Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger (21 page)

Carrying his shirt, Sinbad interrupted Melanthius, who had seen the theft. “I hope it is not too late for Kassim,” he said quietly.

“He no longer responds to human speech or contact,” Melanthius said in a low, thoughtful voice.

“Except with your daughter,” Sinbad reminded the old man, who nodded slowly.

“I wonder what that means?” he said softly.

Downstream out of sight of the men, Princess Farah paused on the riverbank and looked at Dione as she came through the brush to the water. They both looked around shyly. There were waterworn rocks lining the tumbling waters. Green bushes, ferns, and reeds grew between the rocks, and there were little patches of river sand. A small waterfall spilled a spume of cold water nearby and both their eyes shone with delight.

Days of sweating under thick furs and not being able to wash had driven both women, fastidious by nature and training, to distraction. They had excused themselves and had sought a solitary spot along the rushing waters to bathe.

“The waterfall looks perfect,” Farah said. Looking around once again, they both began to undress. Modestly, they turned from each other. The smelly furs had long been discarded, but now Farah took off her fine silks and embroidered garments, and Dione her simple tunic of coarse material. They dropped their soiled clothes next to the clean clothes they ached to put on later.

Nude, they tiptoed across the warm stones and touched their feet to the water’s surface. “Oh!” Farah exclaimed, for the water was only slightly warmer than ice water, being only a short way from the snow on the slopes of the high valley.

Uttering little cries, Farah waded into the cold stream, gasping. She waded straight to the waterfall. Soon she no longer felt the icy water, and decided she was either numb or that it was not as cold as she first had thought.

Dione only waded in to her thighs, then splashed the chill water all over herself, using the slim sliver of Grecian soap they had left to wash herself. She was finished sooner than Farah, who was still under the sparkling curtain of water from the falls, and waded back to shore, where she stretched out on a flat rock to dry.

Dione began to hum a Greek folk song, her eyes closed against the sun, when she heard a scraping sound and felt the warmth of the sun being interrupted. She opened her eyes and stared straight up at the huge face of a giant primitive man, hairy and ugly. Her scream brought Farah from the waterfall, squeezing water from her long dark hair. She stared at the sight on the riverbank—the nude, startled Dione and the looming figure of the huge man, built like an ape, who stood over her.

“Sinbad!"
Farah’s scream cut through the roar of the falling water.

Upstream Sinbad and his men heard the cry. “Listen,” Maroof said in a hard voice. “Do you hear?”

“It’s Farah!” Sinbad said. He leaped toward his sword, leaning against the upturned sledge, and bounded off into the brush with his men in close pursuit. Melanthius grabbed up an axe and hobbled after them, skirting the baboon’s cage as he snarled at the old man.

Dione’s fingers were edging off the warm rock onto the nearest patch of fine river sand. She gathered up a handful, her eyes staring up at the monstrous figure over her. Then, with a cry, she flung the sand into the creature’s eyes. The ape-man staggered back, bellowing, momentarily blinded, and clutching at his face.

Dione scrambled to her feet, snatched at her clothes, and ran toward the river bank just as Farah stepped, naked and glistening wetly, onto the bank.

“Run, Princess!”

Farah snatched her sari from the rock and wrapped the garment around her as the two women ran madly toward the camp.

Sinbad came from around a rock and almost collided with the two nearly naked women. Dione tossed her homespun tunic over her head as Farah blurted out a warning.

“It’s hideous! And it’s right back there!”

Hassan and Maroof leaped into the space by the women, their swords at the ready. Sinbad shoved the women behind the men and started forward. “I’ll try to divert him!”

Hassan and the black seaman stood before the women, their swords extended, their eyes on the advancing ape creature. Sinbad stepped toward the monster, who stopped.

Roaring, the grayish-furred monster ripped a dead tree out by the roots to use as a club. Not giving it time to get set, Sinbad suddenly leaped at the ape thing, shouting loudly and waving his sword. The great manlike ape roared again and swung the tree club. Sinbad ducked and was about to try to tempt the creature into another wild swing so that he might try to get in under the blow and put a sword into his armpit, when Melanthius broke through the brush.

“Sinbad, no!” the old man said breathlessly. “He . . .” The Greek sucked in air, then cried out again, “Stand still! All of you!”

Farah tugged at her sari to better cover her body, but her eyes were on the monstrous creature that had found them. Melanthius stepped around them and advanced upon the gray behemoth.

“Sir . . .” said Hassan, warningly, but the philosopher just waved down his objections.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” Melanthius warned in a quiet voice. “He is as frightened of us as we are of him . . .”

Hassan and Maroof exchanged dubious looks. “I am
more
frightened,” Hassan said.

Maroof gave him a twisted smile. “I am
twice
more frightened!”

“Sinbad,” the alchemist said softly. “Lower your sword and step back . . . slowly!”

Sinbad complied, watching the creature, whose deep-set beady eyes shifted from human to human suspiciously. He snorted and made a short aimless move with the broken tree trunk. The creature took a step forward, but did not advance further.

“What sort of evil monster is it?” Sinbad asked the Greek scientist softly.

“It is not a monster,” the old man replied, coming forward slowly. “He is one of man’s ancestors . . . and they are not evil.” He took another step and stopped abreast of Sinbad. “They are called troglodytes . . . I have a skull from one in my laboratory.”

The creature moved and Farah burst out with a cry. “He is coming closer!”

The troglodyte shuffled forward slowly, suspiciously, grunting and growling. He made menacing gestures with his shattered tree trunk as he started to circle the group. He seemed uncertain whether to attack or not.

“Dione,” Melanthius said quietly, “speak to it . . . gently. They have no idea of language . . . but these primates were known for their gentleness with the female of the species . . . or so some believe.”

Dione stepped cautiously forward, her eyes big with careful calculation . . . and some fear. But her experiences with the primitive people of Casgar had given her some guidelines.

“There, there . . .” she said softly. “No harm . . . we mean no harm.” She slowly raised her hand toward him in a gesture of friendship, showing her palm, open so that there could be no concealed weapon. She took a step closer, her eyes slitting now in concentration as she attempted to break through to the beastlike creature with her
tele-patheia.

“Friends . . . we are friends.”

Not to be outdone, Farah, too, stepped toward the troglodyte. “Yes . . . friends . . . friends.” The creature snorted and Farah said urgently, “Dione . . . careful!”

But the blonde daughter of the fabled magician of Casgar took still a closer step, holding out her arms. The creature lowered his tree club and moved toward her in a shuffle They were only a few feet apart when the air was rent by a high-pitched screech. The troglodyte growled as they all turned, startled, toward the sound.

The baboon, free of its cage, was leaping from rock to rock, then crashed through some brush, screeching wildly, racing forward to “protect” his female. The ferocity of the vocal attack caused the ape-thing to rise to its full height, roaring angrily, backing away from Dione with swinging arms and repeated thuds of his tree trunk on the moist soil of the river’s edge.

Sinbad made a sudden move toward Farah but she stopped him with a gesture. “My brother was always very jealous!” she said with a knowing smile.

But the baboon went to Dione, who knelt next to it. She looked up at the troglodyte. “He means no harm,” she said, and repeated herself several times.

“Perhaps,” Melanthius muttered, coming forward. “Perhaps Kassim can communicate with him for us.” The old man also knelt by the dark-furred baboon. “Kassim . . . Kassim! Tell the troglodyte to put down his weapon . . . we will drop ours . . .” The old man looked back at Sinbad, who glowered, then dropped his sword. Reluctantly Hassan and Maroof followed his example. But none of them dropped their weapons very far away.

Dione got close to the baboon. “Kassim . . . please, Kassim . . . you understood my father . . . please try.”

The baboon looked at her, then twisted his head to look at the others. He took her hand, then turned back to the troglodyte. He began to make gestures with his free hand and to gibber in high-pitched monkey grunts. The troglodyte’s small eyes went from baboon to the humans beyond, then back to the long-haired blonde. After a moment of listening to the baboon’s chittering, he lowered his tree trunk, then dropped it. It rolled and crashed into the brush, and then there was silence, except for the murmuring stream.

Sinbad blew out some air and looked at Hassan and Maroof with relief. Melanthius broke into a wide smile of discovery. “They
can
communicate!” The ancient Greek turned toward Sinbad and his men, his face wreathed in smiles. “He knows now we do not wish to harm him . . . who knows? Perhaps he may be able to help us!” He turned back to gesture at the women. “Dione! Princess! Persuade Kassim to bring Trog over here.” He gestured toward a clear patch of sand and started walking there. “I want to show him something.”

As the baboon began once again to chitter at the man thing, the bearded alchemist beamed at Sinbad. “A troglodyte. I thought they might be legendary after all, despite the skull I have. A few bones have been found, mostly in caves, and thought to be animals by most. Or Titans—the gods that lived before the Olympians.” He shrugged, his gaze returning to the hairy creature the baboon was leading over in a shambling walk. “But no one knew for certain. He probably lives in a cave. No idea of language, really, no concept of even the rudiments of civilization.” He studied the creature a moment more.

“They live from day to day. No agriculture, no religion, probably, except perhaps worshipping the forces of nature—the wind, water, the sun, fire, perhaps.” He shook his head. “God’s attempt at a man . . . a failure, an experiment gone wrong.”

“Can you be certain of that?” Farah asked. “Perhaps he is some sort of cousin . . . or . . . and I shudder at the thought . . . some kind of ancestor?”

“I don’t know,” Melanthius said, “but I am most curious.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Sinbad asked.

Hassan laughed.
“Now
we think of that!”

“He might be useful,” the old Greek said thoughtfully. “He is, after all, a native here.” The old man’s eyes lit up. “Look, look! They seem to understand each other. Kassim is talking to him, to Trog!”

“Who?” Hassan asked.

“Trog,” Farah said.

“As good a name as any,” Sinbad shrugged.

Melanthius was moving closer, despite a cautionary word from Sinbad. But the sailor could see the old man was determined to try and make himself understood. As he seemed to be moving with caution Sinbad did not interfere.

The baboon brought the great gray creature to the sand patch, and Melanthius came close to it. The baboon hopped to a new position as the old Greek began speaking, carefully enunciating each word with slow emphasis.

“We are all your friends . . . we friends to you, Trog,” he said, pointing at himself and gesturing toward the sailors, then pointing at the man thing. “Friends, Trog . . . friends.”

Trog grunted and blinked. His eyes were wary, but neither his expression nor his actions were hostile.

“You understand?” Melanthius asked carefully. “You nod head, like this,” the old man said bobbing his head. “This means
yes
. . . shake head . . . like this . . . means
no.
Nod. Shake. Shake. Nod. Trog understand?”

Trog imitated both the shake and the nod, then started grunting again in his deep, rumbling voice. Melanthius sighed and looked around at the others.

“Somewhat a lengthy and uphill task, I fear . . .”

Trog continued to nod and shake his huge, heavy-browed head. Then without warning the baboon began to grunt, as if in answer. Trog turned ponderously to look down at the baboon.

Sinbad was suddenly struck with just how massive this creature was. He was as tall as even Sinbad, the tallest, could reach. His arms were as massive as a man’s thighs. The creature bent down until he was almost nose to nose with the grunting baboon.

The primitive man, enormous and incredibly strong, sniffed at the baboon and the baboon sniffed back, between chitterings and gibberings. Then they started into an animated conversation, completely oblivious to the others, a curious conversation that was mostly grunts of various kinds, but also included waves of the hands, the rubbery use of lips, and the protruding of tongues, the blink of eyes, and endless variations on whistles, hoots, moans, and more grunts.

Sinbad and his men exchanged puzzled looks as they observed the incomprehensible conversation. Maroof and Hassan sat down on a rock, as Melanthius squatted on the sand and began drawing something with a twig. Farah bent to speak to the baboon.

“Kassim . . . Kassim . . .” The baboon continued his grunting talk with the now silent Trog, who was eyeing Farah curiously. She looked back at Sinbad with apprehension on her face. “He’s getting harder to get through to,” she said plaintively.

“Try,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” She turned back to the baboon. “Kassim . . .
Kassim . . .
” The baboon ignored her, intent on his conversation.

“Kassim!”
Melanthius said sharply. He pointed to the sand. The baboon ceased his chatter and looked down at the sand. He gibbered at the troglodyte, who also looked down, a curiously innocent expression on his heavy features.