CHAPTER 23

Foss perked his ears and listened, but the sound he had thought he heard was not repeated, and he searched the ground once more for a sign of the forest elat he had been tracking.

He had been hunting for some hours, and had become separated from the hunting party which had accompanied him into the forest, preferring to drive onward deeper into the forest, determined to bring back the elusive prey which they had first sighted hours ago. In his single-minded purpose he had inadvertently left the others far behind, and had strayed deep into a forest, one of the larger which bordered the path from Kalnor to Neros.

He had stayed two weeks in Kalnor, as the guest of the Tarkan, discussing affairs of state between the two cities, and working out the details of an alliance which would insure that either nation would find aid from the other if necessary against any outside force. Atal Throom had been exceedingly grateful to Foss for the aid which Neros had provided, and they enjoyed many of the pleasures of Kalnorian society during his stay.

Each day Foss had hoped that some sign of the barbarian would surface. He had longed to see Tarak again, to laugh and drink with him, and to talk with the enigmatic man; the blond giant who had walked into his camp one day so long ago, and had subsequently been instrumental in the liberation of two of the most powerful Aantorian nations.

Kiron had spoken of Tarak's performance in the arena with quiet reverence, and in great detail. It had sounded incredible, unbelievable, and yet Foss knew that it had taken place. That it was true. As a warrior himself, Foss felt some remorse that he had been absent when his friend had fought such a battle. He smiled at the thought of wild Tarak, so calm, and yet so savage.

Atal Throom too had been more than anxious to meet Tarak, and directed a massive search, but to no avail. Many questions the Tarkan put forth about the barbarian warrior, and Foss had answered many, though refusing politely some, because of the trust he knew Tarak had placed in him, as they had talked for so many hours in the plains surrounding Neros.

Atal Throom had felt that Tarak had perhaps been killed, or had been carried off by the wild creature he had ridden, but Foss knew that his friend survived somewhere, and had chosen to remain apart for some reason of his own. Eventually Foss had concluded that it was useless to wait any longer, and, his business finished, he had decided to return to Neros.

His army's losses had been few, and now his men were anxious to return home. To help dispel the monotony of the march he had organized hunting expeditions along the way, and had led many of them himself. Thus was he now engaged, as bow in hand, sword at his side, he tracked the elat further into the forest. He realized he was alone, but the thought did not concern him overly much, for now that peace existed, there was little to fear in the lands surrounding Kalnor. His army was approaching Senta, but as had happened when he had marched to Kalnor, he knew that the Sentians would allow his army a wide berth. The armies of Neros turn aside or stop for nothing, especially when they march toward their home.

Foss had spent years learning the ways of the forest while commanding the remote fort where he had first met Tarak, and he did not fear the brooding darkness as most men did. The idea of becoming lost was absurd to a woodsman such as he, and as for the dangers which one might face within its parameters, he simply shrugged.

He was Foss, Tarkan of Neros. None had as yet stilled his life. Those who might try would not find him an easy prey.

These thoughts were peripheral to the mind of Foss as he searched for the elusive elat. He looked up. and could see the lengthening shadows filtering through the forest, indicating the approaching night. He grimaced briefly as he realized that this hunt was at an end, and his anticipation of broiled roast elat turned to one of weary resignation. Tonight he would feast upon dried rations which he carried in his pouch, and would sleep beneath the towering trees. With a disgusted grunt he unstrung his bow, and fastened it across his shoulders. Turning, he began to make his way back through the forest, intending to put as much ground behind him as was possible before the forest blackened completely. He was not worried, but knew that the forest he now found himself in must be an outcropping of the great forest itself, rather than one of the many small forests which dotted the plains between Kalnor and his own city.

It was the most reasonable explanation for his inability to reach the end of its expanse during his hunt. While the smaller forests teemed with game, and were excellent hunting areas, being many miles in depth, the great western forest was rarely hunted. Men found only death there, for it was the land of the wrok.

No longer preoccupied by his hunt, Foss attuned his senses more fully to the surrounding environment. If this was truly the great western forest, then he had perhaps been foolish to venture so far into its depths. He shrugged, and moved on. but now his sword hilt rested comfortably in his right hand.

Gone were the thoughts of a warm, cheery fire, He would sleep in a tree, if possible, anonymous and alone beneath the dark branches.

Perhaps a half hour had passed when he began to look for a place to sleep. The forest was blackening, and visibility had become limited in the extreme.

He stopped abruptly. A sudden stillness had settled over the forest, and in the midst of this silence he had heard the sound of a snapping twig, behind him and off to the right.

Were it not for the deathlike stillness he would have heard nothing. Were it not for the silence he would have dismissed it as his imagination, or the scrambling of a small animal. Now he knew it was neither. Silently the Tarkan slipped his dagger from its sheath, and moved into the darkness of a huge tree. There he crouched, soundless, feeling the pounding of his heart, waiting for whatever creature followed in the darkness. Mockingly he thought of the thousands of Nerosian warriors who not awaited him on the plain, not many miles distant, and of the untold thousands who waited in Neros. He thought of the new alliance with Atal Throom, who would send brave, ferocious Kalnorians into battle at the merest summons of the Tarkan of Neros.

He looked at the sword in his right hand, and smiled. Whoever you may be, he thought, you face Foss of Neros. My resources may be limited, but still I have yet to die. He considered the bow, but dismissed it as foolish, for it was too dark, and he did not even know the nature of the enemy he faced.

For a few moments he heard nothing. Nothing but the continued silence. Then he saw their outlines beneath the trees, perhaps twenty yards distant, moving silently toward him.

Three wroks approached, their outlines barely distinguishable in the blackness. Huge, hulking creatures, each carrying a sword, they moved directly toward him. Foss's mouth tightened, for he knew he was about to die. He was a superb swordsman, but his strength and speed were no match for three wroks at once. Even one of the creatures, with its size and speed, was dangerous to any man, however skilled. More than one of the intelligent, savage creatures was a force none could withstand alone.

As a warrior skilled at every phase of combat, Foss was equally adept with the knife, and could throw accurately with either hand. As the wroks charged his left arm flicked forward and its missile spun toward the first wrok. He heard a grunt of pain, and then rose to meet the attack, for they were upon him.

As he moved forward he saw the great blade whirling down, and swung his own sword upward and out to deflect the large, heavy weapon of the work. The blades met with a jolt, and Foss felt the power of the beast's stroke even as its blade was turned away. He had hoped to elude the nearest wrok, and strike at the second, but the first recovered so quickly that he had no time to worry about its fellows. Again he blocked a flashing blade, expecting to be cut down from the flank at any second.

The wrok renewed his attack, and Foss found himself forced to focus his concentration fully on this attacker. Grimly he fought, searching for an opening in the dim light, to try to kill this beast before its fellows could join the attack. For some reason the other wroks were not attacking, although he heard savage growls from behind. Perhaps they wished to watch their leader kill the man. Foss had known of such behavior before in the creatures, but knew that the moment he began to press his advantage, he would be cut down by the others.

He was a warrior, however, and as he fought his fears left him as he sought to kill his foe. If he was going to die, he would die attacking with the sword. Swiftly be blocked a cutting blow and lunged forward, his sword flashing and whirling, meeting the work and then driving the creature back. Hammering blows he endured, as well as long arms which sought to penetrate his defenses as they closed, searching for a hold with which to drag him forward, where the great strength of the beast could be brought into play. Foss wished he had his knife now, for the long arm of the wrok was difficult to avoid in the darkness. Again and again the beast tried to force both swords up, for it had become apparent that Foss was far and away the superior swordsman, and more than a match for even the wrok's speed and strength.

Their swords crossed again, and upward the beast slashed, but Foss, gambling the beast would thus move, had stepped back, and as the other blade flew up he slashed down, catching the hairy arm of the wrok as it flashed in, slashing deeply into the creature's arm from wrist to elbow.

The wrok screamed, and tried to draw its arm back from the horrible shock of the blow. Momentarily forgotten was the skill of its opponent, and in that second Foss moved in savagely, cutting and slicing. The wrok tried to move back, and bring its sword down in an attempt to block or strike, but its efforts came too late, and Foss stepped back as the creature crumpled to the ground, its intestines spilling from the wide slash in its abdomen.

Instantly Foss whirled, his sword held in front, expecting to die. But no wrok attacked. He looked quickly around, and saw the two bodies nearby. The nearest wrok lay face forward, the blade of Foss's knife sticking out from the back of its neck. The other lay further away, and he could not determine what had caused its death.

Something else obviously was present, and Foss whirled around, searching the forest for some sign to the creature that had killed the third wrok.

For a moment he saw nothing, and then a figure stepped out from behind a tree. A large figure, but that of a man, rather than another wrok. Foss stared at the shadowy apparition, not moving, waiting to see what the other would do. He could see both of the man's arms silhouetted against the surrounding blackness, and knew that the other carried no weapon in his hands. Something bulky hung across one shoulder, however.

For a long moment he stood thus, and finally the figure spoke.

"I knew, Tarkan, that eventually you would forsake your gilded halls, and come to stay forever in the beauty and peacefulness which is the forest."

Foss gaped in amazement as the figure strode forward, laughing softly.

"Tarak!" he exclaimed, his fatigue and grimness instantly melting, and ramming his sword back into its scabbard, he ran forward to embrace the blond barbarian. The man he had thought he might never see again. Tears filled the eyes of the Tarkan, the conqueror of Neros, killer of countless warriors, as he grasped the arms of the enigmatic figure who stood like a silent shadow, laughing softly.

"I have brought you a present, Foss," Tarak said, throwing the bundle to the ground. "You have trailed it for so long, that I thought you would be extremely disappointed should you not grill it for your evening meal."

Foss looked down at the dead elat, and back up into the laughing eyes of his friend. "How did you know?"

"I have been following you most of the day. I was away from Kalnor when you left that city, and hastened to catch up. Early this afternoon I came upon your trail, and soon thereafter spotted you trailing the elat. Since then I have been following silently, not wanting to spoil your hunt."

Foss snorted. "It was not much of a hunt."

Tarak smiled. "You have much to learn of the ways of the forest. Still, you almost surprised the elat more than a few times. When I saw you turn back, I decided to help you. I was returning when I scented the wroks."

Foss looked down at the dead wroks. "I thought I would die here beneath the trees." He looked warmly into Tarak's face. "Again you have done me a service, my friend."

"You were fortunate, Foss. I dropped the elat and hurried when I sensed their presence, but arrived just as you launched your knife at the first." He smiled. "It was a magnificent throw."

"Magnificent good fortune! I could barely make out its body. Had I hit it anywhere else I would probably have died, instead of the wrok."

Tarak shrugged. "Perhaps. Wounded, however, it would not have reached you, I do not believe, before I could have overtaken it. The third one died without knowing the source of its death. Then I saw the second one fall, and noticed you ably defending yourself against the first, so I went to retrieve the elat."

Foss gaped. "You left me to fight in the darkness against a wrok, thinking that any moment I would be cut down by its companions?"

Tarak nodded. "I thought you would find it exhilarating. I knew that one wrok had little chance against he famed Foss of Neros. I was tempted to let the third one join in the attack, for then it would have been truly interesting."

Foss drew himself up for an outburst of anger, but the half-smile which played upon the face of his friend stayed his voice, and soon he was laughing so violently that he sunk to his knees, and he was joined by Tarak in his laughter, as the tension built up over the past several minutes released itself, and the men lay almost helpless in laughter.

Finally Foss gained control of himself, and looked hungrily at the elat. "I have been thinking of little else other than dinner, and that particular beast, for the past several hours. Is a fire safe here?"

Tarak nodded. "I will search the area. Wroks seldom travel at night, so I do not think we shall be bothered. Besides, I do not worry when I travel with the Tarkan of Neros!"

Foss smiled. "Yes, of course, I will protect you."

The Tarkan of Neros began to build a fire, while Tarak disappeared silently into the forest. Watching him go, Foss shook his head wonderingly. To think that a man, a creature similar to himself, could slip into the blackness of the surrounding forest with impunity, confident not only of his ability to survive, but of his ability to master any force he might encounter, and to protect one who had none of these abilities. It is you who are the Tarkan, he thought. If ever any man deserved the title, you are he.

The elat had been broiling for some time when Tarak suddenly appeared in the dancing light of the fire. Foss started at his sudden appearance, then smiled and relaxed. Tarak looked refreshed and happy.

"I found no trace of wroks, and traveled some distance, to be sure."

Foss nodded. "Come, my friend. Sit by my civilized fire, and let us eat and talk."

Tarak smiled and sat cross-legged next to the Tarkan. They talked of their respective adventures since parting in Neros. Foss was amazed when he learned that Tarak had been in the Great Hall of Kalnor during the ceremony, and they both laughed at the citizens who had criticized him for not taking part in his own tribute.

"What of Rela, Foss? and Karn, and Leanna, and Kiron of Kalnor?"

Foss laughed softly, his eyes bright as he told of Tarak's friends. "The House of Mir, to which Kiron and Rela belong, is now second only to that of Throom in Kalnor, and Rela is now surrounded with all the wealth and comfort which is her due."

"She has traveled far from the taverns and pits of Neros." commented Tarak with a smile, and he felt a stirring in his loins as he thought of her. "She must be very happy."

"She will not be truly happy until she has you in her bed again," laughed the Tarkan. "All the handsome nobles of Kalnor call upon her, but she refuses them, insisting that she will find you again, and make you her own."

"She is truly a magnificent girl," replied Tarak, "and perhaps we shall meet again." He shook his head. "But I am not yet ready for a woman's chains. I think perhaps I shall give her fair city a wide berth for awhile."

Both men chuckled, and Foss continued. "Kiron is second to Atal Throom, and misses you terribly. He has told of your exploits in the arena so often that I am afraid the poor fellow is beginning to actually believe the absurd tale."

Tarak nodded solemnly, "The Kalnorians are great storytellers."

"Karn and Leanna are with my army," Foss continued, smiling, "Karn's head is swelled with pride that he is your friend, and he hasn't yet tired of listening to Kiron's babble. Leanna, too has come to regard you in a somewhat different light. She has learned much, and I surmise that you would find her somewhat more receptive should you visit Neros again." He shook his heard gently. "She speaks of you with reverence."

Tarak continued to ask Foss of those whom he had met in Neros and Kalnor, of Barkan, Aleana, Anon, Abar, and others whose fates had become intertwined with his own. Finally, after they had talked at length, Tarak looked directly into the Tarkan's eyes.

"And you, my friend. What of you?"

Foss returned his stare, absently watching the firelight shimmer in the green eyes which held his own. For a moment he was silent.

"I am Tarkan. Assuming, of course, that Abar has not declared me an outlaw in my absence."

Both men smiled at the thought.

"I am Tarkan," Foss repeated. "My duty, and my life, are in Neros. It is my city, and for the first time in many years Neros is free."

His eyes glistened, and he looked into the fire. "I love my city, and it is the only life I know or care about." He chuckled, and looked up again. "Besides, being Tarkan is not such a bad life, after all."

Then his expression changed. "Come with me, Tarak! Neros is your city, too. You fought to make her free, and again in the arena of Kalnor you fought for her!"

Tarak smiled, and shook his heard. "No, my friend. It is not my city. That much is apparent to us both. Perhaps Kalnor, but not Neros, though I feel closer to Neros than the other. I fought for no city, but for those who befriended me, and for myself."

He was silent for a moment, and gestured to the still, brooding forest which encroached upon their fire. "This, Foss, is where I belong. Here, in the forest. Or in the mountains. Or perhaps across the sea."

He laughed. "So little do we know of this world, Foss. So many legends and stories have I heard even in my short stay within the confines of man. I would pursue these legends, and see these places."

He looked back at Foss. "Yes, my friend, you are of Neros. Your future lies there, among your people. But I, I claim all Aantor as my kingdom. Only thus can I learn what I wish to know, and see what I wish to see."

He shrugged. "Perhaps one day I shall be content to stop. But I am young. Also," he added, in a tone edged with steel, "I must locate two men who have caused me much sorrow."

Foss had heard Tarak mention these two before, and saw the glow begin to flare within the green eyes of his friend. He knew that Tarak was reliving buried memories. If it were possible to feel sorry for such men as Tarak sought, Foss would have possessed such feelings. Somehow he know Tarak would find them again.

The Tarkan leaned back, and closed his eyes. When he awoke it was morning, and Tarak was broiling a haunch of elat, and grinning at him.

They ate, and began their journey back through the forest toward Foss's army.

Foss was amazed at how casually he now walked. The presence of Tarak made a difference to even a seasoned warrior such as the Tarkan.

They talked a great deal, laughing frequently, and Foss found himself at times slowing his pace, knowing that his time with the barbarian was nearing an end, and not wanting it to be thus.

He saw Tarak stop, and flare his nostrils for a moment. Turning, Tarak looked warmly into his eyes.

"A large party of men approaches, Foss. Nerosians, and marching this way swiftly. I think they fear for their Tarkan."

"Will you not accompany us for awhile?"

Tarak shook his head. "You have your people, Foss. I should like very much to travel with you, but I have spent enough time among civilized men here, at least for the present. I am afraid I could not long endure their attention, should I come with you."

Foss smiled and nodded, knowing that what Tarak had said was true. He looked up at the blond warrior, and clasped his arms tightly with his own.

Tears clouded his vision, but though he could not see well, he knew that Tarak's vision too was blurred. For a long moment they stood thus.

Then he heard the sounds of men moving toward them through the forest. Never had the sound of Nerosian warriors so saddened him.

He tightened his grip one final time, and stood away. "Goodbye, my friend." he said. "Pursue your dreams, but know that always you have a home in Neros, and a friend in Foss. Remember I still have your gems. And remember...., should you ever need us, Neros will come....wherever you may be."

Tarak smiled.

"I know, Foss. And I shall remember. Goodbye, Foss. Tell them all I said goodbye.

Then he was gone.

Foss stood looking into the forest which had swallowed his friend. He heard a shout, and turned to see several warriors running toward him, shouting his name joyfully.

They looked at their Tarkan strangely, for he seemed subdued, and tears streamed down his rugged face.

For a moment he stood thus, then seemed to awaken from his trance-like state, and faced them.

"I have been hunting. Now I am ready to rejoin my army."

He turned and walked away, toward the plains, and his manner was firm and purposeful.

Still his cheeks were streaked with tears. He did not wipe them away.