I shall fight to the death. I shall kill as many as I am capable of killing."
"Of course you will," Nyama said. "I knew that without asking. I am nervous. You will kill as many as there are stars in the heavens, as there are blades of grass on the veldt. And so shall I."
Tarzan looked at her and smiled. "Will you be disappointed if I kill only half that many?"
Nyama smiled nervously, tried to keep the spirit in her voice when she said: "Only a little bit."
Hunt and Jad-bal-ja hurried along the low and narrow tunnel, Hunt on his hands and knees, Jad-bal-ja slouched so as not to scrape his back on the low ceiling.
Behind them they could hear the thing attempting to scuttle through the hole, which was almost too small for its head. Almost. The dirt and rock around the opening was starting to crumble, and Hunt could bear the creature pushing its way through.
The thought of the thing behind them, coming for them, caused Hunt to push harder. The rocks scuffed and cut his knees and the palms of his hands, but he kept going. He could not see an arm's length in front of him- a hand's length, but still he pushed on, the hot breath of the lion on the back of his neck.
There came a wild and dreadful shriek from the back of the tunnel, and Hunt recognized it as a wail of both triumph and rage. The thing had pushed its way into the tunnel, and now, on its hands and knees- if those hooks could be called hands, those strange hunks of flesh and bone or chitin could be called knees- it rushed forward, bouncing off the sides of the cavern walls as
it came, snapping its jaws with a sound akin to a giant cutter slamming through wet construction paper. Its smell permeated the air, and as Hunt breathed, he imagined he was pulling that foul odor into his lungs, and that in a way, that appalling thing was becoming a part of him.
It was at this point that Hunt considered pulling loose his spear fragment, turning, and having a go at the monster. At least, that way he would die with the wounds on the front of his body, not on his back like some craven coward.
But then he saw the light.
Chapter 21
FROM HIS POSITION in his private viewing box, sitting upon his golden throne, a purple robe tossed over his knees, Kurvandi had watched the day's events with disinterest. He was anxious to see this bronze giant die. He was anxious to see Ebopa perform. His eyes wandered toward where the great gong hung.
The gong was arranged in such a way that when struck with tremendous force, the echo of its chime would travel through a metal pipe and into the caverns beyond. Within twenty minutes Ebopa usually arrived, hungry and angry. They had but to open the gate on the far wall, the one that led down into the caverns below, and there would be Ebopa, and when Ebopa strode out of the darkness it would shake its head and wipe its eyes, but soon it would adjust to the light and began o stalk its victim.
Occasionally, Ebopa would spring on its prey, kill it immediately, and eat it to the roaring of the crowd. More often, it would play with its intended, pursuing it about the arena, letting the prey take the lead, and then, abruptly, Ebopa would start to run in that curious and hideous fashion it favored, and within moments the quarry would fall beneath its hooking claws.
Rarely was anyone strong enough, or brave enough to give Ebopa a true fight. Today, if what Kurvandi had heard of this giant were true, matters might be different. A few more minutes of pleasure might be added to the event. He was even more optimistic, having heard that the giant had escaped from the dungeon with two women, and had fought against overwhelming odds before being driven into the arena. This proved the captive was no ordinary man.
Kurvandi glanced down into the arena, at the door through which Ebopa would come. Unconsciously, he licked his lips.
In the tunnel below the arena, Hunt pursued the light. He came to its source, found that it was a man-made shaft that dropped into his tunnel, and that the tunnel itself ended here against a hard rock wall. From the slimy sides of the shaft and from the wet floor of the tunnel, Hunt deduced that this sluice was designed to drain excess water.
Not bothering to look back, Hunt put his hands on either side of the shaft, pushed up, then used his feet in the same manner. It was slippery work, but by maintaining pressure with his hands and feet, it was a serviceable exit. Above him he could see a metal grate. He tried not to think about that and hoped he could move it.
When Hunt was halfway up, he looked down at the lion. It could not climb the shaft. There were no places where its paws might gain a hold. Hunt felt a wave of cowardice. He should die with the lion. The lion would give him time to make it to the top or the shaft, but he should die with it. The lion looked up at him and barred its teeth, as if to smile. Then Jad-bal-ja turned to face the screeching horror that was rushing down upon it, and Hunt's final decision was made. He continued to climb upward.
When Jean strode into the arena, Kurvandi leaned forward on his throne. This might be of interest, he thought. Not because he felt this pale-skinned woman would be much of a match for Jeda, who he had seen fight many times, but because he was interested in seeing how an outsider would die.
Kurvandi's seat for this battle was a good one. It was excellent for all exhibitions, but in this case, the portion of the arena where Jean and Jeda were to fight was just below him. As Jeda entered the arena, she looked up at his roost and smiled. From time to time, they were lovers. Usually after she fought in the arena, especially if she was covered in blood. Jeda felt being a lover to the king might have its political overtones, and she was ambitious.
She decided she would go slow with the girl, let her linger a while. Then she would make sure it was bloody. Kurvandi liked that. He hated it when it happened quick and there was very little blood.
Jeda smiled at Kurvandi, and he smiled back. He thought to himself: Someday, I will have her killed, before she becomes too dangerous, too popular.
The black lions rose up on either side of Kurvandi, and placing their front paws on the top of the viewing box, looked down, too. They, like their master, loved the arena. The blood, the sounds of the crowd, the smell of fear excited them. When it was all over, their master would allow them into the arena for while, to eat. There were always fine tidbits there.
A rider on a zebra entered the arena. He was carrying two long spears and knives in belted scab bards. He tossed one of each in front of Jeda, the others In front of Jean. The rider said something in the Ur language, then departed. Jeda fastened on the knife belt, took hold of her spear, and Jean did the same. Jean was so frightened she thought the flesh in her legs was melting and that soon she would turn to liquid and flow into the bloody sands of the arena.
Her hand shook as she held the spear, but to keep from letting it show, she jiggled the spear savagely and called out threats. They were silly threats, but since no one amongst the Urs could understand her language anyway, she knew she could make them sound more threatening with the tone of her voice and her facial expressions.
"Your mother wears army boots! she called. "When's the last time you took a bath? Who does your hair anyway?"
Tough stuff in an upper-class Austin beauty parlor, but out here, a bit slight. Nonetheless, she told herself, even if I am out here in my bra, I'm Texan through and through and I come from stock tough as horse shoes, and I'm going to reach way down inside of myself and pull it out. I'm going to-
Her musings on toughness were interrupted when with a speedy thrust, Jeda used her spear to open a cut on Jean's shoulder.
Jean couldn't believe it. The lunge had been so fast she had hardly seen it. And now, an instant after it was completed, she felt a warmth flow over her shoulder, and then a stinging sensation. The razor-sharp blade of the spear had cut through her flesh and she was bleeding.