Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) (7 page)

Old Slow bellowed as if he charged a great bull in a mating fight
. The sluggish blood in his veins surged with passion. He might die tonight. Many of the jungle animals might die. But he and they would make certain that no child of a celestial would survive the battle. The enemy was not going to take away their uniqueness.

There
! Old Slow could see clearly at this distance. The bare-skinned archers drew nearly invisible strings. The strings twanged. Spines flew. Old Slow turned his head. He hoped the others remembered to do similarly. Spines struck like wasps, and they bounced off his tough skin. Old Slow bellowed. Was that the best they could do?

“
Aim at their faces!” screamed a child of the celestials.

Another hail of
spines flew.

A great sloth roared in anguish
. Old Slow glanced back. Black Snout his dimwit son went down, with spines sticking out of his eyes. The lack-wit must have forgotten to turn his head as the archaeopteryx had told them to do. Black Snout crashed upon the sod and batted at his ruined eyes. He bellowed a terrified cry.

The two-legs on the rampart cheered
. They shouted triumphantly.

Old Slow roared, spittle flying from his cavernous jaws
. The heat of battle pounded in his brain. He charged the wooden palisade. Two-legs cheered at the blinding of his son. Spears flew at him. The ones that penetrated his hide simply drove him harder, made him even angrier. With a terrific jar, he crashed against upright logs. They shivered at the impact, and he heard wooden cracks and splinters. Two-legs screamed. Shield clattered against shield. Old Slow roared as he heaved himself up onto his hind legs. His massive claws scraped against the logs as he lifted his monstrous arms. On either side of him, the other great sloths smashed against the palisade. Old Slow felt the vibration in his paws.

A soldier on the rampart waved a sword at him
. The two-legs stood a foot above his head. Old Slow bellowed at the soldier. He raked his claws, caught the two-legs. Old Slow pulled, and the soldier tumbled over the top and crashed down outside. A great sloth beside Old Slow clouted the two-legs, smashed his helmet. That one wouldn’t give any more cheers.

“
Where’s our cave bear?” screamed a two-legs.

Old Slow wanted to know what had happened to the leopards
. They were supposed to time this exactly. He hooked his claws on the hacked point of an upright log. Then Old Slow exerted himself, pushed and pulled. He tried to loosen the log as if it was a rotted tooth.

“
They’re destroying the fort!” shouted a two-legs.

“
Bloodspillers! Form ranks!”

On the ramparts, tough two-legs with shields and spears gathered on either side of Old Slow
. They weren’t going to let him pull down the logs without a fight. Other sloths now rose up, and they too clutched logs.

One great sloth screamed, with a spear driven into his throat.

Two-legs cheered.

Old Slow roared at them, the bastards, the naked apes with their unfair tools.

Then the leopards arrived. The sleek, spotted beasts raced among the great sloths. With great bounding leaps and the use of their claws, the leopards climbed the fort’s wooden wall. The spitting great cats bounded among two-legs. Claws flashed. Two-legs screamed. One leopard yowled as a scimitar lodged in its side.

“
Archers!” shouted a two-legs.

The leopards didn
’t have tough skin. Bows and spines would prove deadly to them. Now, however, hawks and eagles dove out of the darkening sky. One screeched a banshee cry, its talons extended, raking unprotected flesh. With an anguished shout, a two-legs toppled off the rampart as a hawk tore out his eyes.

More bows twanged
. An eagle tumbled to its death. Most spines hissed skyward, however, hitting nothing. Now began a desperate battle as great sloths yanked and pushed at the upright logs. Some two-legs charged from upon the ramparts, hacked with their scimitars. Other two-legs went back to back and slashed at hawks, eagles and leopards. Dire wolves howled, packs of them waiting for the great sloths to smash a way into the stockade.

A two-legs in silver chainmail
charged with a leveled spear. Howling Bloodspillers followed behind him on the rampart.

Old Slow worked his log
. It was loose! If he could loosen two more like this one then he would hurl his bulk on all three and topple them into the enemy camp. Beside him worked another great sloth, his granddaughter. She was smaller than Old Slow, but quicker.

The two-legs in silver chainmail howled a war cry
. Old Slow’s granddaughter raised her head. The two-legs hurled his spear. He hurled it with greater than normal two-legs strength. The spear went into her left eye, sinking deeply. She stiffened as a sad cry escaped her throat. She slid as if boneless against the logs that she had tried to loosen. She slid, her massive claws scraped against the rough wood as she thumped dead upon the cold ground.

Old Slow spied the cheering, gloating two-legs with silver armor
. He sensed the two-legs’ nature, realized that he had the blood of the celestials in him. Worse, that one had just slain his granddaughter. The offspring of a celestial had done it with an unfair tool just as two-legs always did. Two-legs always cheated, and then they gloated and strutted as if they were mighty bulls of the jungle. In his rage and grief, Old Slow sprang. He had never jumped like a quick beast in his life. It was a clumsy spring. Yet if lifted his hind feet off the ground as Old Slow hurled himself against the palisade. Lumber groaned, cracked and splintered explosively. Old Slow’s heavy molars clicked together as his lower jaw struck wood. The body blow against the wall knocked the wind from him. It also blasted the loosened logs inward. Old Slow, as if he were unconscious—unable to bellow because he couldn’t breathe—fell into the compound, the three fallen logs like a lowered drawbridge.

The other great sloths roared
. Old Slow had breached the tough outer shell. Huge dire wolves howled, racing for the opening. The other sloths, encouraged and emboldened by their king’s example, charged and shouldered each other to be next into the camp of the hated two-legs.

-4-

Old Slow stirred. His chest unlocked and he took a heaving breath. The stockade reeked of bloodshed. The screams, shouts and cries of pain told of bitter agony. Waves of hate, fear, delight and madness crashed against Old Slow’s senses. Wolves slew and died. Leopards wreaked havoc and twisted in death. A great sloth bellowed as spears bristled from him as if he was a giant porcupine. The swirling hawks and eagles patrolled the ramparts, unwilling to fly into the darkening valley of death that the inner fort had become.

Old Slow groaned as he rose to his paws
. The cave bear crept up on a different great sloth. Behind the shaggy monster followed a two-legs in black leathers. She held curved daggers. Old Slow hadn’t realized that bears fought with such stealth. He had figured the beast as a head-to-head battler. The bear rushed the great sloth who swatted two-legs to death. The mighty beast pounced like a leopard, landing on the great sloth’s back and bearing the smaller creature to the ground and biting its neck. It was brutal, quick and effective.

It also lacked all honor.

Old Slow bellowed. He would kill the cave bear. He would show it how to fight.

His massive claws scraped across dirt as thousands of pounds of great sloth shuffled for the bear
. The two-legs turned around. She wore a veil. She ran to the bear and touched his side. The bear glanced back at Old Slow. Then, as if in shame, the huge cave bear waddled for the disciplined knot of spearmen.

The cave bear fled
! It feared him. Old Slow shuffled faster as the red-armored soldiers set their shield wall. With them to protect him, the bear charged dire wolves, scattering the wolves as they feasted on fallen two-legs.

Old Slow shuffled at the
shield wall. He would scatter them as the cave bear scattered the wolves. He sensed that this was the critical moment. The fight could go one way or the other.

Stars had appeared as night settled
. Torches burned and lanterns shone. Old Slow breathed deeply. The stockade reeked of blood and cruelty. He arose onto his hind legs, over twice the height of a two-legs.

The silver-armored
warrior who had slain his granddaughter shouted at the shield wall of two-legs. The soldiers bore shields and spears, wore armor and listened to their leader. The silver-armored two-legs held a gore-dripping scimitar and wore a silver helmet.

Old Slow bellowed and
walked on his hind legs. He towered over the Bloodspillers. He swung a huge paw. A shield rose to intercept. The shield splintered, and Old Slow fell upon the two-legs. The others cried out. Only one rushed forward. It was the silver-armored warrior, the slayer of his granddaughter. That one thrust his sword. Old Slow took the thrust in his shoulder. Then he bore the celestial offspring to the ground. With bestial strength, Old Slow ignored the champion’s struggles. His foaming jaws found the two-legs’ throat and tore it out.

A few two-legs, the bravest and boldest, charged Old Slow, shout
ing war cries. Others froze in terror. Some dropped their shields and spears and scrambled over each like frenzied ants.

Old Slow went wild as bloodlust took over
. Blades slashed his fur. Some bounced off his mail-thick hide. Some penetrated. All the while, he slew two-legs.

Then the two-legs broke
. They ran in terror.

Old Slow bellowed, and he almost rushed after them
. His nape hairs stirred, however. He sensed—the cave bear!

Old Slow whirled around.

The cave bear roared and leaped. He had a black tongue and bloodshot eyes. His claws were red and bigger than knives. He smashed against Old Slow and sought his throat. Old Slow met him fang to fang, which saved his life. Then the shock of thousands of pounds of muscled cave bear drove him off his feet.

Old Slow tumbled
. The world spun. He bellowed, sickened by fright. This had never happened to him before, not even as a cub. He scrambled, or tried to, and flopped onto his belly. Dizziness made it hard to use his limbs. The bear struck like a wolf then, snapping his teeth. Skin opened to the bone on Old Slow’s shoulder. Blood spurted. Old Slow caught his balance and blocked another teeth-slash with his own heavy fangs. He rose up finally, and one arm hung limply.

The massive cave bear snarled, and he circled
. Old Slow turned.

The cave bear struck, but Old Slow batted
his opponent away. The cave bear had silky grace compared to a great sloth. Old Slow had more weight. The bear was more of a carnivore, with that brutal meat-eater cunning.

Five times the cave bear rushed in,
snapping his teeth or flicking wicked claws. Four of those times, he drew blood. Old Slow reeled. In places, skin hung like flaps. He had never fought a creature like this, one almost as strong, nearly as big and twice as fast.

He desperately sought a stratagem
. As the cave bear rushed in for the sixth time, it came to Old Slow. It was a trick, used once on him by an old bull. It was the last time he had lost a mating fight. He had been stronger and faster then, but the old bull had been more cunning.

The cave bear leaped in
. Old Slow let the teeth sink into his flesh. He accepted it, swayed back and then brought his good arm down hard on the other’s neck. He rolled onto his back and twisted, and he twisted the cave bear, threw him. The bear bawled in terror as his massive bulk sailed rump-end up and his back flopped hard against the ground. Old Slow scrambled upon the cave bear and let his weight crush down. Then he widened his jaws and clamped onto the bear’s throat. He crushed skin and windpipe. The bear used his claws and ripped out blood and entrails.

Old Slow shook his head savagely
. Then he collapsed upon the mighty cave bear, exhausted by the loss of too much flesh and blood. He waited for the cave bear to roll him off and finish him, but that never happened. The cave bear was dead.

But Old Slow was dying
. His wounds were too many and awful. He looked up. The animals were winning. The two-legs had broken with the loss of their last champion.

He had done it
. He had defeated the invaders.

His reign ended tonight, but the sacred isle remained
untouched. He would like to have mated again, but he had fulfilled his charge as king. Here they would remain the animals-that-could-think.

The Serpent of Thep

Lod lived many years, and his youth passed in daring deeds as told in
Lod the Warrior
. Then Yorgash of Poseidonis captured him. Instead of killing the man, the First Born sent Lod to a galley bench as an oar slave, there to die in painful toil.

Lod
plied the oar for many a weary year. He became a legend in the gloomy holds, surviving as he’d once done as rat bait. Once again, he received visions of fire and blood. Perhaps Elohim called to him, to return to His service as an avenging blade, or perhaps they were merely the delusions of a madman.