terrific downward wrench. The impetus of both our exertions whirled us down and over, and his stroke, thrown out of line by our erratic convulsion, missed its mark and sheathed the dagger in his own thigh. A terrible cry burst from his lips, his grasp went limp as he half fainted from the pain and shock, and we rushed plummetlike earthward. I strove to turn him beneath me, and even as I did, we struck the earth with a terrific concussion.
From that impact I reeled up dizzily. The Yaga did not move; his body had cushioned mine, and half the bones in his frame must have been splintered.
A clamor of voices rang on my ears, and turning, I saw a horde of hairy figures rushing toward me. I heard my own name bellowed by a thousand tongues. I had found the men of Koth.
A hairy giant was alternately pumping my hand and beating me on the back with blows that would have staggered a horse, while bellowing: "Ironhand! By Thak's jawbones, *Ironhand*! Grip my hand, old war-dog! Hell's thunders, I've known no such joyful hour since the day I broke old Khush of Tanga's back!"
There was old Khossuth Skullsplitter, somber as ever, Thab the Swift, Gutchluk Tigerwrath-nearly all the mighty men of Koth. And the way they smote my back and roared their welcome warmed my heart as it was never warmed on Earth, for I knew there was no room for insincerity in their great simple hearts.
"Where have you been, Ironhand?" exclaimed Thab the Swift. "We found your broken carbine out on the plains, and a Yaga lying near it with his skull smashed; so we concluded that you had been done away with by those winged devils. But we never found your body-and now you come tumbling through the skies locked in combat with another flying fiend! Say, have you been to Yugga?" He laughed as a man laughs when he speaks a jest.
"Aye to Yugga, on the rock Yuthla, by the river Yogh, in the land of Yagg ," I answered. "Where is Zal the Thrower?"
"He guards the city with the thousand we left behind," answered Khossuth.
"His daughter languishes in the Black City ," I said. "On the night of the full moon, Altha, Zal's daughter, dies with five hundred other girls of the Guras-unless we prevent it."
A murmur of wrath and horror swept along the ranks. I glanced over the savage array. There were a good four thousand of them; no bows were in evidence, but each man bore his carbine. That meant war, and their numbers proved it was no minor raid.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"The men of Khor move against us, five thousand strong," answered Khossuth. "It is the death grapple of the tribes. We march to meet them afar off from our walls, and spare our women the horrors of the war."
"Forget the men of Khor!" I cried passionately. "You would spare the feelings of your women-yet thousands of your women suffer the tortures of the damned on the ebon rock of Yuthla! Follow me! I will lead you to the stronghold of the devils who have harried for a thousand ages!"
"How many warriors?" asked Khossuth uncertainly.
"Twenty thousand."
A groan rose from the listeners.
"What could our handful do against that horde?"
"I'll show you!" I exclaimed. "I'll lead you into the heart of their citadel!"
"Hai!" roared Ghor the Bear, brandishing his broadsword, always quick to take fire from my suggestions. "That's the word! Come on, sir brothers! Follow Ironhand! He'll show us the way!"
"But what of the men of Khor?" expostulated Khossuth. "They are marching to attack us. We must meet them."
Ghor grunted explosively as the truth of this assertion came home to him and all eyes turned toward me.
"Leave them to me," I proposed desperately. "Let me talk with them-"
"They'll hack off your head before you can open your mouth," grunted Khossuth.
"That's right," admitted Ghor. "We've been fighting the men of Khor for fifty thousand years. Don't trust them, comrade."
"I'll take the chance," I answered.
"The chance you shall have, then," said Gutchluk grimly. "For there they come!" In the distance we saw a dark moving mass.
"Carbines ready!" barked old Khossuth, his cold eyes gleaming. "Loosen your blades, and follow me."
"Will you join battle tonight?" I asked. He glanced at the sun. "No. We'll march to meet them, and pitch camp just out of gunshot. Then with dawn we'll rush them and cut their throats."
"They'll have the same idea," explained Thab. "Oh, it will be great fun!"
"And while you revel in senseless bloodshed," I answered bitterly, "your daughters and theirs will be screaming vainly under the tortures of the winged people over the river Yogh. Fools! Oh, you fools!"
"But what can we do?" expostulated Gutchluk.
"Follow me!" I yelled passionately. "We'll march to meet them, and I'll go on to them alone."
I wheeled and strode across the plain, and the hairy men of Koth fell in behind me, with many headshakes and mutterings. I saw the oncoming mass, first as a mingled blur; then the details stood out-hairy bodies, fierce faces, gleaming weapons-but I swung on heedlessly. I knew neither fear nor caution; my whole being seemed on fire with the urgency of my need and desire.
Several hundred yards separated the two hosts when I dashed down my single weapon-the Yaga dagger-and shaking off Ghor's protesting hands, advanced alone and unarmed, my hands in the air; palms toward the enemy.
These had halted, drawn up ready for action. The unusualness of my actions and appearance puzzled them. I momentarily expected the crack of a carbine, but nothing happened until I was within a few yards of the foremost group, the mightiest men clustered about a tall figure that was their chief-old Bragi, Khossuth had told me. I had heard of him, a hard, cruel man, moody and fanatical in his hatreds.
"Stand!" he shouted, lifting his sword. "What trick is this? Who are you who comes with empty hands in the teeth of war?"
"I am Esau Ironhand, of the tribe of Koth," I answered. "I would parley with you."
"What madman is this?" growled Bragi. "Than-a bullet through his head."
But the man called Than, who had been staring eagerly at me, gave a shout instead and threw down his carbine.