Читать книгу Bride of the Serpent God - John Peter Drummond - Страница 5

Table of Contents

KI-GOR'S long heavy frame struck the water hard as the two natives threw him overboard. The flat shock caused an instinctive reflex in the jungle-bred giant, a sudden tightening of his muscles even though his mind was fogged deep in unconsciousness. The spark of life in this powerful man was not easily quenched. The will to live burned in him, conscious or unconscious, more strongly than it would in any civilized man, because this will, above all else, was the sustaining force which had brought him through innumerable seemingly hopeless situations.

The shock of the fall, the tensing of his muscles sent a faint glimmer of feeling along his stunned nerve centers. The cool water pressed further awareness into his numbed body, and then as he sank below the surface, the water bit into the deep gash on his head. This abrupt burning pain jerked Ki-Gor back to semi-consciousness. He awoke in choking blackness, and without reasoning, he threw his energies into an immediate, frenzied fight.

Where it would have seemed impossible for a normal man to have will or strength left for a struggle, Ki-Gor's jungle heritage rallied his waning energies. Flailing ponderously, gulping great quantities of water, he fought his head above the surface.

The big man's body was an agony of hurt and weariness. His eyes saw nothing. His lungs labored and fought to sustain his failing strength. But an inner force pushed him on, calling forth from his spent muscles another, and still another, effort. It was an eternity of time, a burning stretch of aeons, that he floated and sank, and floated again, until through luck, his own unseeing efforts, and the eddying movement of the slow current, he came into a shallow stretch of water near the bank.

Ki-Gor tried to walk in the shallow water, but his legs refused to sustain him. He stumbled and fell repeatedly, each time having even greater difficulty in rising again. But each time he did rise. He came finally to the low bank, and with one last mighty effort, he pulled himself up on the dry land, and fell face downward.

The big white man lay in a tumbled heap, his long body pressed into the gently waving growth of river ferns and grass. Blood from the ugly gash on his head ran down over his face and dripped on the warm earth. He slept the deep, black sleep of utter exhaustion and painful hurt. Africa's ever present clouds of venomous little insects sought him out and feasted their greed, but Ki-Gor, wrapped in black forgetfulness, was unconscious of their torturing bites. The slender shadows of the grass fronds steadily lengthened across his body as the sun departed westward in a hot and shimmering sky.

Shadows crept out from the great trees along the bank, and slipped over Ki-Gor to dull the surface of the water. A faint breeze sifted down the river and with it came night. A mist, gray and ominous, rolled along the river, gathering in density, and rolling out wetly over the banks. Still Ki-Gor lay unmoving in the damp grass, his breath coming with a hard deep regular rhythm. .

Once a large buck, followed by two does, came out of a lane in the forest, and on soundless feet in the soft turf, picked its way to water. With the man-scent blanketed by the mist, the daintily stepping feet of the buck were almost upon Ki-Gor before the wary creature sighted the white form. Instantly the animal froze, his nostrils swelling out in search of danger. Reassured by the absolute quiet of the white body, the buck soon swerved off to the left and continued to the water's edge, obediently followed by the two does.

The long night was merging into dawn when a lone jackal, after hours of luckless foraging for easy prey, came panting down to the river to fill its hungry belly with the cool water. The dirty, bedraggled, jungle scavenger picked its way along in the natural cringing gait of its breed. Slavering in disgruntlement, the jackal padded up to the bank and lapped thirstily. After a full minute, it raised its head nervously and snuffled at the air. The fur on the animal's back bristled up at the scent of man, and after a slight wait, the gray form watchfully moved to follow the scent. The evil ghost crept within cautious yards of Ki-Gor. The savage brain of the animal sought out and weighed the man's hurt, balancing the risk of attack against possible gain for its grumbling belly.

The still form of the Jungle Lord, with its fresh blood scent, stimulated beyond endurance the greedy gnawing of the beast's stomach.

The jackal, sensing life in the sprawling body, fought to down its fear of man. With quiet, nervous steps it padded a wide ring around Ki-Gor, its teeth grinning whitely as rising hunger tried to force courage into its cowardly heart.

The soft, early-morning wind caught the strong smell of the beast and brought it to Ki-Gor's nostrils. For the first time since he had crawled out of the water, the bronzed giant stirred. He shifted uneasily, but did not waken. The jackal tensed at this movement and stood head pointed at the man. Again the strong jackal scent poured into Ki-Gor's consciousness. A primal protective sense shook his nerves from their stunned lethargy, and his gray eyes flickered open.

Urged by the strong scent of danger, Ki-Gor struggled to focus his eyes. His vision in the faint light of dawn formed only a confusing, colorless blur. The jackal growled, sensing the helplessness of the man. Under the stimulus of this noise, Ki-Gor made out the menacing figure of the scavenger, the beast's form swimming in outline against a weaving, shifting background. The jackal girded its courage to the maximum and advanced with stiff, bristling steps toward the Jungle Lord. Ki-Gor could see now the white fangs of the hated skulker, and a wave of sheer anger at this most cowardly of all beasts churned enough strength into his legs to heave the Jungle Lord to his feet.

He stood there weaving, fighting off waves of nausea. Try as he might, Ki-Gor could not make his feet respond to his will. With bare hands he tried to advance, but he was unable to walk. The jackal slowed its advance, and then halted. A fallen man was one thing, but an aroused one, even though wounded, was another matter. The animal debated, emitting low snarls, and then as Ki-Gor at last achieved a staggering step forward, the jackal leaped back, and with one last growling outburst, turned and darted away.

Ki-Gor watched the animal disappear. Abruptly the swimming blur closed over his vision again as the sense of danger faded. A numbness crept over the Jungle Lord, and with a sense of great effort, he slipped to his knees and awkwardly stretched out in the wet grass. Dull, aching sleep came over him, and his mind shut itself off from the stirring daylight world.

When the Jungle Lord next roused, the sun stood high in the sky, its scorching rays beating directly on his now dry and feverish body. He sat up. He looked about him with heavy-lidded eyes, puzzled eyes that sought an understanding of his present predicament. Slowly he lifted an exploratory hand and felt his aching head, probing the gash there.

His brows furrowed in thought, but the terrific blows dealt him had blocked the delicate memory mechanism. Events of not only the past few days, but of the past years, refused to come. The cruel blow had cut Ki-Gor off from the past, cutting away from him at the same time the acquired veneer of civilization which contact with Helene and others of the outer world had brought him.

He stood up and drew a deep breath into his great lungs. Already his marvelous recuperative powers were at work restoring power and strength to his hard muscles. In a few days, with the proper rest and no untoward accidents, he would be as sound and vigorous as before. But there was a vague uneasiness in his mind for he sensed that all was not well. He tried to reach back through the curtain which had fallen so suddenly and grasp at the memories which troubled him, but which he could not pluck from his subconscious.

Ki-Gor shook his aching head and glanced around him. His eyes halted on the inviting water of the river. He walked to the bank and washed the caked blood and grime from his head and shoulders. Then he drank deeply. Refreshed, the big man rose and went at a slow gait toward the rising wall of the jungle. He walked into the darkening shadows of the trees for a distance of about one-hundred yards, and then, selecting a towering giant of a tree, he climbed cautiously into its upper limbs. In the high branches of the tall tree, he selected a comfortable perch, leaned back against the trunk and closed his aching eyes. The gentle sway and movement of the ancient tree quickly lulled the big man to sleep. So passed another night and day, with Ki-Gor, except for occasional trips to the river, resting and sleeping like any animal recovering from its wounds. The feverish burn left Ki-Gor's body, and he shook off the sense of giddy weakness. Hunger began to prick him into activity. He set out in search of food. His keen eyes searched the jungle floor for the fresh spoor of game, and at length along a narrow trail he came across recent signs made by a small buck.

The Jungle Lord's long stride lengthened, as driven by hunger, he quickened his pace. He sped down the narrow green aisle, eluding the occasional choking stands of bramble, slipping wraith-like over the bunched undergrowth.

Ever fresher was the scent of the deer. Ki-Gor's hand slipped automatically to the hilt of his knife, the always present knife which had stayed at his waist even during his struggles in the water. The blade gleamed free in his right hand. The jungle was silent except for the raucous calls of a few brilliantly plumaged birds.

Ki-Gor's passage was soundless. He was in every sense a cunning relentless huntsman. He was downwind from the unsuspecting buck, and though the animal's scent drew him on like a magnet, his own presence was protected from the hunted creature. He glided within yards of where the buck stood browsing.

He sprinted to within arm's reach of the fleeing buck, and in a bounding leap, dived on the animal with crushing weight. The shock of Ki-Gor's onslaught toppled the buck, and his knife bit deep into the creature's vitals as it fell.

His appetite satisfied, the Jungle Lord stretched luxuriously and looked about for a protected resting place. But a strange feeling of urgency began to permeate his being, and refused to let him rest. Though he was completely unable to fathom the reason, something within him propelled Ki-Gor back to the river. He gave in to this inner urging and began moving leisurely back along the trail he had recently traversed.

When Ki-Gor reached the river, he hesitated a moment and then swung upstream. It was not long before the cat-treading white giant neared the clearing where the natives had attacked him and carried off Helene. Ki-Gor did not think at this time of the treacherous assault. He did not recall the event, for the dreadful blows he had suffered on the head had blotted out even any remembrance of Helene. Buried deep within his subconscious, however, was the burning knowledge of his mate and it was this that drew him back to the clearing.

Ki-Gor came up to the edge of the clearing along a narrow animal trail through a rustling break of tall reeds. He paused, cautious jungle creature that he was, to survey the ground ahead before advancing into the open. His keen gray eyes automatically searched the clearing, alert for any sign of danger.

Ki-Gor's eyes suddenly narrowed and grew cold. He drew back into the concealment of the reeds, and the powerful muscles along his lean hard body tightened. There on the river bank, its carved prow drawn up on the green grass, stood a long, grim war canoe.