Xangan, in striking contrast, was a repulsive, slouching man ,with coarse, heavy features and bloodshot eyes, his sensual features bestubbled and unshaven, his burly chest hirsute. Albeit that he was nearer to Thadron’s age than to Jugrid’s, his figure had lost the lithe, supple, and erect posture of the younger man, if, indeed, it had ever possessed it, and was running to unhealthy and unsightly flabbiness.
His black locks were tangled and matted, his person unkempt. But about his hairy throat was clasped the fang and claw necklace of the chieftaincy.
A malignant gleam shone in his puffy eyes as he strolled over to the door of the prison cave where Jugrid stood. Xangan had brought with him from the cook-fires a haunch of meat upon which he gnawed, pausing from time to time to lick a particularly succulent gobbet of fat from his greasy fingers, or to wipe these upon his thighs. He munched with obvious relish in full knowledge of the fact that his former chief, whom he had come to taunt, had eaten nothing that day, since it was the custom of the tribe that those who were condemned to death should fast to purify their spirits before journeying to the unknown and paradisiacal gardens of the Unseen Ones.
Jugrid knew both hunger and thirst, but his iron dignity did not permit him to display the slightest flicker of emotion as the grinning bully lounged against the bars of the door, looking him up and down with insolent and malicious eyes, all the while sucking the last toothsome morsel from the bone he had nearly cleaned.
Wiping his loose and pendulous lips clean on the back of his hand, Xangan emitted a belch of satisfaction, and addressed him.
“Since you doubtless hunger, O Jugrid, I have brought you a bone to chew upon, like the othode you are,” he grinned, tossing the bone through the bars so that it fell at Jugrid’s feet.
“I shall leave it to the unfortunate tribe who now must suffer under the rule of such as you, O Xangan, to decide which of us is more the othode,” said Jugrid calmly, not deigning to even look at the bone at his feet.
The features of Xangan flushed and his grin went sour. An ugly glint appeared in his eye. It was not so much the cold contempt clearly audible in Jugrid’s tones as he addressed him, as it was the fact that the fallen chief did not display the slightest sign of fear or dismay at his approaching fate that ruffled the mood of the new chief. A bully to the coreand a coward to the heart―he knew fear so intimately and so thoroughly, that it somewhat bolstered his own selfesteem to discern the marks of it in others.
No one so enjoys the display of cowardice in others so much as the man who has cowardice within his own heart.
He grimaced and spat. “Boast as you will, you fomak,” growled Xangan, employing the name of the venomous cavespider as an epithet, “you shall whimper and squirm soon enough, under the knife of sacrifice!”
“If I am a fomak as you say, O Xangan,” smiled Jugrid, “I would that you could feel my bite before that hour comes!”
Xangan laughed loudly, but at this Thadron spoke up, with a slight smile upon his handsome, clean-cut features.
“Yes, O Chief, Jugrid makes a valid point,” said the young warrior. “Whatever happened to the ancient custom of the tribe that when a chief has been, for any reason, deposed and condemned to death, he may claim the right to trial-by-combat against the person of the new chief, thereby to fall honorably in battle, if such indeed be the will of the Unseen Ones?”
Xangan looked disconcerted. The very thought of having to face such a magnificent fighting man as the former chief struck terror into his queasy heart, for he knew full well that in any honest test of strength or courage or fighting skill, he would fare miserably at the hands of the mighty Jugrid. At the very notion he turned pale and swallowed. Thadron and Jugrid, observing this and correctly guessing the direction of his thought, exchanged an amused glance, and laughed quietly together.
Flushing with rage again, Xangan controlled his features, distorting them into a savage grimace of vindictiveness. Then he attempted to assume a loftier pose, one for which his degraded face and form were but poorly suited.
“The Elders, who interpret the will of the Unseen Ones, as you know, have in this instance rendered null that ancient custom,” he said virtuously. Then, in a flash of braggadocio, he added, “Were it not for their holy strictures, I should enjoy nothing more than to meet the traitor, Jugrid, in. combat!”
Neither Thadron nor Jugrid were deceived by his boasting. They smiled again.
“You speak the truth, O Chief,” said Thadron solemnly.
Xangan glanced at the young warrior quickly, to see if there was mischief in his eye. But Thadron kept a straight face.
“I do?” said Xangan, surprised.
“Yes, you do. For truthfully you would `enjoy nothing more’ than to face the mighty Jugrid in hand-to-hand battle. At least, that is,” he amended with a quiet smile, “you would never enjoy anything again, after facing Jugrid in battle. For I doubt if you would survive the contest, and dead men may enjoy nothing, I am given to understand!”
Xangan snarled, his eyes mean and vicious. “You do ill to insult your chief, warrior,” he growled. “The Elders, whom, as you know, interpret the will of the Unseen Ones…
Jugrid laughed contemptuously.
“You are fond of mouthing that pious phrase, O Xangan,” he observed. “I have come to believe that the Unseen Ones are also Unheard Ones, and I have little doubt that the Elders more often than not merely interpret the will of the Elders. That is to say, the will of one of them, at least, the venerable Quone, your own grandfather. For otherwise even the Unseen Ones could not be so foolish as to elevate a cowardly bully like yourself to the chieftainship of the tribe.”
“That is sacrilege,” sputtered Xangan in a strangled tone.
“Slay me for it, then,” said Jugrid, cooly. “A man can die only once. Since I am already condemned to death, I might as well give voice to the secret feelings of my heart. I have kept them hidden far too long already.”
Xangan, who was rarely at his best in any contest of wit or intelligence, could think of no rejoinder to these calm statements and contented himself with a spiteful smirk. He spat coarsely at Jugrid’s feet and made as if to turn away in disdain. But just then a shout was heard to ring out from the sentries posted atop the cliffs which ringed in the valley in which they stood.
All craned their heads to see what peril impended. The sentry gestured wildly to call attention to himself, then pointed off into the east. Soon there became visible a black mote against the golden sky. At the sight of it, Xangan went a mottled grayish-white, the color of dirty milk, and swallowed painfully, his eyes wide with fear.
It was a ghastozar.
The giant flying reptile, whose ferocity and rapacious hunger made it feared above even the denizens of the jungle depths, was descending upon the valley.
The clangor of alarm went up. Warriors sprang to their feet, snatching up bows and crude spears. Xangan swallowed again and seemed to be trembling. Observing his obvious terror, Thadron smiled and again exchanged a humorous glance with his former chief.