An anxious maiden

As Tarzan defeated among his enemies, a man stood many miles away on the outer edge of the bog zone besieging Pal-ul-don. His only curtain was a lumbar garment and three cartridge belts, two of which ran from his shoulders across his chest and back, the third being on his web. In the leather acquisition, the Enfield rifle hung on his back, and in addition he had a knife, bow, and arrow case. He had come from afar, through the wild ravens, threatened by cruel beasts and cruel people, but untouched until the last cartridge was a storehouse of ammunition filled with belts on the day he set out.

A bow and arrows and a long knife had delivered him safely all the way here, but often at the threat of great daring, which a single shot from a well-groomed rifle hanging in his back would have made him quite small. What could have been his purpose in preserving these precious shooting needs? In exposing one’s life to bringing every single brightly shimmering projectile to an unknown destination? Where, for whom were these producers of death reserved? All over the world only he knew.

* * * * *

When Pan-at-li stepped from the edge of the cliff above Kor-ul-Lul, he expected to be immediately crushed to death down in the quarry; but he had chosen this rather than ja’s gnashing teeth. Instead, it was a coincidence that he made his horrible leap from a point where a roaring river meandered beneath an overhanging rock wall to circulate its water in the deep backwater it had dug over the ages before erupting violently against the raging foam of the raging frost. .

The girl rushed into this cool pond, and down and down to the depths, until half-suffocated but still manly fighting, once again rose to the air. Strongly swimming, he struggled to the opposite shore and dragged up to the roar lying to gasp and starving until the approaching dawn warned him to look for a hiding place, for he was in the land of the enemies of his people.

He rose and moved into the cache of lush vegetation, which in the pulling cores of Pal-ul-don is inherently powerful.

[I have used PAL-ul-donilaista gorge value of ours is plural, but the benefit to arouse interest in such circumstances, be stated that all of plural words pal ul codon language is formed kaksintamalla the first letter of the word, e.g. k’kor , ravines, said kakor . The lions would thus be j’ja or men d’don .]

Hidden in the midst of vegetation from the sight of everyone who could come along the much-used path along the riverbank, Pan-at-li sought rest and food; the latter grew abundantly around him in fruit and berries and juicy tubers, which he dug out of the ground with the knife of Es-Sat, who had cast his life.

Ah if he only knew the boss was dead! What trials and dangers and horrors he could have escaped; but he thought his oppressor was still working and therefore did not dare to return to Kor-ul. At least not yet, with his rage boiling at its hottest. Later, perhaps, when his father and brothers returned to their cave, he might dare it; but not now – not now. And he’s on the other side could not linger long here either, hostile kor-ul-lulien nearby, and something he had to find protection from predators before the night’s income.

As he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, trying to come up with some solution to the problem of existence before him, the voices of men screaming at the top of the gorge echoed in his ears, a noise he felt all too well. It was a shout of war by the kor-ul-luli. It became closer and closer to his hiding. He then, through the veil of foliage, saw glimpses of three creatures fleeing along the path, and the caress of the emergency workers became louder and louder behind them as the chase approached the listener. Again, he made the refugees appear to be rushing across the river below the waterfall, and again they disappeared. And now the oppressors appeared – noisy Kor-ul-Luli warriors, numb and unforgiving. Forty, perhaps fifty centuries. He waited, holding his breath; but they did not deviate,

Once again, he saw the distressed — three Waz-Don warriors as they climbed up a rock wall from a point where the crumbling of a ridge had created a steep slope for such agile climbers to ascend. Suddenly his attention was particularly tense. Could it be? Oh, Jad-ben-Otho, if only he had known moments before! As they ran past this, he could have joined them, for they were his father and two brothers. It was late now. Breathing quietly and his muscles tensed, he watched the competition. Would they get to the brush? Would the kor-ul-luli reach them? They gasped well, but oh, very slowly. Now one lost his foothold in the loose mura and slipped back! Kor-ul-luli was on the rise – among other things, he threw his gavel at the nearest refugee.

Pan-at-li now watched the death run as he stood, his hands tightly pressed to the golden shields. Now one, his older brother, reached the ridge and hung there somewhere, lowering his body and long tail to the father below. The latter grabbed this support and held out his own tail to the boy below – the same one who had slipped back – and with their homemade living ladder, the three were able to disappear before the kor-ul-luli reached them. But these did not give up driving. Forward, they pinched until they, too, disappeared from the sight of the cliff top, and only a faint roar of screaming rushed to Pan-at-lin’s ear to tell of the continuation of the human hunt.

The girl knew she had to chop forward. At any time, a hunting party could now come to screen the gorge for those smaller animals looking for food or sleeping places there.

Behind him were Es-sat and the return of the kor-ul-luli who had afflicted his relatives; in front of him, behind the nearest ridge, was Kor-ul-Gryf, the haven of the creepy monsters that aroused chilling fear in every inhabitant of Pal-ul-don. Below him in the valley was the land of the Hodons, where he could only face slavery or death; here, on the other hand, were the kor-ul-luli, the ancient enemies of his people, and everywhere there were beasts that ate the flesh of men.

Only the eagle he grabbed, and then, turning his face to the southeast, he set out across the gorge toward Kor-ul-gryf — at least there were no people there.

Carefully proceeding, he arrived at the foot of the cliff on the far side of Kor-ul-Lul, and there at noon he found a relatively easy ascent point. He walked over the ridge and finally stood on the verge of Kor-ul-gryf – the place of terror of his folk tales. As harsh and mysterious, vegetation was rampant at the bottom; giant trees swayed their plumage beds almost up to the ridge of the rock; and all was oppressed by ominous silence.

Pan-at-li landed on his stomach and reached over the edge to look at the rock wall below. He saw in it caves and stone pieces that had been laboriously shaped by hand by the ancient inhabitants. As a child, he had heard them tell stories at the results, how the grypins had come from the swamps behind the mountains, and the people had finally fled after those horrible creatures had captured many of their prey. Their caves had thus been left deserted, you know how long ago. Some said that Jad-ben-Otho, who has lived forever, was still a little boy at the time. Pan-at-lia trembled, but there were caves, and in them he would be safe from the griffins as well. He found a point where the stone pieces extended to the crest of the rock; no doubt they had been left in it at the final departure of the tribe, when the abandoned caves no longer needed to be protected from intruders. Pan-at-li slowly dragged down toward the top cave. Its vestibule was almost similar to that of his own tribe. However, twigs and old nests and bird debris had accumulated on Permanto until the closet was half full. He moved to the second closet and to the third, but all of them had gathered out of the suit. It was obviously pointless to look any further. This looked spacious and comfortable. He set out with his knife to clean away the debris simply by pushing it down from the edge, and constantly his eyes turned to a quiet gorge where the frightening creatures of Pal-ul-don were lurking. And other eyes he couldn’t see watched his every move — numb eyes, greedy eyes, cunning and cruel. They watched him, and the red tongue liped the thickly hanging lips. They watched him, and the semi-human brain laboriously developed a plan of brutality.

As in his own Kor-ul, the builders who had died long ago in these caves had developed the natural sources of the rock, so that fresh, clean water was now desired, like thousands of years ago, within reach of the caves. Thus he could live here indefinitely. He now felt some kind of security, perhaps due to the undisturbedness of his high-altitude refuge, knowing that it was out of place of all the more dangerous beasts, while it was appalled by the people because it was located in the evaded Kor-ul-gryf.

He decided to inspect the interior of his new home. The sun still lingering to the south would illuminate the first room. It was similar to those he knew from his childhood – the same beasts and people were depicted in the same harsh way in the wall drawings – apparently the Waz-don race had made little progress during the generations that had come and gone since the people left Kol-ul-gryf. Naturally, Pan-at-li did not think of such, for development and progress did not exist for him and those like him. Everything was as it had always been and would always be as it was.

That these strange beings have existed as such for innumerable periods of time can hardly be doubted; so obvious are the signs of antiquity in their dwellings – furrows deeply etched into the rock surfaces, bitten by bare feet, concave of a rocky pliers touching the hands of many walkers, endless features that often covered the entire vast rock surface and each cave, all the walls and Laet, as if the coat of arms of an adult man who has left it as a sign of his life.

And so Pan-at-li found this ancient cave cozy and familiar. There was less debris inside than he had met outside, and it was mostly a layer of dust. Next to the doorway was that little closet that housed trees and paint, but now there was nothing left but sheer dust. However, he had saved a little bunch of twigs from the porch rubbish heaps. Soon he had received a bundle of fire and ignited others, examining a few inner shelters. Here, too, he found nothing new or strange, and no cancellations of the departed owners, except for a few broken stone vessels. He had been looking for something soft for his sleeping area, but in it he was disappointed when the old owners had apparently left in good peace, taking all their belongings as they went.

And as the shadows lengthened and the night went on, he made as satisfying a bed as he could by scraping the millennial dust into a small embankment between his soft body and the hard perch — at best, it was only better than nothing. But Pan-at-li was very tired. He had not slept for two nights, and during that time he had experienced many dangers and resistance. No wonder, then, that despite the hard ship, he was asleep almost as soon as he had landed at rest.

The moon rose, creating its silver glow on the white forehead of the rock and weakening the gloom of the dark forest and gorge of the cave. A lion roared in the distance. There was a momentary silence. There was a rubbery roar at the top of the gorge. There was movement in the trees at the foot of the rock. Again, it’s a roar, low and ominous. It was answered from below a deserted village. Something fell from the tree foliage just below the cave where Pan-at-li slept — fell to the ground to darken the shadows of the thickets. Now it was moving, carefully. It moved to the base of the rock, gaining character in the moonlight. It moved like a creature of evil sleep — slowly, trembling. It could have been a big sloth, but just as well a human, so strangely the moon paints with its brush, master cubist.

Slowly it climbed up the rock wall, moving like a big cabbage worm; but now the brush of the moon touched it again, and it got its hands and feet and held them by the stone knobs, laboring itself upwardly toward the cave of Pan-at. From the lower end of the gorge echoed again, it was answered from above the village.

* * * * *

Monkey Tarzan opened his eyes. He realized his head was pounding, but at first little else. After Tov, his awakening sensations focused on strange shadows, rising and falling. Then he found himself in a cave. A dozen Waz-Don warriors crouched around talking. A sturdy stone bowl containing burning oil lit up the interior, and as the flame fluttered, the exaggerated shadows of the warriors jumped on the walls behind them.

“We’ll bring him to you alive, gund,” he heard one of them say, “never before has a ho-don like him been seen. He has no tail – he was born without, for there is no trace of truncation. The thumbs of his hands and feet. are different from the Pal-ul-don races. He is rounder than many men together and attacks fearlessly like and. We brought him alive to see him before he is killed. ”

The chief got up and approached the ape, who closed his eyes and pretended to be unconscious. She felt her hairy hands turn at her, not very gently. Gund examined him from hurry to heel, making remarks, especially about the shape and size of his thumbs and big toes.

“With these and without a tail,” he crocheted, “it can’t climb.”

“No,” agreed the warrior, “it would certainly fall off the cliffs.”

“Never before have such a creature been seen,” the chief said. “It’s neither waz-don nor ho-don. That’s where he’s probably come from and what’s probably called.”

“Kor-ul-yas stunned Tarzan-jag-guru! ‘ and we thought they would call this, “said the warrior, among other things. “Shall we kill it now?”

“No,” replied the chief, “we wait until its spirit returns to its head so that I can interrogate it. Stay here to guard it, In. Then call me when it is able to hear and speak again.”

He turned and left the cave, with his hocks other than In. As they passed him and out of the room, Tarzan heard excerpts from their conversation, and they revealed that the Kor-ul-Jail auxiliaries had attacked in large numbers against their little flock, evicting them from fleeing. Apparently Id-an’s fast legs had saved the day for Om-at’s warriors. The monkey smiled, then he opened his other eye and peeked into In-tan. The warrior stood at the mouth of the cave, staring out at the prisoner. Tarzan felt his wristbands. They didn’t feel very supportive, and they had tied his hand in front of his chest! One could indeed see that the waz-don seldom took prisoners – if ever.

He gently raised his wrist until he could look at the leather juveniles with which they were tied. A grim smile illuminated his features. Immediately, with his strong teeth, he began to loosen the bandages, but the other vigilant eye was relentlessly directed at Intan, a Kor-ul warrior. The last knot was relaxed and Tarzan’s hands were free as In-tan turned to create a critical look at his nursing. He saw the prisoner’s posture change – this no longer lay on his back like just now, but on his side, and his hands were bent towards his face. The in-tan became flatter and bent down. The bandages looked very loose on the prisoner’s wrists. He held out his hand to feel them, and at the same time two hands slid off his shackles — one grabbing his own wrist and the other grabbing his throat. So unexpected was the feline attack, that In-tan didn’t have time to sigh before his steel fingers silenced him. The creature suddenly jerked so that he lost his balance and spun around the prisoner on the main floor behind him, Tarzan snatching over his chest. In-tan rattled to free himself and aimed his knife; but Tarzan found it before. Waz-don whispered to him, moving into another’s throat — he, too, was able to strangle; but his own knife, in the hand of the opponent, cut off the base near that beloved member. Waz-don whispered to him, moving into another’s throat — he, too, was able to strangle; but his own knife, in the hand of the opponent, cut off the base near that beloved member. Waz-don whispered to him, moving into another’s throat — he, too, was able to strangle; but his own knife, in the hand of the opponent, cut off the base near that beloved member.

Waz-don’s efforts waned — his eyes dimmed. He knew he was dying and he was right. After Kotvanen, he was spiritless. Tarzan stood up and lowered his other leg alongside the dead enemy. How he was overwhelmed by the desire to herd the victory of his species! But he did not dare. He noticed that they had not taken the swamp rope from his shoulders and that they had inserted his knife back into the sheath. Against the wall was his bow and wine under him.

Tarzan stepped into the doorway of the cave and looked out. The night had just come. He heard voices from closer caves, and the smell of cooking hovered in his nostrils. He stared down and felt relief. The cave where he had been kept was on the lowest floor — barely thirty feet high at the base of the cliff. He was about to venture right down to the start when Aatos slammed into his head, pulling his wild lips grimly – Aatos awakened by the name of the waz-doni Tarzan-jad-guru, Terrible Tarzan, and the memory of the days when he had been teased black in their distant birth jungle. He turned back to the cave where In-tan’s soulless body lay. He removed his head from the warrior with his knife and, stepping to the outer edge of the room, dropped it down to the ground;

At the bottom, he took In-tan’s head and disappeared into the shade of the trees, in a bushy coat, carrying his rugged victory sign. Horrible? But you judge the wild beast by the standard of civilization. You can teach a lion tricks, but it’s still a lion, Tarzan looked handsome in a tailcoat, but he was still my tarmangan, and under his braided shirt throbbed a wild and wild heart.

Below the village, Tarzan returned to the base of the cliff, looking for a point where he could wander to the top and then choke back to the village of Om-at. He finally came to a place where the river ran so close to a rock wall that he was forced to swim to the other side of it to look for a trail, and here his precise nostrils came up with familiar traces. Namely, the scent of Pan-at-lin was felt where this had risen from the pond and reached the safety of the jungle.

The monkey man’s plans changed immediately. Pan-at-li was alive or at least had been after jumping off a cliff. Tarzan had set out to find him for Om-at, his friend, and on behalf of Om-at he now began to chase further on this track he had found by such a happy coincidence. It took him into the jungle and across the gorge and from there to the point where Pan-at-li had begun to climb the opposite slope. Tarzan left In-tan’s head, tossing it down in a tree because it would have been a nuisance on a steep slope. Monkey, he rose to the side, easily following the fragrance of Pan-at-lin. Over the edge of the ridge and across the ledge, that trail led, clear as a printed page to the sensitive senses of a seeker trained in jungle education.

Tarzan knew nothing about Kor-ul-gryf. He had vaguely distinguished strange, monstrous forms in the shadows of the night, and Ta-den and Om-at had spoken of great beings that all men feared. But always, everywhere, night and day, there were dangers; from childhood death had trodden with disgust and awfulness on his hocks. He knew little about any other quality of life. Denying with danger was his feeling, and he spent that life as simply and naturally as yours in the midst of the dangers of the populous city streets. But a man who sets off into the jungle at night is frightened, for from an early age he has been allowed to be surrounded by his own species, and especially protected at night by such primitive means as his abilities make possible. But Tarzan had lived like a lion gesturing and a panther and an elephant and a monkey – a genuine inhabitant of the jungle, relying solely on his fitness and intelligence, playing a solitary game against creation. Therefore, he wondered nothing and feared nothing, and so he stepped through that strange night undisturbed and carefree as a countryman to a herd of cattle in a dark morning.

Again, the Pan-at-lin trail ended like a cliff; but this time there were no signs of a jump, and the inspection of the moment showed Tarzan the stone pieces along which he had descended. As he lay on his stomach leaning over the edge of the cliff to inspect the pieces, something suddenly caught his attention at the foot of the cliff. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he saw it move and soon rise slowly, apparently on the same piece of law as it was at the top here. He watched it closely as it rose higher and higher until it was able to see its outlines more clearly, due to the perception that it was more reminiscent of some species of big monkey than the lower animal kingdom. However, Sili was him, and in a few other respects he did not look like a real monkey.

Slowly it climbed to the top of the cave floor and disappeared into an opening. That’s when Tarzan turned his attention back to the Pan-at-lin track. He followed it with stone blocks to the nearest cave and then along the upstairs. The monkey man frowned as he saw which direction it was leading, and hurried up. He had almost reached the third cave when the echoes of Kor-ul-gryf awoke to a glimmer of glare.