The two remaining warriors attacked simultaneously. They were fast, trained, and very good. But they were not as good as Tarzan. He moved to the outside, letting them run past him. He stuck out his foot and tripped one. The other raced past, perplexed. Where had the man gone? How could he move that fast? Nothing moved that fast.
Tarzan was suddenly behind the confused warrior. His arms locked around the man's throat, and by dropping to one knee, jerking, he snapped the man's neck and back as easily as an ordinary man might snap a pencil.
The warrior he had tripped was on his feet now, and even though he had not lost his spear, he broke off running. He ran toward the old shed. Tarzan picked up on the warrior's spears, took a deep breath, and tossed the weapon.
It was a good toss, but Tarzan's target stumbled slightly, and was saved by luck The spear soared just over his head and smote the ground in front of him. The warrior regained his footing, reached one of the upright shed posts just as Tarzan took hold of another spear.
The warrior peeked out from behind the post. Nearby, the zebras grazed He thought if he could reach one of them he might escape bareback, using his heels to guide the animal.
He paused to consider his plan a moment more, and that was his undoing. Tarzan launched the spear. The warrior, looking around the post, saw the launch, and ducked back out of sight.
The spear struck the post with such impact it shook and split, and the blade passed through the post and the warrior. This was done as neat and clean as if the spear were a hot knife cutting through butter. The man's knees folded and he hung there against the post, supported by the blade of the spear.
Tarzan dragged the bodies out of sight, chose one of the warriors' spears, recovered the bow and arrows from his first assailant, and set about nabbing one of the zebras.
In short time this was done. Using his knees to guide the beast, clutching the mane which he had plaited for a makeshift bridle, Tarzan started off down the road toward Ur, and Jean.
From his perch in the tree, Small could see much of the countryside by the dying red light of the afternoon sun, but he could not see Tarzan. He heard something down below, but he doubted it was Tarzan. Too much noise. It sounded like a hippo coming through the jungle. Birds took to the sky in a flurry, and in the distance monkeys fled through the trees.
Small climbed higher and looked out. Now and then he glimpsed the author of the noise, but couldn't quite make it out. It was moving through the bush and he could see it now and then, but never quite clearly. Whatever it was, it was moving in his direction.
Moments later, he realized what it was. Men. Four of them. The two in front were side by side, the two in back were side by side. He watched carefully. Soon he recognized one of the men. His boss, Hanson. A moment later, he recognized the other two.
"Uh-oh," Small said softly.
Small watched with amazement as the four men came directly toward his tree. It was obvious that Hanson and the black man- probably one of Hanson's bearers - were captive.
Wilson and Cannon had rifles and they were walking with that overbearing manner he had noticed the moment they first stepped into his and Hunt's camp. Self-righteous anger surged through him.
Small concluded that if they kept on the path - and at was likely as everywhere else the jungle was thick with undergrowth- within a few minutes they would ass beneath his tree. He could remain calm, let them go, wait on Tarzan for aid, or he could do something now.
What if Tarzan didn't come back? And there was another thing. If he let these four pass on, and something happened to Tarzan, he wouldn't have any chance, not out here by himself without a gun and supplies. He would be better off to stop Wilson and Cannon, kill them even, toss his lot with Hanson and the other.
And maybe, Small thought, I can borrow some pants here might be some clean clothes in one of the packs, and if not, well, one of the renegades could do without his.
But how could he take two armed men?
Small observed that neither Hanson nor the bearer was tied. Wilson and Cannon obviously felt their rifles were all were needed to keep Hanson and the other in line.
But what if he surprised Wilson and Cannon? They wouldn't expect an attack from above. What if, for a moment their guns were put out of commission? He fell certain that if this were so, if he could provide enough time, a distraction, Hanson and his partner would turn on
Wilson and Cannon and help him dispose of them. That would make it three against two, odds in their favor. Add in the element of surprise. . . well, that was like a whole other person.
Four against two.
Small looked about, found a liana he could cling to. It was perfect The path it would follow was perfect. All he had to do was swing on it. Wait until they were in the right spot, then swing.
Taking hold of the liana, freeing it from a limb, Small gave a tug. It felt firm, as if it could hold his weight.
He looked down at the four men.
Could he do it?
Sure, he told himself. Sure, I can.
But, man, what a drop that was. The vine didn't hold he caught a limb . . . bad business.
And the renegades, they've got guns and they don't mind using them in the least
Yeah, but they won't expect me, Small told himself Surprise is on my side.
And if you're off just a little bit...
Don't think about it, Small told himself. Don't think at all. Just do it.
Small took a deep breath and waited.
One...
Two...
Three...
Three and a half...
Oh, goodness, Small thought. This will be something me swinging out of the trees in my underwear. Why have I got to be in my drawers?
Four...
Six ought to do it. I count to six, I'm going.
Five...
Got to do this just right.
SIX!
Small clutched the vine, whispered a prayer, pushed off with his legs, and swung.
Chapter 17
SMALL REALIZED TOO late that he had timed incorrectly, and that his vine would reach the ground well in front of Wilson and Cannon. In fact, he swung between Hanson and Billy and one of his legs struck Hanson and knocked him down. Small went twisting, causing him to lose his grip on the vine, and he hit the ground and started to roll.
His roll sent him hurtling against Cannon's legs with enough force to knock him backwards. Cannon hit the ground and lost his grip on the rifle. Small scuttled on top of him and began to use his fist like a hammer, breaking Cannon's nose.
Wilson jumped forward, brought the stock of his rifle down on the back of Small's head knocking him off of Cannon. Billy leapt on Wilson and knocked him backwards. They scuffled for the rifle.
Hanson scrambled to his feet, got hold of Cannon's rifle, wheeled, and yelled, "Stop it!"
Wilson quit struggling with Billy, but they both held on to the rifle.
"Give him the rifle," Hanson said to Wilson. "Give it to him, and no tricks."
Wilson reluctantly let Billy have the rifle.
"All right," Hanson said. "The worm has turned."
"Not completely," Cannon said.
Hanson wheeled to cover Cannon, and his heart sank.
Cannon had scooped up the unconscious Small and was holding him under the chin with one hand, lifting his feet off the ground. With the other he had his knife against Small's throat. Blood ran from Cannon's broken nose and over his lips. His breath rattled out of his chest in locomotive blasts.