archaeology. But what could they be made of; and how could they stand? -
so crazily thin and elongated in the leg, so top-heavily pouted in the chest, such stalky,
flexible-looking distortions of earthly bipeds ... like something seen in one of those comic
mirrors. They were certainly not made of stone or metal, for now they seemed to sway a
little as he watched; now with a shock that chased the blood from his cheeks he saw that they
were alive, that they were moving, that they were coming at him. He had a momentary, scared
glimpse of their faces, thin and unnaturally long, with long, drooping noses and drooping
mouths of half-spectral, half-idiotic solemnity. Then he turned wildly to fly and found
himself gripped by Devine.
'Let me go,' he cried.
'Don't be a fool,' hissed Devine, offering the muzzle of his pistol. Then, as they struggled,
one of the things sent its voice across the water to them: an enormous horn-like voice far
above their heads.
'They want us to go across,' said Weston.
Both the men were forcing him to the water's edge. He planted his feet, bent his back and
resisted donkey fashion. Now the other two were both in the water pulling him, and he was
still on the land. He found that he was screaming. Suddenly a second, much louder and less
articulate noise broke from the creatures on the far bank. Weston shouted, too, relaxed his
grip on Ransom and suddenly fired his revolver not across the water but up it. Ransom saw why
at the same moment.
A line of foam like the track of a torpedo was speeding towards them, and in the midst of it
some large, shining beast. Devine shrieked a curse, slipped and collapsed into the water.
Ransom saw a snapping jaw between them, and heard the deafening noise of Weston's revolver
again and again beside him and, almost as loud, the clamour of the monsters on the far bank,
who seemed to be taking to the water, too. He had had no need to make a decision. The moment
he was free he had found himself automatically darting behind his captors, then behind the
space-ship and on as fast as his legs could carry him into the utterly unknown beyond it.
As he rounded the metal sphere a wild confusion of blue, purple, and red met his eyes. He did
not slacken his pace for a moment's inspection. He found himself splashing through water and
crying out not with pain but with surprise because the water was warm. In less than a minute
he was climbing out on to dry land again. He was running up a steep incline. And now he was
running through purple shadow between the stems of another forest of the huge plants.
VIII
----
A MONTH of inactivity, a heavy meal and an unknown world do not help a man to run. Half an
hour later, Ransom was walking, not running, through the forest, with a hand pressed to
his aching side and his ears strained for any noise of pursuit. The clamour of revolver
shots and voices behind him (not all human voices) had been succeeded first by rifle shots
and calls at long intervals and then by utter silence. As far as eye could reach he saw
nothing but the stems of the great plants about him receding in the violet shade, and far
overhead the multiple transparency of huge leaves filtering the sunshine to the solemn
splendour of twilight in which he walked. Whenever he felt able he ran again; the ground
continued soft and springy, covered with the same resilient weed which was the first thing
his hands had touched in Malacandra. Once or twice a small red creature scuttled across his
path, but otherwise there seemed to be no life stirring in the wood; nothing to fear -
except the fact of wandering unprovisioned and alone in a forest of unknown vegetation
thousands or millions of miles beyond the reach or knowledge of man.
But Ransom was thinking of 'sores' - for doubtless those were the sores, those creatures they
had tried to give him to. They were quite unlike the horrors his imagination had conjured up,
and for that reason had taken
so crazily thin and elongated in the leg, so top-heavily pouted in the chest, such stalky,
flexible-looking distortions of earthly bipeds ... like something seen in one of those comic
mirrors. They were certainly not made of stone or metal, for now they seemed to sway a
little as he watched; now with a shock that chased the blood from his cheeks he saw that they
were alive, that they were moving, that they were coming at him. He had a momentary, scared
glimpse of their faces, thin and unnaturally long, with long, drooping noses and drooping
mouths of half-spectral, half-idiotic solemnity. Then he turned wildly to fly and found
himself gripped by Devine.
'Let me go,' he cried.
'Don't be a fool,' hissed Devine, offering the muzzle of his pistol. Then, as they struggled,
one of the things sent its voice across the water to them: an enormous horn-like voice far
above their heads.
'They want us to go across,' said Weston.
Both the men were forcing him to the water's edge. He planted his feet, bent his back and
resisted donkey fashion. Now the other two were both in the water pulling him, and he was
still on the land. He found that he was screaming. Suddenly a second, much louder and less
articulate noise broke from the creatures on the far bank. Weston shouted, too, relaxed his
grip on Ransom and suddenly fired his revolver not across the water but up it. Ransom saw why
at the same moment.
A line of foam like the track of a torpedo was speeding towards them, and in the midst of it
some large, shining beast. Devine shrieked a curse, slipped and collapsed into the water.
Ransom saw a snapping jaw between them, and heard the deafening noise of Weston's revolver
again and again beside him and, almost as loud, the clamour of the monsters on the far bank,
who seemed to be taking to the water, too. He had had no need to make a decision. The moment
he was free he had found himself automatically darting behind his captors, then behind the
space-ship and on as fast as his legs could carry him into the utterly unknown beyond it.
As he rounded the metal sphere a wild confusion of blue, purple, and red met his eyes. He did
not slacken his pace for a moment's inspection. He found himself splashing through water and
crying out not with pain but with surprise because the water was warm. In less than a minute
he was climbing out on to dry land again. He was running up a steep incline. And now he was
running through purple shadow between the stems of another forest of the huge plants.
VIII
----
A MONTH of inactivity, a heavy meal and an unknown world do not help a man to run. Half an
hour later, Ransom was walking, not running, through the forest, with a hand pressed to
his aching side and his ears strained for any noise of pursuit. The clamour of revolver
shots and voices behind him (not all human voices) had been succeeded first by rifle shots
and calls at long intervals and then by utter silence. As far as eye could reach he saw
nothing but the stems of the great plants about him receding in the violet shade, and far
overhead the multiple transparency of huge leaves filtering the sunshine to the solemn
splendour of twilight in which he walked. Whenever he felt able he ran again; the ground
continued soft and springy, covered with the same resilient weed which was the first thing
his hands had touched in Malacandra. Once or twice a small red creature scuttled across his
path, but otherwise there seemed to be no life stirring in the wood; nothing to fear -
except the fact of wandering unprovisioned and alone in a forest of unknown vegetation
thousands or millions of miles beyond the reach or knowledge of man.
But Ransom was thinking of 'sores' - for doubtless those were the sores, those creatures they
had tried to give him to. They were quite unlike the horrors his imagination had conjured up,
and for that reason had taken
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