And now it occurred to us to curse our lack of foresight. If we had hit upon the idea earlier in the day, we might have cobbled together a crude sort of raft from fallen tree-trunks and jungle vines, and poled out into the lake, putting miles of water between us and the vengeful savages who now pursued us. True, the Cor-Az was probably the lair of more than one such monster reptile as the groack which had attacked us many days ago, but with a modicum of luck we might have gotten across the lake by now and be climbing down the cliff-like side of the plateau before Xangan and his cohorts had any idea of our whereabouts.
Well, it was too late now to try it, for the jungle men were getting closer with every moment, and I have
never seen the sense in crying over spilt milk! The best thing to do would be to strike off into the jungle and lead our pursuers as far away from the wreckage of the skiff as possible. And to elude capture until daylight, if we possibly can.
Night has just fallen with that swift, sudden extinguishing of light that makes the coming of darkness so remarkable here on Callisto. I am hastily scribbling down these last few lines by the bewildering, many-colored moonlight as Tomar and Koja and Lukor are bundling up our few possessions, ready to flee into the jungles.
In just a moment I will place this final sheet together with the rest of the manuscript in the hole Tomar has dug, and we will pile the stones he gathered upon it, making a tall cairn or marker which we hope will catch the eye of any of our friends who may fly over the shore for one last look before going on to Kuur.
Perhaps it would have been wiser had I written this narrative in the Thanatorian characters, rather than in English. But, surely, any of you who notice the cairn, and land to investigate, and dig up the cache, will recognize the manuscript for what it is. Luckily, Zastro, the old sage or savant of the Ku Thad, is among you; he is the only being on all this Jungle Moon who can read and understand the English language, save myself. I know this, for I have been his tutor in my native tongue, and he has proved a brilliant student.
It is to him, then, that I must address these last words. They must be few, for the eager baying of the othodes is growing nearer and nearer, and my companions are ready to depart and are anxious to be gone.
Zastro―if indeed you ever read these words―know that we are heading due northwest into the jungle, and then intend to angle off directly west to the very edge of the plateau, where we hope to find a way down the cliff and may perhaps lose ourselves in the mountain-country. If we can at all do so, it is our intention―as of right now―to find our way back to the range of peaks which Ylana called the “Mountains of the Zarkoon.” The only landmark known to us is the great crater-like hole in the flank of one of these peaks, the hole which leads into the cavern-world of the birdmen.
It will of course be dangerous for us to lurk very long in the vicinity of the entrance to the subterranean lair of the Zarkoon, but somewhere on that slope, in an open place, look for another cairn like the one under which you found this manuscript. There I plan to deposit further instructions as to the direction in which we will be traveling, if indeed we are not seized by the Zarkoon themselves, or fall prey to some other monstrous and unexpected peril.
Very soon now we shall leave this place, leading the jungle men as far away from the wreckage of the skiff and the cairn we will have built above this hidden manuscript as we can do. Koja plans to return to a point further up the jungle trail by which we came here, and then to strike off anew into the west. He hopes by this stratagem to confuse the othodes, to mix our trails, leading them away from the skiff, in order to prevent them from discovering the cairn and, perhaps, destroying or carrying off this manuscript.
Only you will know for certain if our plan succeeds! For if you find this manuscript and are reading these words, then our trick will have worked and we will have succeeded in leading our pursuers astray.
Look for a similar cairn on a flat, open space near the entrance to the cavern of the Zarkoon.
If you do not find it, then that will mean we were either recaptured by the jungle men before escaping from the plateau, or fell victim to some predator or catastrophe on our way to the mountains.
And if we are recaptured, the chances are very great that we will be taken into Kuur itself as prisoners of the Mind Wizards. Surely they will want to drain every bit of information from us they possibly can, before slaying us.
As it is possible I will be dead or a slave in Kuur shortly after you read these words, we may never see each other again. It is difficult for me to realize that my long adventure perhaps ends here. To all my friends and comrades, I say―farewell!
To my beloved princess―farewell, my beloved! I love you with all my heart. My last thought in this life will be of you. The last word I will speak with my dying breath will be your lovely name.
And to our child, whom I may never see again, whom I may never watch grow to proud manhood―farewell, Kaldar, my son! Grow strong and manly―make your mother as proud of you as I would be, were I there by your side!
And never give up hope until you have proof of my death.
For I yet live. And while I live―I have hope.
Book Four
ZASTRO’S NARRATIVE
Chapter 16
In Search of the Castaways
And now it is I, Zastro―whom Jandar has called the “sage” and “savant” of the Ku Thad―who must take up the pen let fallen from his hand, to record something of those events whereof I am the witness.
Whether or not I am truly the “wise man” the Prince of Shondakor has so often named me, I must leave to the estimate of my peers and to the judgment of posterity. It is, however, true that in a world of warriors and adventurers, the passion which has consumed my years is the curious desire for abstract information, and the even more curious desire to grasp what little can be understood of the laws of nature and of the workings of the minds and hearts of my fellow beings.
Since this is but the simple truth, my reader (if any) can readily appreciate what a treasure-trove of tantalizing mysteries Prince Jandar represents in my eyes. To meet and to converse with an intelligent being from another world was an opportunity so remote from the furthest reaches of possibility, that I could not have anticipated such a dream might ever become reality. Thus, from the first moment I encountered the Prince, I have seized upon every opportunity to query him concerning the mysterious world from whence he came, and the creatures, strange to me but familiar to him, who make of that distant world their home. And in recompense for the knowledge he generously saw fit to impart to me, I have shared with him whatever poor lore or learning of my own he might desire.
On this matter of language I fear I permitted my curiosity to stray completely beyond the bounds of prudence. We men of Thanator, you see, of whatever race or nation, share between us one and one only common tongue. Thus it has ever been, and the fact seems to my ignorant mind only fit and natural. Why should two men have two different words for “tree” or “moon” or “water”? Indeed, how could two different words describe the identical thing? For all that these hypothetical two men dwell far apart, is not “water” still and always “water,” in whatever land or realm these two might chance to dwell?
The fact had seemed so thoroughly self-evident to me that not only had I never chanced to question its veracity, I had never even thought of it before my first meeting with Jandar the Earthling. Yet here was a man who had needed to be taught the universal language spoken by all men, even by the arthropods of the Yathoon horde! The very concept of “another language” was so startling in its novelty as to consume my imagination. Quite simply, I could not rest until I “learned” this Jandarian tongue myself.