CHAPTER NINE



The young golden-haired hunter stood victorious over his kill, a large male elat, a splendid representative of the swift, four-legged species which was so common in the valley. This beast had fallen to his arrow, and he knelt to remove the shaft from the elat's chest, careful not to damage the arrow.

Tarak did not hunt often with the bow, preferring to exercise his skills hunting his prey on a more primitive level. Rarely had he been quick enough to bring down the swift and wary elat, however, small herds of which bounded across the grassy plains with lightning speed and grace, in any other manner.

Their meat was delicious, and when necessary he hunted them with the bow, which still required patience and unerring accuracy if success was to be insured.

This day he had killed easily, for the elat were rutting, and the males bolder than was wise in a savage land. As he worked the arrow free he could smell the hot aroma of blood, and his mouth watered.

He began to dress his kill, when without warning he was struck heavily from the rear across his shoulders, the impact throwing him forward through the air to the ground ahead, where he broke the fall with his hands, tucked under, and came to his feet.. Drawing the long knife, he whirled in a fighting crouch, snarling in anger and lust for battle.

Then he relaxed, and sat back again, shaking his head as he watched the young black dyrrn float gracefully above him, then circle and land on the fallen elat, which it began to devour hungrily, tearing away chunks of meat with its powerful beak, and swallowing the chunks whole.

Springing to his feet, he advanced boldly toward the feeding dyrrn, gesturing angrily with his knife.

"I should have eaten you long ago, black one! Perhaps I shall roast you yet over my fire."

The dyrrn cocked one large black eye at the advancing figure and continued to eat, ignoring the man, and making no attempt to defend its dinner as Tarak approached and began to slice choice strips of the juicy meat from the carcass, which he ate heartily, chewing the delicious meat with his strong white teeth.

When the dyrrn had eaten its fill, it took a step nearer the feeding man, and poking its large head forward, began to nibble at Tarak's arms and shoulders, raising red marks where its tiny teeth grazed his skin.

Tarak had long since discovered that the beak of the dyrrn was serrated, with hundred of tiny teeth on the edges of its beak, which enabled the creature to tear through its prey with such apparent ease.

He pushed the head away roughly, cursing the dyrrn with mock severity.

"Black killer, you've been eating me bit by bit since the day you hatched. Perhaps it is Tarak who will be eaten, and you who shall feast, eh?"

He shook his head in surrender. "No doubt you have designs in that direction, my killer, or soon will have. I think, though, you will find Tarak a more difficult meal than a fallen elat."

Again he shoved the probing beak away, but the dyrrn would not cease its nibbling, continuing to nuzzle at the man's arms, and reaching for the chest. Finally Tarak had to stop eating, to use both of his arms to dissuade the tenacious creature, and the dyrrn reluctantly ceased its probing and lowered its head to clean its breast feathers.

They had occupied the valley for ten months, and in that time the dyrrn had grown tremendously.

A voracious eater, it had initially required a considerable amount of his time to kill and transport enough food to the cave. Many times while laboring under the load of a freshly killed animal he had wondered why he continued to preserve the life of the growing dyrrn, knowing that eventually it would mature into a killer almost without peer, which would likely try to devour him, and which would require him to exercise constant vigilance.

He admired the beast, though, and could not forget the battle which its parents had fought so valiantly, that this dyrrn might have a small chance to survive.

Moreover, the dyrrn provided him with a companionship of sorts. From the first it had seemed to regard him as a substitute parent, and he had been continually amused at the myriad antics of the growing beast. Its nearly constant habit of nibbling was annoying, but he surmised that he might find it enjoyable if he had the thickly feathered hide of a dyrrn. As it was, he found it distinctly painful.

The dyrrn had grown rapidly, and did most wild creatures, and at the tender age of one month had been able to fly short distances. Soon thereafter it had begun to hunt, first small animals, then increasingly larger ones.

Now self-sufficient and able to elude the larger ground predators, the dyrrn had become much less of a burden, and more of a savage companion.

Nearly half grown now, it was a large and imposing creature, almost twelve feet in length, and possessing a wingspan of nearly twenty-five feet.

The dyrrn had long ago left the cave, and made its home high above the valley, near its former nest. Tarak was often in its company, though, for the dyrrn would swoop down whenever he came within sight, and they would often share a kill, whether made by man or dyrrn.

Tarak knew that the maturing dyrrn could easily kill him, as the silent playful attack which had transpired a few moments ago demonstrated.

Swift and silent, the dyrrn could strike with incredible speed, and its talons were powerful enough to drive completely through his body.

His mistake this day had been to ignore watching the skies, a mistake he made a mental note not to repeat.

Thus far the black carnivore had evidenced no evil intentions toward him, and Tarak, young and fearless, was untroubled by the possibility. The abundance of game in the lost valley insured that neither would grow hungry, and the dyrrn also hunted far out over the cold mountains.

The beast seemed almost to possess a type of affection for the man, and Tarak's heart warmed when he saw the creature, which appeared almost grateful to him for saving its young life, and still regarded him as its parent.

As it grew, and became more savage, he anticipated that the natural instincts of the killer would undermine any relationship he developed with the young dyrrn, but thus far the beast had given no indication of any hostile intentions.

Recently, Tarak had considered the idea of attempting to ride the dyrrn, as he had seen the wroks ride the smaller dyrrn of the forest.

The black dyrrn was easily large enough, and he had decided that he should attempt a flight before the beast grew much larger, since eventually it would likely leave the valley for the cold and lonely haunts of its kind.

He looked again at the dyrrn, where it perched contentedly upon the remains of the elat, preening itself. His mind made up, he walked calmly over to the beast, talking softly.

The dyrrn watched him unconcernedly, and as he came near it gently poked at his chest with its sharp beak.

Swerving aside, he firmly wrapped his left arm around its neck, and leaped to its back.

The startled creature shrieked loudly, and immediately took to the air, flapping its huge wings, and shaking its head violently. The ground rapidly dropped away, and Tarak held fast with both arms, though careful not to choke the bird, wondering what he would do if the dyrrn turned over to dislodge him, and wondering too if perhaps this decision to ride the creature had been somewhat less than well-reasoned.

Clinging tightly, he spoke soothingly into the beast's ear.

After the first frenzied seconds the dyrrn quieted somewhat, reassured to some extent that it was not threatened by this experience, and it leveled out in its climb, soaring out high above the lofty trees.

Tarak continued to speak to the beast, and partially releasing one arm he stroked its neck, scratching beneath the thick feathers, a gesture the dyrrn always seemed to enjoy.

It chirped loudly, reassured completely now, and having adjusted to the weight of its rider, it banked slowly and continued to soar.

Tarak also relaxed, beginning to marvel at the incredible sensation of flight. Never had he experienced anything so thrilling, or so beautiful, as this ride upon the back of the black giant.

The valley slid rapidly beneath him as the dyrnn sped on, and the wind was warm and refreshing as it streamed across his face and body.

Smiling broadly, he thought that if the dyrrn left him now, never to return, this one experience was worth all the trouble he had endured to save its life.

For several minutes they flew, across the valley and back, in a wide circle. Finally the dyrrn sailed lower and lower, descending once more onto the grassy plain near the carcass of the elat. As it landed Tarak leaped from its back and stepped away, ready for any sign of hostility.

Swiftly the black head swung down at him, its cold black eyes cocked menacingly. Then the head shot forward, but in the agonizingly familiar gesture of attempting to nibble at his arms and chest.

Suddenly laughing, Tarak relaxed and dropped his arms, allowing the dyrrn a few painful seconds of intimacy before he slapped the great head affectionately and pushed it away. The experiment had succeeded beyond his expectations, and he was flushed with the memories of his first flight.

Leaving the dyrrn to continue its feast, he made his way across the grassy plain to the forest, where he climbed to a comfortable forking in one of the nearby trees, and reclined there, dozing in the filtered sunlight as his now sunbrowned body digested his recent meal.

He slept for an hour, waking to the sound of falling rain, feeling drops upon his skin which had made their way through the dense foliage above him.

He looked out over the plain, but the dyrrn had departed, and scavenging joks fought over the remains of the elat.

Descending to the forest floor, he quenched his thirst in a nearby stream, then turned toward the deepness of the forest and broke into a slow jog which he could maintain indefinitely, moving silently through the forest, with no direction in mind.

Two hours later he found the camp.

During his tenure in the valley he had explored a great deal, and knew a great deal about the territory adjacent to his cave, and extending for several miles in all directions.

The jungle was nearly impenetrable in many places, however, and large regions existed which Tarak had never seen. His present wandering had placed him within one such area, and his eyes widened suddenly as he recognized the remnants of man-made structures.

He had come upon the remains of what had obviously been a human settlement of some sort.

Although now almost obliterated by encroaching vegetation, the remains of an enclosing palisade and a few broken huts were evidence of what once had been at least a semi-permanent fortress. Inside the remains of the huts were several man-made items, and a number of marked graves indicated that the occupants had spent considerable time in this desolate place.

He wondered what strange story had unfolded in this lost valley so long ago. It was apparent that a group of men had made their way here, and had elected to remain, perhaps concluding that a return trip across the mountains was beyond their capabilities.

It seemed likely that no females had accompanied the men, for the valley would easily have sustained large numbers of families, and had children been born, the settlement should have thrived.

No evidence of violent death remained, nor any indication that most of the occupants of this ancient camp had perished by any means other than natural causes.

In one of the decaying huts, the largest, Tarak found a variety of weapons.

Swords, knives, bows and arrows, and two additional weapons which he had never before encountered, a metal spear and an axe, were packed away, oiled and wrapped in waterproof skins. He examined them with interest. All were richly made and well preserved, and although they were smaller and lighter than the weapons he had taken from the wroks, they appeared to be constructed of harder and finer metal.

Although he already possessed one sword he did not use, he decided to take one of these, with its scabbard, since it seemed to be a superior weapon, was a lighter burden, and he was fascinated by the beauty of these swords.

Jeweled scabbards and hilts proclaimed that the men who had carried these weapons had been no ordinary soldiers, and he searched further for some indication as to their identity or purpose.

A great bound chest lay in one corner of the hut, and he crossed to it warily, watching for any traps which might have been prepared for unsuspecting thieves.

He knew that men considered jewels to be valuable, and that they often locked jewels and other valuable items in such chests. Amena had schooled him about such riches, and how men often guarded their riches by setting traps for the unwary thief.

None were apparent in this place, however. The men had apparently realized that no thief would likely find this valley. Reaching the chest, Tarak pried loose the heavy lock with one of the swords, and lifted the heavy lid.

He stood completely still for the next moment, for within the chest were such gems as he had never imagined.

Hundreds of stones lay within, glittering with an incandescence which almost blinded him, even within the partially shadowed interior of the hut. He had heard Amena speak fondly of jewels, and had listened as she had described different types, cuttings, and settings.

She had always smiled as she spoke of such things, and he surmised that women were even more fond of such items than men.

Her eyes had sparkled like gems themselves during such conversations, and he had wished he possessed some, so that he could give her a present which she would so cherish.

For himself, he scoffed at the idea of a person weighing himself down with rocks.

Amena's stories had been convincing, however, although she had never described gems such as these.

Upon the gems lay a long carefully wrapped parcel, shaped like a sword, and Tarak lifted this item from the chest and carried it out into the sunlight, unwrapping the apparent weapon as he walked.

As he left the shadows, the wrappings came away from the sword, and he turned his eyes away in pain as the sunlight struck the sword's hilt.

The hilt of the weapon seemed to be fashioned of one huge gem, of the same type as the gems which lay in the chest, but much larger, and painstakingly cut into the shape of a sword hilt from one gigantic stone.

As the sunlight struck the hilt the explosion of color had blinded him, and he moved back into the shade to allow his vision to clear. His eyes still hurt from the blinding beauty, for it had seemed to erupt in flashes of brilliant colors.

He carefully moved the weapon back into the light, and marveled at the incredible sight.

Constantly changing, its brilliance flashed with dazzling intensity, and reflecting from the brilliance of the bright, polished blade in a display of color such that he would not have thought possible.

He stared at the sword in baffled amazement, stunned by its beauty in spite of his former deprecatory thoughts concerning colored rocks.

The sword was so beautiful, and so obviously unique, that even to his untutored appraisal its value was awe-inspiring.

He had no use for another such weapon, however, so after a few moments he re-wrapped the sword and returned it to the protective chest.

Reaching down, he brought forth a handful of the smaller gems, identical to the giant which formed the hilt, and possessing the same glistening display of color when exposed to the sunlight.

His hands seemed to flame with the infinite colors of the gems as he held them in the light, and he decided to remove several, and to store them in his cave.

Of late he had considered leaving the valley, to search once more for the lands of men, and he reasoned that with such beautiful stones he might be able to effect trade for food or lodging.

Amena had indicated that in cities it was necessary to purchase such necessities, and he wished to be prepared when he found such places.

Certainly stones as pretty as were these should purchase him some of the necessities he would require in the lands of civilized men.

Many of the jewels were packed in strong leather pouches, oiled and well preserved within the chest, and he removed two of the smaller pouches, each filled with stones. Fastening these to his belt, he closed the chest, jamming the lock so that it would not be opened by a marauding animal.

The sword he left within, locked away from the elements, resting near its owner, who undoubtedly occupied one of the weathered graves. He did take one of the axes, and a spear, then left the hut and the palisade to the spirits of the men who had died there so long ago.

The utility of the spear was obvious, and he had long ago fashioned a spear from the knife of the wrok who had died near the cliff, tied to a straight branch. The spear he had found in the hut was perfectly balanced, with a long, double-edged blade, and he practiced throwing it until he had achieved consistent accuracy.

The axe, like the sword, seemed to have only marginal utility, though it was effective for chopping up branches for burning, and he found that with diligent practice he could throw the axe with a reasonable degree of accuracy, from a variety of distances.

Its weight was substantial, however, so he doubted he would carry the axe often among his weapons.

Living in the valley had been a splendid experience, and had yielded several treasures. He had traveled it thoroughly, exploring hidden canyons, and many of the hundreds of caves which dotted the cliff face. The valley was so large that vast areas remained a mystery to him, and had he desired to remain, he would have spent many happy months traveling the extent of its length and width.

He had never climbed the western rim, however, for he had come far enough in this direction on his journey. No evidence existed that men had ever entered this valley from that direction. The only evidence of any habitation was the ancient, solitary camp he had discovered previously, which was much closer to the eastern wall, and it was apparent that if any civilization existed to the west, it was far to the west, indeed.

He still longed for contact with others of his kind, and had determined that soon he would leave this idyllic valley, and retrace his steps to the east. Reluctance to leave the warmth and teeming life of the lush valley for the frozen wastes above had postponed his decision, but he knew it was time to depart.

His experience with the dyrrn had also introduced into his mind a new idea, a means of leaving the valley which he had never previously considered. If the dyrrn would permit him to ride it again, and if he could control the flight of the beast, it might be possible to fly over the mountainous wasteland which had proved so inhospitable on his westward journey.

He returned through the thick forest by a circuitous route, wandering generally in the direction of his cave as he continued to explore this valley jungle, his senses alive to the sights, sounds, and smells of this isolated paradise.

Sometimes he took to the trees, traveling swiftly along the upper pathways of the forest, free from the tangled jungle below, and finally he came to the grassy plain and, striding openly to its middle, raised his head and called loudly, waving his arms all the while.

Although he could not see the dyrrn, he knew the creature had exceptional hearing and eyesight, and if the dyrrn were anywhere nearby, it would be instantly aware of his presence.

Whether or not it would act upon this knowledge was another question. He had never attempted to summon the beast before, and he had no idea if the beast would realize he was calling to it, or if it did, whether it would respond.

He waited a moment, then called out again. Shortly thereafter he heard a responsive call, loud and challenging, and looked around and up to see the black monster soaring down upon the gentle currents toward where he stood upon he plain.

He remained stationary, and the dyrrn swooped down and alighted a few yards distant, eyeing him speculatively with its cold black eyes.

He approached, tensing inwardly in anticipation of the inevitable probing beak, but ignoring that flashing weapon as it streaked out at him, stopping abruptly as it reached his skin, and nibbling painfully.

He patted the feathered head affectionately, and stroking the powerful neck, began to climb slowly to its back. The beast trembled, but did not attempt to flee or to prevent his move, and a few seconds later he sat astride the broad back, stroking the dyrrn's feathers and talking softly to calm its nerves.

The dyrrn raised its huge head and rotated it completely around to stare at its rider, but Tarak just laughed and scratched the powerful beak, and the dyrrn, seeming to lose interest, turned its beak once more to the more important task of preening.

He wondered how to prod the beast into flight, and gently slapped the dyrrn on the side of the head, without however any appreciable effect. Again he slapped, harder, calling for the beast to fly, but the feathered giant merely cocked its head around again to eye him with a mistrustful stare.

Tiring of these gentler methods, he grabbed the creature around the neck with his left arm, and struck its back a powerful blow with his right hand.

The dyrrn shrieked, leaping upward with one powerful surge of its wings.

Grinning, Tarak tightened his grip, and encouraging the beast with words which he knew were certainly meaningless to the great black bird, he rode upward into the sky.

This time the dyrrn was not frightened, and smoothly climbed into the air.

Somewhat assured now that the beast would not try to dislodge him, Tarak leaned forward and to the left, and thumped the dyrrn on the left side of its head. It responded by craning its head around to the left to glare at him, and this movement caused the dyrrn to veer to the left, almost causing Tarak to lose his grip. Hastily he leaned back to the right, and the dyrrn leveled out again.

This dubious measure of success prompted him to experiment with similar actions, and after a lengthy period of trial and error he felt that he would be able to maneuver the dyrrn in either direction, at least so long as the beast would cooperate.

Eventually he discovered that by slapping the dyrrn sharply upon its head, he could motivate the beast to descend, and by pulling its thick neck feathers back forcefully , he could coerce it to rise.

He flew for more than an hour, reveling once more in the heady sensation of flight, and increasingly confident that he had discovered a means to travel eastward with speed and relative safety, at least part of the way. He prodded the dyrrn down again, landing it near the cave, and leaping off its back.

The dyrrn swung its great head around swiftly, chirping loudly, staring with almost palpable malevolence at the small man who had abused it so, opening and closing its ripping beak as if it were slicing him into edible morsels of flesh.

He stood unafraid, looking up at his mount as if in challenge, smiling even though he was not completely certain that the beast would not lose patience and snap him up once and for all.

The beak shot forward, but as before only to nibble at his abused skin, and he felt such affection for the dyrrn at that moment that he only laughed as the creature raised several welts upon his bronzed skin.

The months in the valleys, and high in the windy mountains, had colored and toughened his skin, which had been pale from years of captivity. Many of the numerous scars, which had shown red in the torchlight of the fortress, now appeared white against his deep tan. His skin was as paper to the razor beak of the great dyrrn, however, and after a moment he pushed the head away.

He rode the dyrrn daily for the next week, increasing his control over its flight until he was confident that it would respond to his commands under most foreseeable circumstances. Each day he flew longer, for he found the experience intoxicating. Finally he felt he was ready to make his departure from the valley, and after killing an elat, upon which they both fed, he returned to the cave, and packed a bundle consisting of all the possessions he would carry with him.

The nir hide had long since become unbearable, but he had learned how to scrape the flesh from animal hides, and to dry them in the sun, which seemed to prevent decay. From a variety of animal skins he had fashioned crude cloaks, stiff and uncomfortable, but superior to the crude cloak of frozen and bloody nir hide which had protected him during his westward journey.

Wrapped in one cloak were the two pouches of gems and the assorted weapons he had accumulated since his escape from Gonor's fortress, including the axe and sword he had taken from the ancient encampment. The upper portion of the wrok harness, which he had not worn, but had been loathe to discard, he now fastened about his upper body, for its main purpose was now made apparent, as a flexible frame to which gear or weapons could be lashed.

The sword was a beautiful weapon, though lacking the majestic splendor of many of the swords he had discovered in the camp. Its blade gleamed brightly when drawn from the finely wrought scabbard, and it was light and strong. Lukor's knife swung at his hip. The spear he would sling from his back, but the bow and arrows he packed with the other weapons within the cloak, and strapped the bundle, tightly bound, to the harness, across one side of his back.

He fastened one heavy cloak about his body, above the harness, for he knew that he would soon need its warmth and protection, and slung the spear across his back, over the cloak.

Returning to the ledge which fronted the cave, he scampered down the leaning tree, and, as a gesture of protection for his home, he knocked the tree away from the ledge, to prevent any marauding beasts from climbing to the cave.

He approached the dyrrn, which sat watching him intently, as if it sensed this journey would be different from the others. Tarak stroked its neck fondly.

"I carried you down into this far place, my friend," he said. "Now you shall carry me out," and with these words he leaped lightly to its back, and pulling lightly on the feathers behind its neck, goaded the beast aloft.

Pulling his cloak tightly about his body, he guided the dyrrn up and over the plateau where its parents had fought their last savage battle so many months ago. The frozen bodies still lay in their savage postures of death, and he saluted them silently as they passed over and beyond.

He turned the beast toward the morning sun, laying flat upon its back as the frozen ground passed rapidly beneath them, and the wind whistled painfully against the exposed areas of his skin.

For long hours they flew, the dyrrn seemingly tireless, and finally Tarak prodded the magnificent beast down to the frozen ground, near a gnarled tree, for his icy limbs were numb, and he could no longer grip the beast safely.

Gently it landed, and he climbed down stiffly and immediately built a fire. As the flames began to flicker he heard a huge flapping of wings, and looked up to see the beast soar aloft, quickly gaining altitude, then turning and swiftly flying off, westward, back toward the valley.

Soon it was lost to sight in the darkening sky.

He wondered if it would return, as he sat by the fire, soaking in the heat, and silently cursing himself for neglecting to pack meat for his journey. It was too late to hunt, and although they had feasted just prior to leaving the valley, the long hours and the intense cold had made him ravenous. His error had not been fatal, for his previous journey had taught him a great deal about survival in this wasteland, and he knew he would find game eventually.

The coming night promised to be filled with hunger, however, when with foresight he could have been feasting upon seared elat flesh.

As he labored to enlarge the fire a great shadowy figure loomed suddenly in its light, and he whirled to see the dyrrn settle deftly to the ground, a freshly killed nir clasped in its strong talons.

He was stunned. The dyrrn had made a kill, and instead of immediately ripping its prey apart as was its custom, the beast had carried its kill, uneaten, back to share with its rider. He leaped up and ran to the wild creature, clasping its beak in his arms and shaking his head as it chirped and nipped at his chest, now armored against its nibblings by the stiff cloak.

"Feast, Black Killer! Your worth is far more than a bit of my skin!"

Laughing, he pushed the head away, and bending to the steaming nir carcass, persuaded the dyrrn to release its talons. Slicing After cutting several strips of the bloody meat, he retreated to the warmth of the fire, and ate contentedly, while the dyrnn began to tear into the carcass with its slashing beak.

After he fed, Tarak replenished the fire, and with a final affectionate word for the monstrous black shape which loomed just outside the perimeter of the firelight, he lay down and was instantly asleep.

He awoke to the sight of a huge black face peering down balefully, its fetid breath assailing his nostrils.

The dyrrn stood over his body, and its bloody beak was inches from his eyes. Turning his head, he noticed another freshly killed nir nearby. Shaking his head he smiled at the great beast.

"Killer of the Mountains, it is I who raised you. Tarak needs no mothering."

But he was nevertheless grateful for the abundant supply of food which was assured as a result of the awesome hunting prowess of his mount.

The dyrrn merely stared, its eyes seemingly alive with malice, as he rose, rubbing his limbs for warmth, and added fresh wood to the dying coals of the fire.

He feasted on nir meat as the fire blazed anew, watching the sun as it slowly rose in the far eastern horizon. He quenched his thirst with snow, melting it in his mouth, and waited for the dyrrn to feed, for he knew the beast required vast quantities of fuel to provide the energy needed for extended flight in these cruel conditions.

The dyrrn devoured the entire nir, leaving broken bones and shredded hide where a short time before a fresh carcass had lain. It looked questioningly at Tarak, as if impatient to fly, so he gathered his possessions, climbed once more to its back, and shouted encouragement as the dyrrn leaped into the cold morning air.

He altered his course somewhat, to the north, for he did not wish to come again to Gonor's valley. He knew that his dyrrn, even half-grown, was more than a match for the forest dyrrn, but was less certain of his own ability to hang on should the black killer decide to attack one or more of his smaller cousins.

The sun was still before them but somewhat off to the right as they flew.

For two additional days they traveled, camping by night near sources of wood, and feasting at each halt on delicious nir which the dyrrn seemed to catch with effortless ease. Tarak had sliced additional protective garments from the hides of the nir killed the first night and next day, and now, rested and warm beside his third blazing fire of the journey, he compared his progress with the westward journey, and marveled at the good fortune which had prompted him to carry the dyrrn egg down into the valley on that frigid night of the battle.

Although the long flights were almost unbearably cold, the additional protection afforded by the nir hides kept him relatively comfortable, and from the air he easily spotted campsites where wood was plentiful.

The dyrrn continued to provide ample food, and they were traveling with incredible speed. More than two months he had traveled westward from Gonor's valley, and it seemed that they had made most of the return trip in three days.

The terrain was unfamiliar, but somewhat warmer, and he knew he was far from the high mountains wherein lay the hidden valley.

The air warmed noticeably during the flight of the fourth day, and towards mid-day they flew over numerous valleys, tucked in between mountains and hills which were far smaller than those to the west.

He peered forward through the warming wind, feeling his heart quicken with excitement, for in the distance he saw an immense panorama of green meeting the blue of the sky at the horizon, and knew that they were at last approaching the great forests of Aantor.

His excitement heightened as they drew nearer, and when finally the dyrrn sailed out over the gigantic trees, he began slapping the beast's head and neck in joyous victory, confusing the dyrrn with his random movements, so that the beast began to swerve and dive, almost unseating its rider.

Realizing that the dyrrn was trying to respond to what must have seemed an incomprehensible set of signals, he ceased his slaps, and laughing heartily, he scratched the neck of the great carnivore.

"Look at it, Black One! Look at it all!" He shouted, his senses awhirl in the splendor of the vast expanse of green.

The forest continued unbroken for a great distance, then gave way, at first to randomly spaced stretches of prairie, then to clearings which were generally rectangular, obviously cleared and shaped by the hand of man.

He could see the faint traces of roads, and spied a tiny structure, ahead and far below. A mile to the south he noticed a road which curved in close to he edge of the forest, and upon it a column of figures moving along the road toward this curve.

He had found the land of men at last!

His own kind peopled this land, men such as Amena had spoken of, men who did not enslave and kill others for their pleasure.

His anticipation was soaring as he contemplated meeting these men.

He was cautious, however, and knew in addition that it was unlikely that these men would greet his black dyrrn with much affection. Nor was he certain that the dyrrn would not attack the men. Directing the dyrrn back over the forest, he guided the beast to the swaying branches of a huge tree, a mile or so from the edge of the forest and the road.

Slowly he climbed from its broad back, and standing upon a swaying limb, nearly five hundred feet in the sky, he looked up at the black beast.

Words seemed to stick in his throat as he regarded the creature, and he grasped its head with both hands, exposing his chest to its attentions one final time.

"Goodbye, Black One," he said, softly. "I must see this land of men, and you cannot go with me on this journey."

Gently he stroked its throat, unwilling to part with the magnificent creature, but knowing that he must. For long moments he stroked and scratched the great head and neck, murmuring incomprehensibly to the huge beast.

He stood back, finally.

"I do not know what I shall find in this land of men, Black One...but I know I shall never find a truer companion that my Killer of the Mountains."

The dyrrn perched quietly, its great weight bending back the branch upon which it sat, its large black eyes regarding Tarak with customary hostility.

"Go back now," he said. "Back to your skies, your mountains, and valleys, away from the land of men. If I tire of this life, I will come and search for you in the frozen lands."

He hugged the gleaming black beak for an intense moment.

"Farewell, Black Killer."

He slapped the beast's head then, and exhorted it to fly. The dyrrn looked at him strangely, but remained motionless. Again he slapped the great beak.

"Fly, Killer. Fly! Back to your home."

He waved his arms, and pushed at the dyrrn, and at last, reluctantly, it left its perch and leaped into the air. Beating its black wings it hovered there, watching him.

He looked up one last time, and waved. "Goodbye, Black One!"

He turned away then, and turned also his thoughts away from the silent monster and toward the land of men, as he disappeared into the foliage of the treetops, while above him the dyrrn continued to hover for long moments, then uttered a piercing screech, soared majestically in a long circle, and leveled out and away, toward the mountains in the west.

Tarak descended seventy feet into the tree, halting at a multiple forking of the high branches, and cached his possessions there, covering them with a layering of leaves and branches.

He retained a half-dozen of the gems, which he stuffed into a small hidden pouch on the inside of his the broad leather belt. He took also Lukor's knife, and on an impulse the ancient sword he had found in the lost valley.

He did not wish to be unduly burdened, but was still curious as to the proper use of the weapon, and reasoned he might learn more if its use from men he might encounter.

He studied his hidden cache, located in a place which rendered casual discovery impossible, yet one which he would be able to locate easily when he so desired.

Smiling with anticipation, Tarak descended swiftly to the ground, his excitement building, and moved swiftly in the direction he knew led to the edge of the forest, the road, and the marching men.

His senses were alive, drinking the various sights, sounds and scents with unbridled delight.

Although sunlight was dim and filtered on the forest floor, creating a shadowed world, it was a world which Tarak had learned to know and love in the valleys, so he moved swiftly, every sense alert.

Possessed of an unerring sense of direction, he soon reached the edge of the forest near a point where he had deduced the marching band of men would be approaching. During his descent he had dropped from tree to tree, leaving no ground spoor which might lead an enemy to his cache.

He had discarded much of the stiff hide which he had worn during his journey from the valley, and now wore only the briefest loincloth, the broad leather belt from the wrok's harness, and his two weapons.

Reaching the edge of the forest, he stopped, peering through scattered leafy branches at the edges of civilized land.

The column of men had not yet reached his position, and he took the opportunity to observe them as they approached.

These were the only men, other than Gonor and Brona, that Tarak had seen since infancy, and he was intensely curious.

Twenty men marched toward him along the road which roughly paralleled the line of the forest, led by an officer who rode slightly ahead upon the back of a sturdy, four-legged animal which Tarak assumed must be a drif, a commonly used pack animal, easily domesticated, tireless, and very palatable when eaten.

The creature was not large, being perhaps five feet at the shoulder, and weighed perhaps a thousand pounds. It's body was supported by thick legs, and a small head peered forward, situated atop a long, sinuous neck. Drifs were slow, unintelligent animals, ideally suited to the tasks to which men had set them.

Each man was dressed in a woven tunic, short-sleeved and of knee-length, which was gathered at the waist by a wide leather belt. This horizontal belt was attached on the right front side to another wide belt, which passed across the chest and over the left shoulder, then down the back to fasten again to the waist belt at the right rear, forming a harness similar to, but smaller than, the one Tarak had taken from the slain wrok near the cliff.

The belt of each man supported a pouch, knife sheath, water bag, and scabbarded sword, while a small shield, fashioned from layers of stiff leather, was fastened to the upper portion of the harness, covering the center and left side of the chest.

The men carried slender lances in their right hands, much lighter than the heavy spear Tarak had brought out of the valley.

A lightweight helmet, of metal and leather, protected the head of the men. This helmet was closefitting, and offered no protection for the face, but no visual obstruction for its owner.

Their feet were shod with leather sandals, which laced around the calf.

The officer was attired similarly to his men, except that his tunic was decorated with one thin white stripe at its hem, sleeves, and around the neck opening.

His tunic was otherwise identical to those of his men, dark green in color. His helmet, constructd of more metal than leather, shone in the sunlight, and was decorated, like his tunic, with a single white stripe, extending from the middle of the helmet, above his forehead, up and over the crown to the nape of his neck.

They were handsome men, strong and darkly complected, although not as dark as Tarak's own sun-bronzed skin, which had darkened during the past many months to a shade of deep golden bronze.

After his long years of life within the dark cliff, he had embraced the sunlight with joyous abandon, and its effects upon his toughened skin were apparent.

He could not view their hair, but assumed from the similarity of their complexions to those of Gonor and Brona that their hair was darker than his. He noted that as they marched they seemed to glance frequently at the forest with expressions indicating apprehension, for at this point the road ran quite close to the huge trees.

They had not discerned his presence, however, for their glances were random and searching.

He observed them silently until they had reached a position almost directly in front of him, then stepped boldly out of the concealing verdure and walked forward toward the men, the first he had ever met as a free man.

1