Jad-bal-ja soon determined that the man was as dumb as Nkima. Perhaps dumber. He could not even climb a tree or find his own food. At least the little monkey could do that. And now the dumb man had wandered off into the darkness of the grotto.
Jad-bal-ja followed the winding path of the man and eventually came to where Hunt had fallen. Jad-bal-ja leapt lightly onto the ledge below, saw the flames inside the cavern, and went in there. The fire was warm, and down here in the cool of the cavern that was good. Jad-bal-ja did not care for the cold. When it rained it was too cold for him. When the wind blew on a wet night it was too cold. And it was too cold in the cavern. Except for here. This felt good. Warm as the veldt in the middle of summer.
Jad-bal-ja followed the man's scent.
Before long, he caught the scent of another, and Jad-bal-ja felt something he had never felt before. Terror. Bone-deep terror. There was something down here besides the man, and it moved unlike any man or animal moved.
Jad-bal-ja growled softly, forced himself to proceed. The spoor of the thing was strong now, and it was overlapping the scent of the man he was supposed to protect. He had been given the duty to protect the man, and protect him he would; he would die if necessary to uphold his duty to Tarzan.
As Jad-bal-ja neared where the man was, the scent of the other faded. The jungle cat's ears picked up the thing's movement in one of the distant tunnels of the cavern. It was moving away from him. Jad-bal-ja sensed mat whatever it was it knew he and the man were here, and that its departure had nothing to do with either of them. It did not fear them. It feared nothing.
As Jad-bal-ja rounded a comer he saw the man in the firelight. The man's shadow jumped across the tunnel and danced on the wall. The man was trembling, yet he held his ground, a sharp thing in his hand. Jad-bal-ja growled and the man trembled more, but still he held his ground.
The man had courage. He was stupid, but he had courage.
As Hunt waited for sudden and certain death, he recognized the beast. It was Tarzan's lion. It had tracked him. But what was its purpose? To protect or destroy? Perhaps the lion had tired of the game, no longer felt Tarzan's orders were valid, and was more interested in a meal. Certainly, Hunt knew he would be easier to catch | and softer to eat than most any other animal in the jungle.
The beast swished its tail, strolled toward Hunt. But I the great lion's countenance had changed. It came on slow and soft, and the set of its head indicated an almost lackadaisical attitude. When the lion was six feet away, it sat down and turned its head to one side, examining Hunt. Its tongue came out and the lion panted like a dog.
"Nice lion," Hunt said, and hoped his tone was not too condescending. Could lions sense that sort of thing? Patronization?
Hunt lowered the spear to his side, screwed up his courage, and extended his free hand to the lion.
Jad-bal-ja sniffed. It was a noble sniff, as if he were sucking in the reek of something rotten and liking it not at all.
"Easy, boy," Hunt said.
Hunt stretched his hand toward the lion's face. Jad-bal-ja growled softly. Hunt pulled back his hand. Okay, thought Hunt. Enough was enough. No use trying to make a pet of the beast. It's enough he isn't going to eat me.
At least not at the moment.
Jad-bal-ja turned his royal head toward one of the dark corridors. It was the tunnel where Hunt had heard the noise; the one from whence came the strange sensations mat had chilled his inner being with numbing, inexplicable dread.
Hunt noticed the mane on Jad-bal-ja's neck was standing out as if it were made of black porcupine quills, and Hunt perceived the reason. The lion sensed the thing in the cavern as well. The fact that the king of beasts was worried about what lurked there re-ignited the fear in Hunt. He looked toward the murk, and now that his eyes had had time to adjust, he saw that die opening to die tunnel was a false one. There was a great chasm between this tunnel and the next; a rift in the rock perhaps forty feet wide, and beyond dial, a narrow walkway. Hunt decided the thing must have been on that walkway, watching diem. And since it could not make die leap, it had moved on.
Jad-bal-ja strolled over to Hunt, looked at him, J swished his tail, and moved past. Hunt watched die Be for a moment, then die cat turned and looked at him wife what Hunt knew was a look of perplexity. Jad-bal-ja growled, swished his tail, moved down die tunnel a few feet, stopped, turned, looked at Hunt.
"I get it," Hunt said. He started after the lion and the lion picked up its pace, and soon Hunt had to trot to keep up. But he did not mind. He could not help but feel that something inhuman and horrible was at his back.
Hunt shivered, wondered if this tunnel was a dead end or a way out. He wondered as well if the oil in the gutters would burn a long time. The idea of being trapped in darkness with that thing was not something he enjoyed pondering.
Both Jad-bal-ja and Hunt increased their pace.
Inside the great city of Ur was a smaller city and inside that city was the palace. Jean was led through the palace, and she could not understand why. It was as if her captors were giving her a tour of the opulence that was Ur's.
Inside there were great rooms lined with gold and silver and bright tapestries. She was led into a great chamber. The floor was covered in purple carpet, the vast windows with yellow curtains, and the stone throne was inlaid with diamonds and rubies; it sparkled in the light from the numerous candles lit and placed about throne room. Chained to either side of the throne were two enormous, jet-black lions.
Jean had never seen anything like them. They were even bigger than Tarzan's lion. As they neared the lions, the beasts swished their tails, as if ready to spring. The woman pushed Jean toward the lions, men even as one of the cats shot out a paw full of claws, the woman jerked Jean back with a laugh.
Jean thought: this one, she certainly had a sense of humor. A real funny woman. So funny, I'd like to crack her skull. Jean smiled at the grinning woman, men with a quick movement she kicked at her tormentor's knee.
The woman lifted her leg slightly, turned her foot sideways, and blocked the attack with the sole of her sandal. Then she slid in with blinding speed and slapped Jean with the back of her hand, causing her to stumble.
Jean stood up slowly. Blood ran from her-mourn. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. She realized now that taking this woman wasn't going to be as easy as she thought. No matter how mad she was, this one, she knew what she was doing. Jean realized something else as well. The woman had not only protected her from the man earlier because she wanted to expedite matters; it must have been because of his inability to deal with Jean's attack. The woman had been embarrassed for him. And Jean knew deep in her bones there was another reason. This woman was saving ht or something dark and special.
Why else would she give her a tour of the palace? She had wanted Jean to see the luxury and know there were people living in comfort, excess. This made what was about to happen to her all the worse, and Jean was certain this was intentional.
But why had the woman chosen her over the others?
What was so special about herself? If special was the right word. Why was this woman determined to make her life miserable?
Eventually, they went out of the palace proper, along a long cool corridor, down a flight of wide stone steps, and into a dank darkness lit only by foul-smelling torches arranged every eight feet or so in metal sheaths along the walls. There were a number of sweaty-looking men and women wandering about, all of them armed with whips and short swords. They eyed Jean as she came in, amazed at the whiteness of her skin. If this was, as Jean suspected, the city of Ur, it was unlikely many white skins had been seen in this city. But it was also obvious that any natives living nearby were fair game for these marauders.