defeat C’Zarcke’s hopes.
C’Zarcke had learned little, and that little had but added to his fears – fears for the ultimate fate of his people.
Sighing deeply, the great priest cupped his chin between his hands and stared unseeing at the sacred mats upon the Zogo-house floor.
CHAPTER III
FORCING THE SECRETS OF HEAVEN
Evening. A breath from the sea became sweet with scent of flowers whose leaves reflected shy kisses from the stars. Gloaming light spread over the hill-sides, darkened the valleys, and brightened the boulders upon the shore. Myriad diamonds sparkling among the beach sands, their whiteness chequered with a black mosaic which was the distinct outline of shadowed palms.
The happy voices of men and maids as the villages practised the dance; the plaintive music of the burral, the flute of reeds; laughter of children tumbling upon the beach, while from sympathetic groups screened by fern and palm came an occasional little laugh which was part of the beauty of the night.
Along a banana-shadowed pathway Jakara strode noiselessly, impelled by the night and loneliness to ascend to his Lookout and commune with the loveliness which the heavens were showering upon the earth. He halted in surprise when from the foliage beside him there stepped a dream from the night. She smiled eagerly, while the shadows of the leaves played upon her alluring body. She was dressed in the clinging skirt of maidenhood, and her rounded arms were prettily girlish in their bracelets of pearl; a circlet of mottled crotons banded her hair, so profuse and wavy, every teasing strand a chain of tiny ringlets. Lithe and tall with strength in her beauty, her face was bright with intelligence, her lips dangerously ripe, her eyes big and black, full of liquid brightness. The velvety softness of her skin was not even as brown as his. Upon her clung an indefinable, a tantalizing scent, the kerakera – the girls’ love-charm.
Jakara gazed warily, for the Pretty Lamar of Las was a pleasure to look upon, and now her presence breathed a magnetic power. All these years, he had fought against an alliance with a native girl, because of the white man’s pride and because of the terrible thought that he might bring others unborn to the killing-club. And he desired to meet Eyes of the Sea. The night murmured with sympathy, and nature smiled, knowing that oft-suppressed desire forgets conscience. He stepped aside to pass, but she laughed softly and held up her face to be kissed. He seized her roughly, and her lips met his swiftly and sweetly. She nestled to him and sighed while her hands caressed his neck; the warmth of her breasts set his heart thumping hotly. Suddenly she thrust him aside, her eyes like those of an animal afraid. “Go!” she whispered tensely. “I hear something! It may be only a snake.”
He hurried away, his ever-present fear instantly master as his ears strained to catch the indrawing of a breath, the patter of hurried feet behind. Thus he came to the open hill-slope; and then wheeled round, gripping his shark-tooth sword: he was smiling in friendly inquiry.
Beizam’s fine chest was heaving, his eyes menacing. “Jakara,” he hissed abruptly, “do you desire the Pretty Lamar?”
“No, Beizam,” smiled Jakara with a shake of the head; “she is yours for the taking! I want no maid. As you know, my religion forbids me women, and, besides, I have no desire! Just as well, otherwise what chance should I have against a proven warrior, and he the son of a Mamoose?”
Beizam’s body relaxed. He sighed as he smiled, then his eyes widened ominously as he gazed at Jakara’s notched mai. The wrist-thong of his gaba-gaba tightened around his wrist.
“Better hasten after the maid,” advised Jakara, “While the night is young! A moment ago she mistook me for you, but only for an instant. She was abashed, and now is the chance for a warrior to comfort her.”
Beizam laughed musically as he laid a warm hand upon Jakara’s shoulder in genuine friendliness.
“ ‘Jakara the Strange,’ ” he smiled, “and ‘Jakara the Wise.’ What a warrior you would be if you would only drink of the Dance of Death! And not a girl in all the Islands would say you nay.” Like a young panther hot on the scent of a promising love affair he bounded down the slope.
Jakara drew a long, long breath, lifting frightened eyes to the stars. It was not because of the recent escape; he had experienced others such, and though the tongue be mightier than the sword, still the sword thrusts only once! No, it was for something else! Those deadly nicks upon the mai round his neck, representing the lives of men. What a prize the head of Jakara would be! His noted bravery, his cunning in war, his unbeaten fighting strength! Whoever drank of the head of Jakara – what a famous warrior he would instantly become! He would imbibe all Jakara’s qualities to strengthen his own. The killer would become invincible!
And now the idea had dawned in the ambitious mind of Beizam! It was sleeping again, but time would surely bring it to full wakefulness. As likely as not some little unexpected incident would hurry its consummation. Jakara’s spinal cord shuddered in sympathy. Mentally he decided to discard his native weapons and never walk without Lightning, nor ever meet the Pretty Lamar again, even by accident. The natives jokingly called her “Lamar” simply because she was the whitest-skinned girl on the island.
Weeks later, and Jakara had whistled as he climbed. He was glad to be away from the Council. For a solid week he, with the chiefs, had listened to a dispute which involved complicated land-laws whose rights went back for centuries.
For a great land-stealing case was before the Council. It had gone past individuals, having implicated the villages of Zerwageed and I’Laid. The island was seething with excitement.
But now Jakara’s duties in the case were over. Always he had sought to abstain from meddling with the affairs of the island otherwise than in war. Thus he incurred no man’s enmity, ran the risk of no private feuds. He merely took his seat on the Council when his position made it necessary. But he never helped in the voicing of any decision against individuals.
With war the matter was different. There the whole of the island was united, and the men who could plan success were revered as the greatest in the Group.
Jakara reached his Lookout, got his telescope, and searched the sea – searched as if he awaited some dearly beloved thing. But the horizon all around was bare of any sail. Sighing, he trained his telescope down on Mer.
Around the disputed land all the population was gathered in an interested circle, very quiet, however, for C’Zarcke and the Zogo-le were personally examining the boundary line before judgment.
Jakara then directed his glass down upon the snub nose of Gelam-Pit, where the waves rolled lazily against the cliffs. From the south-west end of Mer the island rises steeply in long grassy slopes to culminate in giant Gelam, and Jakara trained the telescope well inland at the main taboo country hidden around its base. The telescope showed plainly the huge training-ground in the centre of the Kwod.
The Kwod was purely a training college, where the island youths were fitted to become men of Mer, to be worthy of its past traditions, to fit themselves to carry on the work begun by the great supermen of the past.
Their training lasted from early boyhood until stripling age. As tender lads, numbers of them were taken from their homes and rarely saw their parents again until they were almost grown to manhood.
Their training was Spartan. Jakara could see squads of them now, while he watched with a reminiscent sympathy as they broke and flew when, with a fearful yell, a crowd of hideously masked men, flourishing shark-tooth swords, rushed on them from the surrounding timber. Thus were the lads trained in quickness of brain, eye, feet, and body. Also for an hour twice daily they were shot at, the severity growing by degrees until finally some of the best bowmen on Mer would fire at them with war-bows. Later still the lads would have to stand in the open and dodge showers of arrows that rained on them from archers hidden among the trees. With the arrows would whizz many sling-stones. Naturally, a number of lads each year never left the Kwod.
Jakara had had to go through all that strenuous training. He had done so willingly enough, and now was very glad. In it he had gained an amazing