Harkat grinned.
“I didn’t,” I laughed, and started toward the pit.
“Careful,” Harkat warned me, hefting a knobbly, heavy wooden club. “It could still be alive. There’s nothing more dangerous than … a wounded animal.”
“It’d be howling with pain if it was alive,” I said.
“Probably.” Harkat nodded, “but let’s not take any … needless risks.” Stepping in front of me, he moved off to the left and signaled me to go right. Raising a knife-like piece of bone, I circled away from Harkat, then we slowly closed on the pit from opposite directions. As we got nearer, we each drew one of the small cacti we’d tied to our waists — we also had mud-balls strapped on — to toss like grenades if the panther was still alive.
Harkat came within sight of the pit before I did and stopped, confused. As I got closer, I saw what had bewildered him. I also drew to a halt, not sure what to make of it. A body lay impaled on the stakes, blood dripping from its many puncture wounds. But it wasn’t the body of a panther — it was a red baboon.
“I don’t understand,” I muttered. “Monkeys can’t make the kind of growling or howling sounds we heard.”
“But how did …” Harkat stopped and fear flashed into his eyes. “The monkey’s throat!” he gasped. “It’s been ripped open! The panther must —”
He got no further. Even as I was leaping to the same conclusion — the panther had killed the baboon and dropped it into the pit to fool us! — there was a blur of movement in the upper branches of the tree closest to me. Whirling, I caught a very brief glimpse of a long, thick, pure black object flying through the air with outstretched claws and gaping jaws — then the panther was upon me, roaring triumphantly as it dragged me to the ground for the kill!
CHAPTER SEVEN
T HE ROAR WAS CRITICAL . If the panther had clamped its fangs clean around my throat, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. But the animal was excited — probably by having outsmarted us — and tossed its head, growling savagely as we rolled over and came to a stop with the powerful beast on top of me.
As it roared, Harkat reacted with cool speed and launched a cactus missile. It could have bounced off the animal’s head or shoulders, but the luck of the vampires was with us, and the cactus sailed clean between the panther’s fearsome jaws.
The panther instantly lost interest in me and lurched aside, spitting and scratching at the cactus stuck in its mouth. I crawled away, panting, scrabbling for the knife I’d dropped. Harkat leaped over me as my fingers closed around the handle of the bone, and brought his club down upon the head of the panther.
If the club had been made of tougher material, Harkat would have killed the panther — he could do immense damage with most axes or clubs. But the wood he’d carved it from proved unworthy of the task, and the club smashed in half as it cracked over the panther’s hard skull.
The panther howled with pain and rage, and turned on Harkat, spitting spines, its yellow teeth reflecting the gleam of the afternoon sun. It swiped at his squat grey head and opened up a deep gash down the left side of his face. Harkat fell backward from the force of the blow and the panther leaped after him.
I didn’t have time to get up and lunge after the panther — it would be on Harkat before I crossed the space between us — so I sent my knife flying through the air at it. The bone deflected harmlessly off the creature’s powerful flanks, but it distracted the beast and its head snapped around. Harkat used the moment to grab a couple of the mud-balls hanging from his blue robes. When the panther faced him again, Harkat let it have the mud-balls between the eyes.
The panther squealed and turned a sharp ninety degrees away from Harkat. It scraped at its eyes with its left paw, wiping the mud away. As it was doing that, Harkat grabbed the lower half of his broken club and jammed the splintered end
“I didn’t,” I laughed, and started toward the pit.
“Careful,” Harkat warned me, hefting a knobbly, heavy wooden club. “It could still be alive. There’s nothing more dangerous than … a wounded animal.”
“It’d be howling with pain if it was alive,” I said.
“Probably.” Harkat nodded, “but let’s not take any … needless risks.” Stepping in front of me, he moved off to the left and signaled me to go right. Raising a knife-like piece of bone, I circled away from Harkat, then we slowly closed on the pit from opposite directions. As we got nearer, we each drew one of the small cacti we’d tied to our waists — we also had mud-balls strapped on — to toss like grenades if the panther was still alive.
Harkat came within sight of the pit before I did and stopped, confused. As I got closer, I saw what had bewildered him. I also drew to a halt, not sure what to make of it. A body lay impaled on the stakes, blood dripping from its many puncture wounds. But it wasn’t the body of a panther — it was a red baboon.
“I don’t understand,” I muttered. “Monkeys can’t make the kind of growling or howling sounds we heard.”
“But how did …” Harkat stopped and fear flashed into his eyes. “The monkey’s throat!” he gasped. “It’s been ripped open! The panther must —”
He got no further. Even as I was leaping to the same conclusion — the panther had killed the baboon and dropped it into the pit to fool us! — there was a blur of movement in the upper branches of the tree closest to me. Whirling, I caught a very brief glimpse of a long, thick, pure black object flying through the air with outstretched claws and gaping jaws — then the panther was upon me, roaring triumphantly as it dragged me to the ground for the kill!
CHAPTER SEVEN
T HE ROAR WAS CRITICAL . If the panther had clamped its fangs clean around my throat, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. But the animal was excited — probably by having outsmarted us — and tossed its head, growling savagely as we rolled over and came to a stop with the powerful beast on top of me.
As it roared, Harkat reacted with cool speed and launched a cactus missile. It could have bounced off the animal’s head or shoulders, but the luck of the vampires was with us, and the cactus sailed clean between the panther’s fearsome jaws.
The panther instantly lost interest in me and lurched aside, spitting and scratching at the cactus stuck in its mouth. I crawled away, panting, scrabbling for the knife I’d dropped. Harkat leaped over me as my fingers closed around the handle of the bone, and brought his club down upon the head of the panther.
If the club had been made of tougher material, Harkat would have killed the panther — he could do immense damage with most axes or clubs. But the wood he’d carved it from proved unworthy of the task, and the club smashed in half as it cracked over the panther’s hard skull.
The panther howled with pain and rage, and turned on Harkat, spitting spines, its yellow teeth reflecting the gleam of the afternoon sun. It swiped at his squat grey head and opened up a deep gash down the left side of his face. Harkat fell backward from the force of the blow and the panther leaped after him.
I didn’t have time to get up and lunge after the panther — it would be on Harkat before I crossed the space between us — so I sent my knife flying through the air at it. The bone deflected harmlessly off the creature’s powerful flanks, but it distracted the beast and its head snapped around. Harkat used the moment to grab a couple of the mud-balls hanging from his blue robes. When the panther faced him again, Harkat let it have the mud-balls between the eyes.
The panther squealed and turned a sharp ninety degrees away from Harkat. It scraped at its eyes with its left paw, wiping the mud away. As it was doing that, Harkat grabbed the lower half of his broken club and jammed the splintered end
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