PukeOnABook

Rahan. Episode Thirty Six. The Monkey Men. The season-of-yellow-leaves" had arrived and the son of Crao watched these golden butterflies fluttering in the wind. Then will come the "Season-without-leaves". Then that of the "Green-leaves". The trees therefore live, like "Those-who-walk-upright"! His gaze fell on a large leaf that a breath had just flattened on the surface of the pond. They also know how to "crawl on water", he thought! Amused, he followed for a moment the race that seemed to be taking place between two leaves pushed by the wind. And they go faster than Rahan's Raft, he thought! Page Two: As the son of Crao thought of his raft which he had abandoned to cross this territory, a nearby noise arose. The "Two Horns" have returned! And indeed, as on the previous day, the antelopes approached fearfully from the pond. Maybe this time Rahan can kill one! Rahan not only wanted to appease his hunger, but also to protect himself from the rigors of the leafless season he knew was near. A skin of a "Two-horn" would allow it. He was only a few paces away from the animals when they sniffed the wind. And, like the day before, they took off at the very moment when the son of Crao leapt! It was again a desperate race in the thickets. Page Three: In the confusion of which the antelopes disappeared. Rahan does not run fast enough to catch the "Two Horns"! He will have to invent a trap! Annoyed, the son of the fierce ages returned to the pond where the leaves continued their course, slipping on the water, at the mercy of the wind. Unaware that his every move was being watched, he went back to carving the fragment of branch. He was as skillful as he was patient, and the wood gradually took the form of a knife. A knife that looked just like his own ivory knife. This was just a pastime to practice his dexterity. He knew this very well! The wooden blade was ineffective, even unusable! Page Four: This weapon would break at the first shock! But Rahan is happy to have been able to reproduce his knife! A squall blew over the pond, carrying away the dead leaves at breakneck speed. If Rahan was also running he would have killed a two-horned! An experienced hunter, the son of Crao had difficulty admitting having been twice defeated by the rapid antelopes. A good hunter must think and be tenacious, said Crao! He fingered the claw of his necklace which symbolized tenacity. Tomorrow, Rahan will find a way to kill a "Two-Horn"!! He must! As night fell, he gathered leaves and dead branches to build a fire. When sparks sprang from the flints, the being who was watching him, suddenly worried, retreated into the half-light. Page Five: For a long time, the son of fierce ages meditated. Rahan could dig a pit on the passage of the "Two-Horns". But he does not have the time! And then, the "Two-horns" are cunning beasts! They would sense this trap and would avoid it! He finally fell asleep and had a strange dream. In this dream he was challenging a dead leaf in a race! Did this sensation of water he felt in his dream suggest a plan? Maybe, because of this, he woke up with a start. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan has found it. Rahan knows how to overcome the mistrust of the "Two-horns"! The fire was still glowing and the morning mist floated over the pond where the dead leaves were still gliding. Page Six: The "Two-horns" always come back to drink at the same place! They sense Rahan lying in ambush in the thickets. And they flee! But they will not sense anything if he hides in the water, under the water!! This is where Rahan will be waiting for them! The son of Crao had spotted some clumps of reeds near which the antelopes came to drink. Playfully sticking the wooden cutlass in the soft earth of the bank. He jumped into the water. The being on the lookout growled in amazement. This enemy he did not dare to attack, this enemy who knew how to bring fire out of stones, this enemy who was now crawling on the water!! Page Seven: In ambush near the reeds, his ear glued to the ground, the son of fierce ages waited a long time. His heart beat faster when he finally heard the sound of hooves. The "two-horns" are back! The "Two-horns" are coming! Indeed, he caught a glimpse of the antelopes and let himself slide under the water, supple and silent as the gray grass snake. Let them come and drink! Quickly! Rahan will not be able to stay underwater for long! Let them come quickly! Quickly! The prudent beasts watched the bank. Their nostrils throbbed, trying to detect the smell of the man. Page Eight: The son of Crao, out of breath, felt the blood rush to his neck at times. He was going to emerge from the water when. The nostrils of a "Two-horned" punctured the surface above him! He divined the head of the beast bent over the water. And he suddenly uncoiled! Ra-ha-ha! His hands gripped the horns, suddenly pulling the large antelope into the pond! The second beast, terrified, was already far away. Rahan was more cunning, and faster than the "Two-horns"!! The antelope struggled furiously to regain the bank. The son of Crao knew that a single blow from his sharp horns would kill him. Page Nine: So he decided to complete this difficult aquatic melee as soon as possible. Ra-ha-ha! The ivory knife disappeared in the red fleece. A moment later, he was hoisting the "Two-horns" onto the bank. Rahan will be able to eat for many long days! And your skin will protect him from the bite of the cold! Somewhere in the thickets, the being remained, petrified. Where did the sun-haired-enemy get his power? An idea became embedded in the primitive’s brain. All the power of the enemy came from this magic object, this pointed and wonderfully polished object. Page Ten: Soon after the son of the fierce ages had skinned the "Two-horn". He carefully cleaned the skin, which was large and healthy. Then he dried it in the bright sun, stretched out on the ground. The wooden knife is still useful to Rahan! A little later. As soon as he regains his strength, Rahan will return to the shore he glimpsed yesterday. He will build a new Raft. And set off again on the "Great River”. In search of new lands! The meat was starting to grill gently. And spread around a delicious smell. A smell completely unknown to the being who spied on the son of Crao. Page Eleven: Rahan has time to look for some fresh water! The "Two-horns" will provide him with something to bring it back! One of the long hollow horns of the antelope could, in fact, serve as a receptacle. But only the inventive Rahan could attribute this function to it! He had been able to see how brackish the water in the pond was, so he started looking for a spring. Oh! Crao would not forgive this oversight!! Deprived of the ivory knife, he felt helpless for a moment. But the light lapping of a stream reassured him. Rahan does not need his weapon. When he has drawn the water. He will return to his fire! Page Twelve: He had just plunged the horn into pure water when the wind suddenly turned. And brought him the scent of a panther. No sooner had he turned his head than the beast leapt with all claws out! It was then that the son of the fierce ages showed his marvelous instinct. He let himself fall into the stream, and he raised the long, sharp horn. Ra-ha-ha! The clear water of the stream turned red. And, surprised to be still alive, Rahan freed himself. Everything can become a weapon in the hands of "Those-who-walk-upright"! Page Thirteen: Without this horn, Rahan would have joined the "Territory of Shadows"! But maybe, without the horn, Rahan would not have forgotten his knife! Guided by the scent of grilled meat, the son of Crao easily found his fire. He was planting the horn filled with fresh water in the ground when he froze in surprise. The quarter of antelope on the fire was gone! At the same time he noticed that the ivory knife, which held the skin taut. It too had disappeared! And it was then that he saw the being in the shadow of the trees. A frighteningly hairy being who devoured the grilled meat and wielded the precious ivory knife! Page Fourteen: The son of Crao had already met "Monkey-men" as close to "Those-who-walk-upright" as "Those-who-live-in-the-trees". This meat belongs to Rahan! It was he who killed the "Two-Horns"! Rahan will share the meat with you, but he wants you to return his knife! The being growled. He tossed the meat aside, and sat up, and clutched the ivory weapon fiercely. He wants to fight! Without a knife, Rahan is lost! Unless. Unless. This weapon lets him change things!!? The son of fierce ages rushed to the “Knife of Wood”, and snatched it from the ground. Could this primitive being approaching be deceived by appearances? Rahan did not know. But he no longer had a choice!! Page Fifteen: Gragh! Ra-ha-ha! The two adversaries collided, one armed with an ivory knife, the other with a derisory wooden one!! The ape-man's fury was countered by Rahan's flexibility and cunning. He avoided all the blows. And managed to trip the being, and to paralyze his weapon arm. Rahan could cut your throat! But he does not cut the throat of those who look so much like "those-who-walk-upright!" The wooden cutlass would break before penetrating the monstrously muscled chest. But the "Monkey-man" did not know this! He threw away the ivory weapon and his cries indicated that he was surrendering to his adversary. Rahan will not take your life!! Page Sixteen: The son of Crao leapt to retrieve his knife. Smashing the branches, the being was already disappearing into the forest. This territory where men are still beasts does not suit Rahan! Rahan is going back on the big river!! He had appeased his hunger and quenched his thirst when distant shouts arose. The monkey-man has alerted his people!! Far away in fact, the wild cries of a disturbed horde were punctuated with the description which one of them made of the “enemy-with-hair-the-color-of-the-sun". A breath of anguish swept through the great forest when the horde of "Monkey-Men" set off. From the thickets to the foliage, everyone knew that the horde was on a hunt to kill!! Page Seventeen: The son of Crao, however, haunted by the unceasing clamor had just reached the shore. The sea is stormy, but that was not what worried him. The "Monkey-men" will be here very soon! Rahan will not have time to build a Raft! The wind that was blowing from the forest, indicated to him the approach of danger. They are ten times more numerous than the fingers of the two hands! For the first time the son of the fierce ages did not have to turn his ivory knife on a rock to know where to direct his steps. Looking along this shore, he saw no other way out than the great river! This stump should float as well as a raft! Page Eighteen: But will "The Great River" accept Rahan? The waves rolled in, bringing the skiff back to the beach. And this beach was suddenly invaded by the horde of "Monkey-Men". Help Rahan "Great River!" At least take me! Quickly! Hurry up! But the stump, for a moment carried out to sea, was immediately brought back by the waves!! A hail of stones fell around the raft. Rahan would have liked to teach everything he knows to the "Ape-men". But it's impossible, impossible! He can leave them only one memory! The wooden knife he threw floated on the waves and was washed ashore. Page Nineteen: A moment later the "monkey-men" were fiercely fighting over this weapon! If the "Great River" does not carry me away, Rahan will be massacred like a beast! Despite the wind blowing out to sea, the waves kept bringing the skiff back. Ah! If Rahan could glide through the water as fast as yellow leaves! The son of Crao suddenly remembered his dream. The race where he was opposed by a dead leaf. The wind beating on this curled leaf. A dazzling idea sprang from his imagination. Could not it, like the leaf, provide a great grip on the wind? His pole! The skin of "Two-Horns"! It only took him a moment to wedge the pole in place, and find the best way to stretch the skin across it. Wind! Blow on the sheet of skin!! Page Twenty: The skin tightened, and swelled. And Rahan's victorious clamor burst into the wind! Ra-ha-ha! The raft glided over the waves, out to sea! Once again, his powers of observation, his imagination, his ability to take advantage of everything. Had saved the son of Crao! The "Monkey-men" ceased to fight, and contemplated with bewilderment this enemy who escaped them. An elusive enemy who knew how to beat fire from stones and control the wind!! This primitive horde thought, on this morning in the fierce ages, that their territory had been visited by a supernatural being! It was no such thing! If Rahan was more evolved than some of his kind, he was however only a man! And it was with the pride of belonging to the great horde of "Those-who-walk-upright" that he let himself be carried away by the wind to other shores, other mysteries, other adventures. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

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The Secret History of the Five Eyes By Richard Kerbaj.

Rahan. Episode Thirty five. The Sorcerer of the Full moon. Huddled in the tree he had chosen as his nocturnal refuge, Crao's son was awakened by worrisome murmurs. And he suddenly saw a strange silhouette looming against the moon, like that of a "Wampa", on lookout above the ridge. But it is not a "Wampa"! She is a witch! And those are going to carry their offerings!! Whispers arose from a group of hunters who passed under his refuge laden with quarters of meat. Page Two: It has been days and days since Rahan has encountered any hunters! He dominated his urge to challenge these men. Knowing how dangerous it was to disturb the customs of those-who-walk-upright. Rahan will find them later! Shortly after, the hunters deposited their offerings halfway up the hill. Then they fled while the witch waved her arms, like a "Wampa" ready to take flight. They were going back under the tree when Crao's son signaled his presence. Rahan greets you, brothers! Rahan is happy to finally meet men! The clan froze, petrified with dread. You lie! You are Sonaya! You took on the appearance of a hunter to. Show us your power! Page Three: The sorcerer on the hill had disappeared. We just brought you the Round Moon Offerings! What else do you expect from us, Sonaya!? They take Rahan for a wizard, thought Rahan! How can Rahan convince them that he is just a hunter like them!? The men, frightened, flowed back into the thickets, and they were absorbed by the darkness. With the day, their fear will dissipate. Rahan will prove to them that he is not Sonaya-the-sorcerer! The son of fierce ages could not find sleep. Why do "Those-who-walk-upright" flee or kill each other? He thought of all the clans he had been able to reconcile. He was thinking of the one of the "big men” that he had rid of a terrible monster. Page Four: Dawn came, and he followed the tracks of the hunters, that led to a wide river. He glimpsed huts on the other side. A little later. Rahan will not make it to the other side of the river alive! The "Piranes" will devour him! Worrying swarms on the surface proved that this river was infested by what Crao called "Piranes". These formidable little fish were capable of shredding a hunter in an instant down to a skeleton! Either Rahan must build a raft, or he must lure the "Piranes" to another prey! The son of Crao did not hesitate between the two solutions. A roaring panther loomed up behind him! That will satisfy the "Piranhas"! Page Five: The beast crouched. But his powerful leap was stopped by Rahan, who was very used to these fights. Ra-ha-ha! The ivory blade plunged only once into the ocellus side, striking down the panther! On the other side the hunters heard the victorious cry. Astonished, they saw the son of Crao throw the body of the beast into the river. And while. The multitudes of Piranhas sprang from all sides, throwing themselves voraciously on this prey. Rahan Dove in! Page Six: He knew his diversion would allow him time to swim to the other shore. He hoisted himself onto it, while the "Piranhas" still fought over the carcass of the panther. The men, worried, prepared to flee. Rahan is not a wizard! He just proved he is just a hunter, like you! If Rahan was Sonaya, as you believe, he would not have feared the "Piranhas"! He would have used his wizarding powers to drive them away! Overcoming his fears, the leader of the clan rushed forward. Fraukk may join "The Territories of Shadows"! But he will know if you are Sonaya or not! Page Seven: The club fell with such force that Rahan thought his chest was bursting. Ha-ha-ha! So you are vulnerable!! Aiming for the head of his unconscious adversary, Fraukk was about to finish him off with another blow. When. Stop Fraukk! Stop! Maybe Sonaya is cunning! If you strike again, their curse will fall on us all!! Another hunter interrupted. The next night will bring us the truth! We all know Sonaya can take on a lot of appearances. But they cannot appear in several. Places at the same time. If Sonaya appears on the hill tonight, and if this man is still among us, he will have told the truth! Page Eight: When the son of Crao came to, he was tied to a Baobab, away from the village. Rahan should have run away from this clan! Why does he always come back to "Those-who-walk-upright"!? Fraukk has spared Rahan and has left him his knife! Would he still think Rahan is a sorcerer?? The doubt, indeed, remained among the men of the clan. Why do you come with the round moon to haunt our hills, Sonaya? Why demand meat as an offering, Sonaya? Rahan is not Sonaya! Rahan is Rahan, the son of Crao!! We will find out tonight!! When the "Round Moon” shines!! The man who pointed to the crest of the hill, was robust like all of his people. Page Nine: Rahan has encountered few clans whose hunters were all so strong! But why do they wait for the round moon to decide his fate? The son of the fierce ages tried, in vain, to free himself from his bonds. When the sun disappeared, his bruised wrists were still securely bound! As the grayness of twilight filled the sky, he saw the hunters in the village gather around their leader, Fraukk. And he heard a voice near him! I come to deliver you, Sonaya! But you will take me with you to the hills! The man who emerged from the half-light clutched a flint. His right arm hung lifeless, certainly broken. Arke was trampled by a "Long Nose". Arke is no longer useful to the clan! Page Ten: Because his arm is dead, Arke will be fed to the "Piranhas"!! That is why Arke wants to go with you Sonaya!! The poorly formed flint hardly cut the bonds of the captive. Take that knife, Arke! These vines will be cut faster! Oh! I Knew Sonaya had magic weapons! The ivory blade had, with a single blow, cut through the bonds! You are free, Sonaya! Why do you not fight Farukk?? You have the power! Eh? Er? Later. It cost the son of Crao to abuse his savior's trust. But now was not the time for explanations. To the rafts, Arke, Quick! Quickly! Page Eleven: Fraukk, however harangued his clan. The Round Moon will soon crown the hill! We will then know if the captive lied. Oh! Turning his gaze to the Boabab, the chief observed Rahan's disappearance. So it was Sonaya! Only a wizard can break free without a trace! Playing the game to sow doubt, the son of Crao had indeed taken away and thrown his bonds into the river. The night is with us Arke! Let us enjoy it!! The Raft was in the middle of the river when it hit a rock. If Rahan knew how to stay on the skiff. It was not the same for Arke, whose right arm was broken. Clinging to the logs, the unfortunate man flailed in the swarm of "Piranhas" rising from the depths. Page Twelve: Rahan snatched up the man from whose legs the voracious fish clung. The ivory knife sliced off the heads, and broke the jaws of the most tenacious "Piranhas". Arke will be saved! Rahan knows the herbs that heal bites! Afterwards, on the other bank, Crao's son was nursing his companion. The moon, huge and round, seemed to rest on the hill. Arke screamed when the silhouette evoking a "Wampa" was cut out there. Sonaya! The sorcerer of the "Round Moon"!! But if Sonaya is up there, on the hill, and if you are near Arke. It must be that you are not Sonaya! Who are you, then! A simple hunter like you, Arke! A hunter who has only one desire tonight. To discover the secret of Sonaya!! Page Thirteen: As soon as he had bandaged his companion's legs, Rahan rushed towards the hill, as if climbing to an assault on the moon. When he was a hundred paces from the sorcerer who was flapping their "Wings" he understood that these were only large deer skins. At fifty paces, he made out a face with a hooked nose, with long hair falling halfway down the body. At twenty steps, he realizes that this hideous face was only a mask of painted terracotta. That was when he sat up and launched his challenge. No River Clan hunter has dared come so close to you, Sonaya! If Rahan does, it is because he does not believe in the supernatural powers of wizards! Page Fourteen: Sonaya, plunging into a ravine, disappeared from view. He then jumped towards the ridge. And the clan of Fraukk, from the river bank, saw him take the place, of the missing wizard, in front of the round moon. The unknown man was indeed Sonaya! By striking him, Fraukk defied the spirits! Fraukk will die and his clan will experience famine! And while Fraukk lamented. The son of the fierce ages was chasing the wizard. Do not run away, Sonaya! Rahan knows how to catch up with you, even in your Lair!! At the entrance to the cave, the sorcerer pulled out a spear stuck in the ground. Do not try to kill Rahan Wizard!! Rahan will have to defend his life!! Page Fifteen: The spear, armed with a coarse flint, mewed in the ears of Crao's son. Zium! The Sorcerer was about to grab a second when Rahan, quicker, threw his knife. Zlang! Rahan did not want to steal your life, Sonaya! But the savage law orders him to defend his own! But! Oh! A shiver ran through the son of fierce ages. Despite the ivory blade stuck in his heart, the sorcerer shouted orders!! He was then plunged into a nightmare. Puny and deformed beings rose from the cave. Some had one arm amputated, others were skipping around without a leg. Rahan has lost his mind! Help me Crao! Page Sixteen: This fantastic pack surrounded him, mastered him, and dragged him towards the fire that was burning at the bottom of the cave. No one has the right to unveil the domain of Sonaya! But you are not part of the clan of the river and you were perhaps unaware of this law. Beneath the frightening mask, the voice was calm, almost soft. A staggering man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the cave. It was Arke! I implore your protection, Sonaya! As for Rahan, he is a loyal and brave hunter! He fought Farukk and saved me from the Piranhas, to lead me to you! Since a "Long Nose" broke my arm, the clan has decided on my death! If Rahan is the loyal man you say he is, he will know the truth! On condition of never revealing it to those of the river. Rahan gives you his word! Page Seventeen: The sorcerer dropped the heavy skins, and Rahan saw how slender the sorcerer was. He also saw the bark plate protecting the chest and in which his knife had stuck. You are the first true hunter to know our secret! Sonaya then took off her mask and a young woman's face was revealed!! We were all once members of the river clan. But a barbaric custom made us flee. This custom consists of. Eliminating all those who, crippled or injured, are no longer useful for hunting! Some are thrown to the piranhas. Others are abandoned in the jungle, delivered to wild animals! It is these unfortunates that we collect in our cave. Page Eighteen: They are unfortunately unable to hunt and that is why at the time when the moon is round, I appear as a sorcerer on the hill. One night I wear one mask, the next night another. This is how Fraukk's men think I can change my appearance! It was enough for me to threaten the clan with my curse, to bend these barbarians to my will. They place their offering of meat away from this cave, as I demand. And this meat feeds my companions until the epoch of the new round moon! This tale enchanted the son of ferocious Ages. So the river clan unknowingly feeds those they hunted! But has Fraukk never tried anything against you? Yes, but only once. Page Nineteen: One night, he crossed the line that I set for his men. The flint he threw at me stuck in the bark shield. Like your knife! This reinforced the idea in the clan, that the "Sorcerer-of-the-round-moon" is invulnerable. How did you imagine all these tricks! You who are neither sick nor infirm, you did not have to fear the barbarous custom! Me no! But my father was a victim of it. He was a brave hunter. But one day he was charged by a big "Two-Tooth" He could have recovered, but the savage custom demanded that he be thrown into the river! It was after seeing my poor father torn to pieces by the Piranhas that I took refuge in the hills. Page Twenty: Later others joined me. We formed this new clan. Where everyone helps each other, as all "Those-who-walk-upright" should do! But if Fraukk learned that the "Sorcerer-of-the-round-moon" Is only a young woman, He would come to decimate these unfortunates! He will never know! Rahan will never betray you, Sonaya! It was the first time that Crao's son had made a pact with a Sorcerer! But this Sorcerer or rather this witch had nothing in common with those he had known! Keep watch long over your banished clan, Sonaya! Rahan will not forget you! The seasons passed. Whenever the time of the radiant moon returned, Rahan thought of Sonaya and those barbarous and stupid beings who brought offerings to them. That they had hunted from their clan! And each time, this thought made the son of fierce ages very happy. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Thirty Four. The Forest of Axes. Intrigued by the strange forest he discovered at the bottom of the valley, the son of Crao did not immediately hear the huge reptile that was coiling in the branches. When the light rustling of the scales on the rough bark alerted him it was too late, the snake was too close! Back, “Boak”!! Rahan only violated your domain to orient himself! He does not want to fight! Rahan did not even reach for his ivory knife. Page Two: Ra-ha-ha! Because he knew that a hand to hand melee on these fragile branches would be fatal to him. Seeing a sturdier branch, he dived towards this refuge. Crack! His cry was followed by the crack of the branch breaking in shock. He glimpsed the top of the tree toppling over in the sky. And fell into the void, shattering the branches that lashed his body. Had he escaped the boa to crash to the ground? No! His fall was abruptly stopped and he felt himself rocking gently, almost pleasantly. Crao said that luck often comes to the aid of hunters! The coincidence was that this forked fragment that he had not let go of, had hooked up on a long, paired branch. Page Three: For the son of Crao, the jump that brought him back to the ground was just a game. Farewell Boak! Rahan cannot wait to take a closer look at this bush with thorns of flint! A moment later he was descending towards those thickets which had so intrigued him. Son of fierce ages, Rahan had crossed many territories, met many hordes, and attended many rites. But what he discovered that day amazed him. It is not nature that made these stone thorns grow!! But those who walk upright!! All around him, branches and bushes were bristling with flints of all shapes. Even Crao, who knew so much, never spoke of such a strange forest. Page Four: Rahan and no time to ask other questions. Death to him who violates the "Forest of Axes" in the season of yellow leaves! Weapons flew around Rahan as he fled. The handle of one of them reached his neck. Robust, he quickly recovered his wits. I am Rahan, son of Crao! I cross this territory as a friend! But the hunters disarmed and overpowered him. The clan chief admired the thin but strong ivory blade. When the next "Season-without-leaves" comes, Baroa will have the most beautiful weapon! The knife belongs to Rahan! It is now owned by Baroa! With a violent blow of the knife, Baroa severed an axe-branch. Page Five: He split this one, and slipped in the blade. Strongly fortifying the branch with the help of a vine. The "Blood-of-the-tree" will do the rest! Moons follow moons, seasons follow seasons and the "Blood of the tree" will act. Your knife and this branch will be one forever! For the son of Crao the mystery of the forest of axes was suddenly cleared up. The branches, coming together over the seasons, would form around the flints the most solid, the most effective of attachments. Baroa and his hunters have discovered a marvelous secret! Rahan will reveal it to the clans he meets! The leaders of the horde shall decide whether Rahan should live or die! Surrounding their captive, the hunters were already dragging him towards a hill. Page Six: The clan was only halfway up the slope when shouts arose from the forest of axes. "Those-of-the-cliff" once again betray their word! Entrusting Rahan to two of their own, the hunters screamed down into the forest. A moment later, the men of Baroa and "the people of the cliff" were wildly fighting. Despite the distance, the son of Crao heard the flint weapons clashing. Why do they fight? Why are they killing each other? Because "Those-of-the-cliff" do not have the right to enter the forest of axes! Watching the flow of the combat, the hunters were less vigilant. Crao would not pass up this opportunity to escape! Page Seven: Ra-ha-ha! Rahan's two fists struck at the same time. The hunters had not gotten up when he leapt into the rocks, as nimble as a chamois. With the night they will not find Rahan! But Rahan, he must find his knife! Shortly afterwards, as the sun was setting, the son of Crao saw the two clans which, each side by side, were abandoning the forest of the Axes. Like most hunters, they fear fighting in the dark! Their fear can benefit Rahan! Page Eight: Rahan stealthily moved through the silent forest, looking for the copse where Baroa had "Grafted" his ivory knife. When a spear, narrowly missing him, stuck itself in a trunk! Shtok! If it was not for this injury, I would not have missed you, hill dog!! Rahan does not belong to the clan of the hills! He is looking for his knife that Baroa stole from him!! A knife!? When so many axes are at your fingertips! Weapons. I will not see more. When I am in "shadow territory"! Rahan understood that this man, indeed, would not survive his terrible wound. Whose idea was it to use the "Blood of the Trees" to make these axes? No one does. Know anymore. The fathers, of our fathers, perhaps. Or maybe them. The fathers of fathers, from "Those of the Hills". Page Nine: In the past, our two clans respected the custom! Everyone waited for "the-seasons-without-leaves" when "the blood-of-the-trees", had made strong axes, to come and get new weapons for our hunts. At that time peace reigned. But each clan wanted to own more axes than the other! We no longer waited for the season without leaves to get weapons. And the fights started as soon as the men of one clan were reported in the forest, with the men of the other clan running to chase them away! This is what happened today. But for me. This will be the last fight. The dying man was panting. His drooping fingers felt his shell necklace. Since. You are not involved in our Discords, I hope you will accept. To take this to Troik. Troik is my son. Page Ten: Rahan remembered that cruel day of his childhood when Crao-the-wise, before dying, had given him his necklace of claws. Rahan will put this necklace around Troik's neck himself! Rahan promises you! The hunter's eyelids fluttered as if to give thanks. Then they closed forever. Rahan will find the copse when it's daylight! The son of Crao searched for his knife for a long time. But the darkness was too deep. He headed towards the cliff at the foot of which were cut out entrances to caves. As no fire burned in these caves, nor on the hills. He concluded that these two clans, like many others he had met, did not know how to start the fire using the “stones-that-throw-stars". Page Eleven: He was crawling towards the caves when. Those of the hills are crawling like snakes now!! Stand! Goaded by the spears, the son of Crao obeyed. Look! Troar's necklace! He killed Troar and dares to spy on us! Rahan did not kill Troar! But he saw him die and Troar asked him to bring this necklace back to his son, Troik! Rahan speaks the truth! Men and children came out of the caves. Which of you is Troik? That is me! Your father is dead, Troik. His last words were to regret those stupid fights between you and the clan of the hills! Page Twelve: The adolescent let the necklace pass around his neck. You lie! You have killed Troar, and this necklace is only a pretext to come and spy on us, to find out the number of our hunters! Death to the dog from the hills. A few men rushed in, spears held high. Death! Ra-ha-ha! The first hunter was disarmed, without having been able to understand how. Ra-ha-ha! A terrifying roundhouse threw the other men to the ground. But the son of Crao could not and did not want to face this pack! A roar of rage and resentment arose as he rushed to the forest of axes. Page Thirteen: A moment later he was running between the first thickets bristling with flints. They dare not chase Rahan! But as soon as the sun rises Rahan will be hunted down by both the Cliff Clan and the Hill Clan! Had it not been for his precious ivory knife which he wanted to find, the son of Crao would have immediately fled this hostile territory. Ohh! Luck is with Rahan! Chance, indeed, had brought him back near the copse where his weapon had been consigned to the "Blood-of-the-trees". The spear cut through the vine. The branch parted, releasing the knife. Page Fourteen: You will never belong to Baroa, like that bully thought! You will remain Rahan's faithful weapon! Besides, "Men-of-the-cliffs" and "Men-of-the-Hills", will find here more weapons than they need to massacre each other from father to son! The son of fierce ages pouted in deep sadness. Why are “Those-who-walk-upright” killing each other to own this forest? The pout suddenly gave way to a resolute expression. The reason for these massacres would disappear if this forest did not exist! Yes. That is how Crao would have thought! The forest must disappear! The son of Crao was already gathering dry brushwood. Page Fifteen: He did not have to beat the flint for long. Flames rose, on which he threw resinous twigs. From the top of the hills, they had seen this fire light up mysteriously. But this miracle could not be attributed to a man. They did not understand until they caught a glimpse of Rahan running through the forest, and throwing here and there his flaming twigs! Fanned by the wind, the fire uncovered the carpet of dry grass. The flames on all sides wrapped around the resinous trunks. And gnawed the branches where, for seasons, the blood-of-the-trees had welded the flint axes. The son of Crao had fled, so as not to be surrounded by the enclosure of fire. Page Sixteen: He perceived, in spite of the crackling, and of the flames, the angry howls coming from the cliffs and falling from the hills. Howl! Howl! You will probably understand one day what Rahan has done for you! At daybreak the forest of axes was no more than charred trunks at the feet of which lay hundreds of flints. The son of Crao did not see this sight because he was fleeing to the south. To be hunted by the clan of the cliffs and that of the hills. The wide precipice that stopped his course did not surprise him. Because he had often had to cross obstacles of this kind. Page Seventeen: He knew that a very long line would allow him to pass across this ravine. But would his pursuers give him time? The first time the lasso missed the rock that he was aiming for on the other side of the ravine. Ra-ha-ha! But on the second attempt, the loop tightened on the rock. He was tying the vine to the trunk of a tree when the hunters appeared in the distance. Rahan is lost! Rahan is agile, but he will not even get to the middle of the ravine when these men arrive! And then they will cut the vine! Page Eighteen: Rahan will fall over the precipice as he fell from the tree yesterday! Oh! Oh! The Branch! Rahan's face suddenly lit up. And in a fraction of a second, he remembered how a branch had saved him from falling to his death. The ivory blade repeatedly fell on a forked branch. The hunters were now only a hundred paces from him. They were only fifty paces away when the branch was finally separated! A few spears stuck around the son of Crao who, placing the forked branch on the vine. Page Nineteen: Ra-ha-ha! Let himself fall into the void! Clinging to the branch that slipped on the vine, Rahan knew that his life depended on the seconds that were to follow. While the slope of the precipice came on him at a mad speed, in the distance a hunter raised his axe to cut the line. Clong! That axe fell just as Rahan let himself roll near the granite rock, on the other side of the ravine! Only a demon is capable of such a thing! We should not have hunted a being who has knowledge of starting fire. Page Twenty: Listen to his cry! Maybe he will come back for revenge!? Ra-ha-ha! The hunters were wrong. This cry uttered by Rahan was neither a cry of hatred, nor a cry of revenge! It was quite simply the clamor he launched when he had overcome a danger, or triumphed over a peril. They will not kill each other anymore for the "Axe Forest"! Crao the wise would have been proud of Rahan! Once again, in these fierce times, Rahan had acted for the happiness of "Those-who-walk-upright". And if he rushed forward, happy and light-hearted, in pursuit of an immense butterfly, it was not to capture the insect, but because it was leading him to discover new territories. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid. Part Two,Chapters 10-21 1979, by Douglas Hofstadter. Part I: https://rumble.com/v39y44y-goedel-escher-bach-part-i.-1979-book-by-douglas-hofstadter..html

GEB. Part One. Chapters 1 to 9. Version 2 of an attempt at an audiobook Part Two: https://rumble.com/v3a6wlu-gdel-escher-bach-an-eternal-golden-braid-part-two.-by-douglas-hofstadter..html

Reptile. Episode Ten. Checkmate! Thanks to Mark Bowen, the police now know the sinister secret of "Reptile", the terrifying professor Andros Androphis, who can transform in reptile, and whose avowed goal is to dominate the universe by Terror! Thousands of Londoners have already submitted to Reptile’s power, thanks to a type of drug, whose composition Mark has decided to find an antidote for. But the professor stops on the way to the laboratory where Mark has proceeded. Ha-ha-ha! The locks do not present any difficulty for me! Ha-ha! My elastic fingers sneak into everywhere and everything! Sneak! Sneak! However on the bridge where the path of Mark Bowen, Inspector Manning and their prisoner was still blocked by the reptile creatures. There is no way to pass, Manning! There is a way by taking a little dip! Page Two: Thud! Sorry friend, but I cannot help it! Urgh! You guys give up and get out! We cannot do anything against such madmen! And as a result, the police who had tried to open a passage for them retreated in disaster. Whew! It is about time! Plof! Page Three: Help me keep his head above water Manning! I am here! I have one foot on the top of a pile on this bridge! Weird, we do not hear any more up there! Reptile's "supporters" are probably no longer there. Maybe the professor called them back?! I would like to know where that one went. The main thing is that we arrive at the laboratory without problems! No doubt, but. I have the feeling of being observed. Page Four: Ha-ha-ha! The only enemies who can really harm me will soon be here! This time I am going to finish them! A little later. The house is deserted! The inhabitants who did not submit to the power of reptile fled, like everywhere else. Wait, you never know. Nobody here! We can go! Wham! Over there, Manning! I worked here for three years though, I know the place well! Hum. This silence disconcerts me. Page Five: Ha-ha! This is where you will be impressed, I guarantee it. Oh! Dangerous reptiles are locked up behind this glass. Those that we want to study, and whose venom we want to harvest to make the antidote! Hey what are you doing? I told you, I will take some venom. Wait for me there! While he left the inspector, and the Reptile follower they had captured, Mark had no idea that. Ha! Fools! They have no idea what awaits them. Page Six: Poor guy. I hope Mark Bowen's antidote will soon free you from the grip of this mad criminal. He calls me a criminal lunatic. I should kill him, but I want him to witness Bowen's end! Suddenly. Ha! You should know that I will always be the strongest, you fool. However. Impressive, of course, for who do not know these animals. But as long as there is no fear, they are not. Klang! Hey! What is that! Page Seven: Klang! Damn, someone closed the outside door! Manning! Manning! Manning! You hear me? Where are you? Page Eight: By gosh, Androphis! Knock! Knock! And so, ha-ha-ha! You have once again underestimated these immense powers, my poor Bowen! This time I hold you and I hold you well! A fine mess you are in! Look! Page Nine: Gosh! The Mobile Mamba! You who are a specialist, you know how dangerous this snake is! A snake that obeys me, by finger and eye, like all reptiles! Strike Mamba! Strike! Argh! Klung! Page Ten: Ha-ha-ha! What fun, how much longer can you dodge? I can order these reptiles to attack you all together! I have to get out of here fast! Hiss! Hiss! Poor fool! You do not have a chance to get out! But at that moment. Huh! What happened to me? By Gad! Reptile! It can't be him. Page Eleven: Just laugh. You are going to die. And I will get your friend the inspector to witness your end! No it is not possible! Shoot Manning! PULL! Do not wait! Ha! You will not get me, Inspector! Beware of the venom in his ring, Manning! Page Twelve: No one can do anything against the invincible Reptile! Guh! The policeman only just had time to dodge the jet of venom. Hiss! Curse you! You will not always have the last word, scoundrel! Argh! Page Thirteen: He runs away. But I have to think about Mark! Get away from the glass, Mark. Blam! Crash! Deflated Soufflé! Thanks old man. Do not let him away now! I hurt him, Mark! Page Fourteen: Curse him! He did this to me! But I am still master of the situation, thanks to my slaves! By Gosh! At the speed he moves, we will never get him! Hum! Better go back to our original plan, Manning! Without taking any more time, the two friends returned to the laboratory. Ah! Our prisoner comes to his senses. Oh! Be careful, he is dangerous! Page Fifteen: But much to the surprise of Mark and Detective Manning. Where am I? Who are you?? He. He is normal! Yes, I am missionary position with the lights out! You do not remember Reptile, your master? My Master? But finally. What are you telling me? I do not understand anything. As clearly as he could, Mark recounted to the man what had happened. Unexplainable, Manning. Unless Reptile freed him from his grip. Why would he trust it? The explanation was very simple and at that same moment, near the transmitter which allowed him to control his troops Reptile launched a new appeal. Page Sixteen: Hello Reptile is talking to you! I am addressing the government. I know it can hear me. I have just ordered my slaves to be quiet. You have been able to observe the extent of my power. I give you a final warning. If you do not cede power tonight, Great Britain will sink into a bloodbath! As for my slaves, they will come to the rendezvous that I set for them, the halls of parliament! Page Seventeen: Mark Bowen and Manning had also picked up the message from the demented criminal. We will never get out of this, Mark! Let us not lose our heads! Now is not the time! For a start, I am going to give you a blood test, my friend! Perfect. And I am going to call the Prime Minister! Later. It is not going well. The government is being urged to give in to blackmail. From all sides! The idiots! They have no idea what Reptil will be capable of when he gets power. He will make England a country of Zombies that he will launch to conquer the world. Page Eighteen: Hours go by. Never had Mark Bowen worked with such savage ferocity. So. Wait, I think I have correct solution! Here are the constituent elements of the hypnotic substance of Professor Androphis! Elements very sensitive to. No! I prefer to check before deciding. An hour later, the telephone rang at the ultra-secret headquarters where the British government had retreated, some miles from the capital. The red phone! Certainly Inspector Manning for the Prime Minister! Pick it up, quick! Page Nineteen: What do you say? Bowen A. Marvelous! You think? Well, I will do what you suggest, as for the special equipment, I will give the orders immediately. Gentlemen! I will announce without delay the resignation of the government. Bollocks! We’re all on the dole now! “U-B-Forties” all-round! A little later. What are your instructions Professor? So. Hiss! I will wait for you tonight in Parliament Hiss! Square with the members of your cabinet! Page Twenty: Mark Bowen and Inspector Manning had intercepted the radio communication. And no ambushes, please, hiss! My slaves hiss, will be there to prevent any attempt at cheating on your part. That is done. All that remains is for us to take delivery of the equipment that the Prime Minister is making available to us! All right! And our friend? Since the experiment I made on you, you are no longer under the domination of Reptile! We will put you under police protection for now! Page Twenty-one: Night had fallen when the two friends arrived at the barracks of the signal regiment where the special equipment was waiting for them. Captain Jones at your service gentlemen. What is it about? Quite simply to snatch the country from the reign of terror that Reptile has mae! You will be the master of this device. We must get rid of this Horrible Reptile! How so? Thanks to the equipment of this transmitting car! Page Twenty-two: I discovered that the hypnotic substance, conveyed by the blood of the slaves of Reptile, can be destroyed by ultra-sonic sounds emitted on short waves! However! So. Bowen and his friend have not come forward and it is far too late now for them to do so. I will make the final call! Hello my slaves! I told the Prime Minister that you had returned to normal. Now I need you again! Reptile calls us again! Our master needs us! This is how it was in hundreds of homes. We have to go! Page Twenty-three: A little later, at the Parliament buildings. Our triumph is near, Slaves! Before long the prime minister and cabinet members will be there and you will have to kill them! But until the very last moment the enemy can be manifest! Be on your guard and eliminate anyone who can harm us. Page Twenty-four: However cars were driving towards the place of the parliament. Really, do you not believe there is any other solution minister? I do not see any and I decided to trust this young Professor Bowen! Anyway, we have no choice, Forsythe! Reptile will kill us, I am sure, my dear! At the same time. One more mile and we are there captain. As long as no one stands in our way. Page Twenty-five: Are you ready friends? We are on the desired frequency. You have only to give the signal and we will emit the ultrasound! But suddenly. Watch out down there! Kill them all! Let us destroy! Skrunch! They are enemies of Reptile, our master! Page Twenty-six: Transmit, quickly or we are stuck! Quickly! Quickly! Let us destroy! Let us kill! Quickly! I tell you! Thrum! Thrum! Page Twenty-seven: And that was when, almost miraculously. Thrum! Thrum! What is happening? I feel like I have slept for days and days. That works! Let us continue our journey to Parliament Square! Right away, sir! Hurry up, time is running out! Page Twenty-eight: At this same moment. What did I tell you, my slaves! Hiss! Hiss! Here are the members of the government! Hiss! Massacre them! But suddenly. Transmit! Page Twenty-nine: Eh!? What is this! Massacre I tell you! What is going on? Where am I? My bottom, I mean my head! It still works! This time, it is absolutely necessary to finish with Reptile! I am not defeated! You will not get me! Ah! Page Thirty: Rifles! Quick! Unless, the ultrasound got the better of him! You mean they transfigured him into Professor Androphis before he hit the water!! This is logical, since he carried in his veins a substance similar to that which hypnotized his "Slaves". Dredge the river and you will find the remains of the evil Reptile! https://rumble.com/v37ntd6-reptile-index-of-episodes-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.html

Rahan. Episode Thirty-Three. The Monster from another Time! The son of Crao knew that hand to hand combat with the charging gorilla would be fatal to him. That was why he threw his knife, hoping to stop the assailant. Ra-ha-ha! Grargh! But he had launched his cry of victory too soon! Although the ivory blade had stuck in the hairy chest, it had not reached any vital organ. The pain increasing its rage, the animal snatched the weapon and threw it away. Rahan is lost! He will die like Toak and Crakaa! Page Two: Rahan remembered a hunt during which, still a child, he had witnessed the end of two men, suffocated and crushed by one of these monstrous "Four-Hands". Gragh! While the gorilla hammered his injured chest, Rahan, disarmed, sought refuge in the thickets. And it was then that he stumbled upon the root that the weeds hid from him! He was about to get up when he noticed that this root was not a root. But the handle of an ax!! A huge axe, longer and heavier than any he had seen. It may not be Rahan who will join the "Territory of the Shadows" "Four Hands"! Page Three: The son of Crao, although robust, had to make an effort to lift the unusual weapon. The gorilla was charging at him furiously. And it was a violent and terrible blow. The thick flint of the ax plunged into the monster's chest. Ra-ha-ha! The victorious clamor was this time justified. You should not have tried to steal the life of Rahan "Four-Hands"! Rahan hates killing. Especially those who look so much like "Those-who-Walk-Upright"! But Rahan must defend himself! Rahan wants to live! Such is the law in these fierce times. To kill in order not to be killed oneself. To steal the life of an Adversary to preserve one's own. Page Four: The providential axe still stupefied the son of Crao. The hunter who lost this weapon must be much bigger than Rahan! Would there exist, on this territory, stronger men than this "Four-Hands"? Abandoning the heavy axe, Rahan went in search of his knife. The ”Four-Hands” threw it over there. Over there in the thickets. He quickly found his weapon, but a new surprise awaited him. No! It's impossible! Rahan must be dreaming! The knife was stuck in the ground in the middle of a gigantic imprint. Similar footprints dug into the ground thirty paces away. Rahan does not know any animal that leaves such large and deep tracks! Page Five: Intrigued, and with a beating heart, the son of Crao followed this strange track which led him towards the forest. To what territory had his destiny led him, where everything was so disproportionate? Oh! A herd of "Two-tooth" couldn't have wreaked more havoc!! But the tracks proved that only one animal had passed there and yet, over a width of twenty paces, the trees had been broken, uprooted! Rahan wants to know! Rahan wants to see the beast more powerful than a troop of "Two-tooth"! The son of the fierce ages walked a long time in this trench dug in the jungle! And suddenly his throat knotted. He had the certainty of living a nightmare and, for the first time in his life, he felt overcome by dread. Page Six: In a clearing, within an arrow's reach, stood a fantastic monster! The head, the legs, the tail, everything about this unknown animal inspired horror. Crao believed that giant beasts once haunted forests and rivers. But he said that those monsters of times past had disappeared! Could Rahan have in front of him the last survivor? Oh! The gaze of the great saurian had just fixed on him! Page Seven: He could gobble up Rahan like a frog gobbles up a fly! As the monster moved heavily, Rahan fled. He heard the ground shake behind him and. Argh! A loose bamboo had suddenly straightened up and slammed him into the trunk of a tree!! He freed himself quickly. And resumed his mad dash. This escape is also useless because the saurian. Perhaps considering this prey too tiny and too agile, and unworthy of its voracity, it had turned back! Page Eight: But the son of fierce ages still fled unable to drive the horrible vision from his mind. He was still running when loud laughter resounded in the thickets. Ah! Ha-ha-ha! The little man has met the "Karaka"!! The hunters that sprung up around Rahan were far taller than him. Do not be afraid, little man! If the "Karaka" had wanted to devour you, it would have already been done!! He must have found you too puny, "Little Man"! Stop calling me "Little man"!! I am Rahan, the son of Crao!! Yes! Rahan was afraid of "Karaka"!! But he is not afraid of you! All those sardonic looks directed at him irritated Rahan. Page Nine: You hear! This puny stranger dares to challenge Gurg!! Ha-ha-ha! These words were addressed from the one who seemed to be the chief of the clan. Ha-ha-ha! Laughing, with a simple push, the colossus threw Rahan to the ground! I could break your spine in one fell swoop!! Like this! With one blow, indeed, Gurg broke a strong branch on his knee! Crack! Strength is not everything, Gurge! Flexibility and cunning often triumph! Rahan can prove it to you!! Ra-ha-ha! The laughter redoubled when the son of Crao, crouching like a beast, dove into the chief's legs. Page Ten: Gurg did not even waver! And it was Rahan who, thrown back by a violent kick, found himself on his back, a few steps from his adversary. Rahan has not lost this fight yet, Gurg! The astonished hunters saw the "Little Man" leap towards a vine, knife in hand! It only took him a moment to cut through the vine, form a loop, and return to Gurg. What do you hope for, "little man"!? To knock you down! The colossus rushed forward. But as soon as he had lifted his foot. Rahan threw his vine. No sooner had the knot tightened on Gurg's ankle than he was already spinning around him, entrapping the other leg! Ra-ha-ha! Page Eleven: The clan's cry of amazement turned into a clamor of admiration as Rahan unbalanced the leader. The son of Crao circled again, using the vine with marvelous skill. Gurg's arms were in turn bound. And the colossus could not react when his opponent knocked him down. Was Rahan not right when he said strength is not everything?! No one before you has held Gurg at his mercy! You can kill me! You have the right! Rahan only steals the life of "Those who walk upright" when his own is threatened! You did not want to kill Rahan, Rahan will not kill you! Page Twelve: A dull hammering suddenly shook the ground. The hunters scattered screaming in terror. The "Karaka"! The ”Karaka” is coming! The terrifying head of the saurian appeared above the trees. In a moment, the monster would be in the clearing. Flee Rahan! Flee! The time has come for Gurg to join the "Territory of Shadows"! The son of the fierce ages could certainly have thought of his own life. But the thought did not even cross his mind. The ivory blade sliced through the vine in which Gurg was still entangled. We will flee together, or we will die together! Gurg was free when the monster of times past arose, in a noise of trampled thickets and shattered branches. Page Thirteen: Don't move Rahan! Do not move! The "Karaka" almost never attacks hunters it believes to be dead! It prefers agitated prey! Huddled together Gurg and Rahan saw the saurian rush into the clearing. When our men are thus surprised, they do as we do. Alas! It happens that the "Karaka" sometimes crushes them, without even having seen them!! The monster rushed straight ahead, stupidly, no doubt aimlessly. He was only a hundred paces from the two men. These, as if petrified, held their breath. Should the "Karaka" deviate on its course, they would be crushed under its terrible paws! Page Fourteen: They felt like the ground was going to open up beneath them. The huge crested tail of scales dug a trench in the tall grass. And the monster disappeared in a new crash of branches. And so it has been for seasons and seasons! This "Karaka" lives alone on our territory but his threat constantly hangs over our clan. Each time we tried to destroy it, we lost several of our own! Why not lure him into a trap! Why suffer? It's impossible! The "Karaka" always follows the same tracks! He never departs from it! Come to the village, Rahan. I know my brothers have admired your agility. I will tell them about your courage and loyalty! Page Fifteen: The son of Crao was indeed warmly welcomed by the clan of Gurg. The mockery had given way to respect. I despised you because you were small. I was wrong! Yes, Gurg! You were wrong. Rahan has known many clans and many hordes! He met hunters smaller than him, others bigger! And he knows that strength alone is not a sufficient quality! The size of "Those-who-walk-upright" is of no importance, if they know how to show courage, intelligence, kindness, and loyalty!! Thoughtfully, Rahan fingered the necklace that Crao-the-wise gave him before he died. The necklace, each claw of which symbolized one of the qualities he had just mentioned. Page Sixteen: What will Rahan do now? Go to other territories, meet other clans? Yes Gurg. Rahan will leave, but he will not leave until he kills the "Karaka"! Kill the "Karaka! Rahan has lost his mind! No! Rahan will kill it, if Gurg and his brothers will help him! You said he always uses the same path? It is on this track that we will set a trap for him!! Rahan still does not know what trap, but he will think!! That night the son of fierce ages turned over a thousand ideas in his head. And. As often, it was from a reminiscence that the best idea sprang. He saw himself again, pursued by the "Karaka", stuck between a bamboo and a tree. Page Seventeen: And his imaginative spirit did the rest. At daybreak, he had convinced Gurg, who in turn convinced his people. All the hunters went on the track of the "Karaka". It was easy for these sturdy men to carry out Rahan's orders. All the branches of two flexible trees were cut like spears. Then. Between these trunks spread to their maximum, was wedged a long and solid branch. The "Karaka" will avoid this trap! Not if Rahan lures him there, Gurg! It was at dawn the following day that he son of Crao came up the trail. He discovered the motionless monster in a clearing. You are living your last day "Karaka"! So? What are you waiting for to attack Rahan!? There was something fantastic about this monstrous animal. Page Eighteen: The saurian observed this tiny man and moved. A moment later he charged furiously at the son of Crao. Gurg and his hunters on the lookout near the trap stood ready. Rahan has made it! The "Karaka" is chasing him!! Leaping between the thickets, Rahan felt the monster behind him. He dove between the trunks of the trap. The Saurian, head first, rushed there in turn. It was then that the hunters let loose the branch that held the trunks apart. His neck pierced by the branches, the "Karaka" whipped the ground with his heavy tail. But it was impossible for him to get out of the trap! Rahan promised to kill him! He will kill him! Lend him your axe, Gurg! Page Nineteen: The hunters, transfixed, witnessed a stupefying exploit. Armed with the heavy axe, the son of the fierce ages avoided the blows of the monster's tail. Ra-ha-ha! Taking advantage of a moment when it stopped, he jumped on it! A moment later, he was climbing the crest of the large scale-plated spine. The thrashing of the "Karaka" could throw him to the ground. But he knew how to cling to the scales and climb up the neck to reach behind the head. Ra-ha-ha! The heavy axe fell repeatedly, crushing the monster's skull. Page Twenty: A little after. The "Karaka" could have been in agony for days and days! Rahan does not like to see even the most appalling beasts suffer! The clan of Gurg, rid forever of this monster from another time, would now know security. What are you doing? Rahan kept his promise, he will leave you! The blade of his knife will show him where to direct his steps! A radiant Sun embellished the hills when the son of Crao saluted this Clan. A volcano thundered in the distance. Come back one day, "Little man"! Farewell "Little Man"! The words "Little-man" no longer held anything derogatory. They were grateful, friendly, and brotherly. Rahan was happy because, in these fierce times, these feelings were still rare in "Those-who-walk-upright". Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode thirty two. Faster than the Zebra. During his adventurous life, the son of Crao had met many animals, but he had never seen one as fast as this strange black and white beast. He himself runs so fast that his heart becomes painful. Rahan will do you no harm! He only wants to touch you! Just touch you! From the fierce ages, Rahan was curious about everything. Of, men. Of things. And of beasts. He was now bounding behind the panicked zebra. His fingers caught the beast's tail and his victorious cry rose over the savannah. Rah-ha-ha! Page Two: Hauoff! But the animal suddenly kicked and he felt like his chest was bursting. The clouds capsized in the skies and he collapsed. He lay in the scorching sun, trying to catch his breath. A nearby roar warned him of danger. Again, panting, he saw the “Long Mane” spring from the tall dry grass and leap around the neck of the black and white beast. Perhaps because he had almost been devoured as an adolescent, the son of Crao had never met a lion without confronting it. Back, “Long Mane”! The ivory knife opened the flank of the beast that was going to cut the zebra's throat. Ra-ha-ha! Page Three: And that Zebra quickly got back on its feet and fled straight ahead, faster than ever. You could have let Rahan touch you, to thank him! Rahan, who was following the animal with his eyes, suddenly thought he was dreaming. On the horizon, in the quivering heat haze. A powerful troop of men had just appeared. All these men were mounted on beasts similar to the one he had just saved! "Those-who-walk-upright", they able to impose their will on the black and white beasts!! As the unknown hunters, brandishing long spears, saw him as an enemy to be captured, the son of Crao decided to flee. Page Four: The forest would offer a safe refuge. But would he not be caught before he reached the border? Faster Rahan! Faster! His course was sometimes hampered by grass almost as tall as him. Faster Rahan! The forest is near! When he finally reached the tall trees, his pursuers were only an arrow's throw away. Beneath the thick foliage reigned a beneficial coolness. That he didn't have time to appreciate. As nimble as a "Four Hands" he hoisted himself into the tangled realm of the branches. A moment later, the hunters passed under his refuge. They were going to continue on their way without seeing him, when. Silence "Four-Hands"! You will betray Rahan! Greek! Greek! Greek! Page Five: Cursed "Four-hand"! Greek! Greek! The monkey gesticulated and bawled stupidly, as if to curse this intruder who violated his domain! Intrigued by these cries, hunters scanned the foliage. They caught a glimpse of Rahan lurking on a forked branch. The son of Crao expected to see the spears of these men flying towards him. That is why what followed amazed him. The hunters threw their spears at the foot of the tree! Maybe it is a trick to put Rahan in their confidence! The clan gathered under the tree. Shouts arose. Oro-the wizard was right! The "Hunter-faster-than-the-zebra" has finally come to our territory! An ovation greeted these curious words. Page Six: I am Rahan, son of Crao. And Rahan does not quite understand your words, brother! Rahan's distrust was already dissipating. He slid to the ground, triggering another ovation. For seasons and seasons Oro had promised us that this big day would come! Our clan salutes its long-awaited leader: Rahan, “The-hunter-faster-than-the-zebra"! Each man came to bow before the bewildered son of Crao. Rahan cannot become the leader of a clan that he did not know existed before this morning! A true leader must be chosen from among the clan! Oro-the-sorcerer's prediction has come true! Rahan cannot oppose these omens! He will be our leader. Never had Rahan felt surrounded by so much respect, even fervor. Page Seven: We saw you catch the zebra!! We saw you kill the "Long-mane"!! You are indeed the chief that Oro had promised to the clan! Choose your zebra, Rahan! You now have all the rights! Shrill cries suddenly cover the man's voice. A multitude of "Four Hands" screamed from the foliage. Greek! Greek! Greek! A hail of "Fruits-de-bois" fell on the hunters. One of them burst on the forehead of the son of Crao! When he came to his senses a moment later, he was lying on the neck of a zebra. His "Worshippers" were in escort. Rahan is alive! Our Chief is Immortal! And their troop trotted joyfully through the tall grass of the savannah. Towards a hill at the foot of which the huts of a village could be divined. Page Eight: Rahan will flee this territory as soon as it gets dark! But?? The men had suddenly stopped their mounts. They watched with concern the strange black wave that rolled over the savannah in their direction. In an instant, the herd of buffaloes was very close. The son of Crao could hear the loud hooves of the charging beasts thundering. Hunters must have been accustomed, because, without a word being spoken, they split into several groups. Who scattered before the herd. Here, maybe for Rahan the opportunity to escape! Page Nine: No one cared anymore about Rahan, whose mount had turned itself around to flee the danger. The ground was shaking, hammered by the herd which pursued its course. Rahan's fate depends on you, Zebra! But the son of Crao did not have the mastery of hunters. Clinging to the neck and the mane of the zebra he was almost, at each leap, thrown to the ground. An abrupt jump from his mount to avoid a stump made him let go! He rolled in the grass, a hundred paces ahead of the charging buffaloes. He got up, and rushed towards a ravine he had glimpsed. If Rahan does not reach it, he will be trampled, and his belly crushed! Page Ten: Ra-ha-ha! He screamed with joy when he discovered that a large river flowed at the bottom of this ravine. He dove into it. When the buffaloes stopped at the edge of the gorge, he was already being carried away by the current. Rahan escaped both the "Great-horns" and the hunters! The son of Crao was swimming on his back happily, observing the clouds whose orange hue announced the approaching night. Something, flying above him, suddenly blurred this vision. He guessed it was the meshes of a net, but it was too late! The great cast net of vines enveloped him. Entangled in this mesh, he heard the cries and laughter of the men who were pulling him towards the shore. Page Eleven: An instant later. But?? You are not a hill clan hunter! Who are you, then? I am Rahan, and Rahan was just with the hill clan!! In this case Rahan is the river clan friend! Rahan is the friend of all clans! If he fled those of the hills, it is because he does not want to become their leader! When the son of Crao had recounted his encounter with the hunters, the men of the river cried out. Why did you not accept! You would have commanded the hill clan with more wisdom than Oro-the-wizard! You could have brought peace between his hunters and us! Rahan learned that Oro-the-Witch forbade the River Clan from the savannah. This one, on the other hand, prohibited the river to the hunters of the hills. Stupid fights pitted each against the other. Page Twelve: Rahan hates that "Those-who-walk-upright", that men, are killing each other! He will go tonight to tell Oro-the-sorcerer! The son of the fierce ages no longer dreamed of fleeing this territory. He wanted to bring peace between the men of the river and those of the savannah. That is why the moon found him in ambush at the foot of the hill. He saw the Zebras tied to stakes. He heard the hunters who were still commenting on his disappearance. When the buffaloes charged, we dispersed. We do not know what happened to the hunter who is "Faster-than-Zebra"! Forget the hunter, brothers! If he fled from you, it was because he was not worthy of becoming our leader! A man sat enthroned on a beaten earth altar. And Rahan guessed that it was "Oro-the-sorcerer". Page Thirteen: Rahan has reflected, Oro! He agrees to command the hill clan! A clamor suddenly arose. They called to the son of Crao who entered the village. The sorcerer stood up and calmed the enthusiasm of the hunters with a gesture. I must consult the spirits before making a decision! Rahan may be "faster-than-the-zebra", but we need to know what his other qualities are! Oro-the-sorcerer smiled. Rahan risks changing his mind again and abandoning us! That is why we will lock him up until daylight! Friendly hunters surrounded the son of Crao, and escorted him to a niche dug in the hill. You have nothing to fear Rahan! The spirits will be very favorable to you! Page Fourteen: A solid bamboo grid fell, blocking the niche. Respectful hunters approached, bringing presents. We know you will be a good chief! Each, laying down his offering, had a word. After Oro-the-sorcerer retired to his hut, a festive atmosphere reigned in the village. A young girl had just brought some fruit to Rahan. She clung to the bamboo grill. You will not see the sun rise, Rahan! I know Oro. He claims that the spirits will kill his un-favored on their own. But! Page Fifteen: What are you saying? Why would Oro kill me since he himself predicted to the clan that the spirits would send a "Chief-faster-than-the-zebra"!! For seasons after the death of my father who commanded the clan, Oro has deceived us with this prediction! This cheat believed that no man could run as fast as a zebra and that he would continue, alone, to command our hunters! Your arrival upsets Oro's plans! If you do not run away immediately you are lost! Rahan thanks you for this warning! The girl disappeared into the darkness. The ivory knife was already attacking the vines holding the bamboos. Page Sixteen: The son of the fierce ages freed himself from the niche at the very moment Oro-the-sorcerer emerged from his hut. The spirits have spoken, brothers! They say Rahan is not the chief we expected! Would you accuse the spirits of contradicting themselves, Oro!? Or do you interpret their thought in your own way!? From a nearby mound, Rahan towered over the village. Unless you want to remain the master of the clan to continue the stupid fight against the men of the river! Oro-the-sorcerer growled in rage. Atone for this sacrilege brothers, kill him! The spirits demand that he perish! Page Seventeen: As the hunters, troubled, did not carry out his order, Oro grabbed a spear and leaped at a zebra! He will perish by my hand! A moment later, the sorcerer was Chasing the son of Crao. Ha-ha-ha! We will see if you are "faster-than-a-zebra”! The moon was glowing brilliantly over the savannah. Like the day before, Rahan was hampered in his run by the tall grasses. He decided to confront his pursuer. When he spun around Oro-the-sorcerer was only twenty paces away. He held his spear low, ready to strike. Dodging the mortal blow, Rahan had seized the spear to which Oro made the mistake of Clinging. Ra-ha-ha! Page Eighteen: The sorcerer found himself on the ground with the flint point resting on his throat. The spirits do not seem to be on Oro's side! Maybe they trust Rahan more! The hunters were still undecided when Oro soon after spoke on the mound overlooking the village. Listen to me, brothers, listen to me! The spirits came and visited me! They assured me that Rahan was proud to become the leader of our clan, for a while! They also told me that our hunters can now live peacefully with the men of the river! The spirits have again asked me to go and preach in another territory! Under the threat of the spear, Oro-the-witch faithfully repeated the sentences whispered to him by the son of Crao! Page Nineteen: You earned your life and your freedom, Oro! Go! So that the men of the hills and those of the river never hear of you again! And so it was that a Sorcerer who had deceived his clan for too long disappeared forever. Rahan, the "Chief-faster-than-the-zebra", was welcomed by jubilant village. This one was going to prove itself worthy of its title. As required by the spirits, we will live in peace with the clan of the river! What does it matter if he lied, by lending to the "Spirits" his own feelings? The main thing is, that we soon saw the men of the river hunting in the savannah, and those of the hills fishing in the river. To all, Rahan taught a thousand things. Page Twenty: But the desire to discover new lands, to meet other clans, haunted the son of Crao. Ten hunters have proven they would be good leaders! You choose the best! As always he asked his knife to guide his steps on the adventurous trail. The ivory blade pointed to distant mountains. The men of the hills and the river greeted him with a similar clamor when he rushed into the savannah. Farewell Rahan! Farewell Brother! Your memory will live on in our hearts until the end of time! The son of Crao, hair in the wind, rushed towards the chain of Blue Mountains. He was at that time so flexible, so powerful, and so fast that no "Zebra" could have caught up with him. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode thirty one. The Savage Clan. Rahan should have waited for nightfall to venture on this shore! A favorable current carried his raft out to sea, but the son of Crao knew that these hostile men, on their light boats, would soon catch up with him. He had believed that his long trek on the "endless-river" would end on this land. But fate had decided otherwise. His approach had been greeted with menacing clamors. Men had jumped into their boats to chase him. Page Two: His pursuers must have been unusually strong, for the spears they threw, despite the distance, fell around the raft. One of them got stuck between his legs! Rahan is defenseless! He will join the "territory of shadows"! A shout of triumph rang out from the nearest boat. The fire-haired enemy is hit!! On his raft, there Rahan was teetering. His hands clenched on a long spear stuck in his chest!! He fell in the water and the shaft of the spear disappeared under the foam. The shouts of joy redoubled. Page Three: But the son of Crao does not hear them. The savage clan turned to the place where Rahan had just sunk. Long after the high hills faded into the gray sky. And the men returned to their territory. A fire was lit on the shore around which the hunters let out loud laughs between cuts of wild cries. No doubt they were celebrating Rahan's death! In effect. It is almost a pity that "The enemy" with "Fire-hair" is dead! We could have submitted him to the three tests! The wind from the sea carried these fatal words to the rocks that were whipped by the waves. Page Four: And even under the roots of the tall mangrove trees bathing the shore. The son of Crao had allowed himself to sink, hoping by this ruse to deceive the savage clan. They think they killed Rahan! He had abandoned the spear he held wedged between his arm and his torso to deceive them. And had swum to the reefs, glimpsed a moment earlier. Snuggled up against the rocks, he had waited for night to arrive. This clan is fearsome, but Rahan has no choice! Without his raft he can no longer face the "Endless River!" Rahan must set foot on this land! At daybreak, Rahan will be far away. He will have nothing more to fear from this clan! He was emerging into a clearing when his throat knotted. The moon lit up a terrifying spectacle. This land is in the hands of demons!! Page Five: Here and there long stakes were driven into the ground. Tied to these stakes, specters seemed to spring from the "Territory-of-shadows" This is the fate that awaits Rahan if the shore clan captures him! The son of Crao was about to flee the sinister clearing when a groan arose in the darkness. Argh! A moment later, he discovered an old man, crucified on the ground. Do not let me suffer. Finish me! Finish me! Finish you!? Why would Rahan steal your life? On the contrary, he will deliver you! The ivory knife sprang from the lizard sheath. Page Six: I do not know from where. You come, Rahan. But I know you. Should not. Not defy mine. The blade was already slicing through the vines binding the ankles. Unbound, the old man collapsed at Rahan's feet. For five days. And five nights I have waited for death! I have lost. My last strength! Rahan's legs will be yours! Carrying the half-unconscious old man, the son of Crao plunged into the thickets. Despite his burden, he walked for a very long time, until the first lights of dawn. No one can surprise us on this height. Rest, old man! When Rahan finds something to eat, you can tell him about your misfortunes! Page Seven: Rahan searched in vain for a trail of game. Only the birds seemed to populate this hill! He skillfully made a bow using a flexible branch and a thin vine. A few feathers discovered under a tree provided the quills for balancing the fine arrows. The son of Crao was remarkably skillful. A moment later he shot down his first bird in mid-flight. The second was struck as it took flight. Rahan hopes "The Men of the Shore" will not notice his fire. Page Eight: A little after. In the past, all the men of the clan were good. And generous as Rahan! But, our leader has joined the "Territory of Shadows"! And was replaced by Gaya the cruel. Gaya has imposed himself on the clan and made his savage law reign. For he counts on strength alone! The weakest men are hunted from the clan! Those who resist Gaya are, delivered to birds of prey, in this clearing. Or in my case, you discovered me. Why does the clan not give itself a better leader?? Everyone fears Gaya! I am the last who dared to oppose this savage! However. Someone freed the old Thamouk, Gaya! See the ties have been severed. I found them in the clearing! Page Nine: Whoever dares to act against my will, will know the worst death! Gaya's cruel gaze wandered over the hills. He suddenly stopped on the light smoke. Which rose above the foliage. Ha-ha-ha! Thamouk betrays himself! It can only be he who started this fire! Those who bring back Thamouk will be entitled to two parts of meat! A few men were already rushing through the jungle. Shortly after, their cries and calls reached the son of Crao. Gaya's hunters are looking for you, Thamouk! Will you have the strength to run away? The old man made an effort but fell back on the rock. Alas no. I could not take ten steps! So Rahan will track down these men! Page Ten: The son of Crao put out the fire under a few handfuls of earth. And rushed in the direction from which the calls rose. His plan was simple: prevent hunters from discovering old Thamouk by attracting their anger against him! Ra-ha-ha! He soon caught a glimpse of the wild men and he burst out of the jungle. His cry of defiance thundered through the jungle. The Fire-Haired Enemy! To find in these hills they whom they had seen die in the waves amazed the hunters. And Rahan took advantage of their hesitation. He bounded into the thickets, in the direction quite opposite to where he had left Thamouk. He heard the pack chasing him. Page Eleven: Old Thamouk is out of danger! Rahan must now consider his own fate! The brush had concealed a shallow ravine, into which he tumbled. Argh! His head hit a rock hard, but he still had time, before losing consciousness, to catch a glimpse of his pursuers which stood out against the sky. Stand up fire hair! Upright! Gaya does not like to wait! When he came to, his wrists were firmly bound. His knife had been confiscated. A moment later, they were dragging him into the jungle, towards the shore which he could see through the gaps in the foliage. Page Twelve: Recognizing the captive a little later, Gaya-the-cruel gave a shudder of fear. Can you have the power to return from the "Territory-of-Shadows"!? Then he sneered. Know, "Fire-Hair" that we have the power to make you go back there! A hunter gave the ivory knife to Gaya-the-chief. Gaya has never seen a weapon so beautiful, so fine, so polished, and so sharp! It will be a wonderful memory of "Fire-Hair"! You freed Thamouk, did you not? What happened to that old fool? Speak! Speak! The tip of the knife weighed on Rahan's chest. Gaya only respects force and violence! Why does he not agree to a fair fight with Rahan!! The men watched with astonishment this stranger who dared to defy their leader. Page Thirteen: I am asking you a question! What are you waiting for to answer!! As the pressure of the ivory blade grew stronger. The son of Crao reacted, his linked fists suddenly rose and fell brutally on Gaya’s temple. Who was bent in half. To be immediately straightened by a terrible knee! Ra-ha-ha! A murmur of admiration greeted this reaction, the clan visibly appreciated the courage of the captive. Rahan will not be so fiery in a moment! Drive Fire-Hair to the Ravine!! In the eyes of Gaya-the-cruel could be seen the desire to kill. Page Fourteen: How brave you are before a hindered adversary! The son of Crao, fierce, raised his bound hands. The long vine hissed like a whip, lashing Gaya's shoulders, who screamed in rage as much as pain. You defend yourself like a beast "Fire-Hair"! But your life belongs to Gaya!! A reproachful cry arose when Gaya brandished the ivory knife. It would not be fair to steal the prisoner's life like this! He deserves to stand the test of the stump. But he does not deserve death! Men, seizing the vine, dragged the captive towards the deep crevice. "The Test of the Strain"?? What fate does the savage clan reserve for Rahan?? Page Fifteen: A moment later, the son of Crao understood what his ordeal would be. If the members of "Fire-Hair" resist until dawn, he will not want to challenge Gaya anymore! The vine binding his wrists had been tied to a tree. Men tied his ankles. And tied this second vine to a heavy stump. When the stump was pushed into the ravine, Rahan thought they were ripping off his arms and legs. He stifled a howl of pain, once again earning the respect of his tormentors. Clan custom once demanded that the brave opponent keep his weapon! Gaya, with a bitter sigh slipped the knife into the lizard sheath. You won't see the sun rise "Fire-Hair"!! Page Sixteen: Abandoning the captive, the clan returned to the shore. Rahan tried to control the pains of his distended muscles, his stretched joints. He had thought of his ivory knife. But the stump was far too heavy for him to curl up and grab the weapon. The sun was sinking into the ocean when Gaya appeared, a cruel smile on his lips. I see that you bear "The ordeal-of-the-strain" better than others! Unsheathing Rahan's knife, he half cut through the vine that held the victim to the tree. You will crash into the bottom of the precipice, "Fire-Hair"!! Do not do this Gaya! Do not do this! Mine will think that this vine did not resist the strain!! Here is your knife! Still shaky, old Thamouk had just appeared! Page Seventeen: You will join Rahan in the chasm Thamouk!! The son of Crao felt the fibers of the vine break one by one. Crack! Crack! And the line suddenly broke. Dragged by the stump, Rahan slid on his back, towards the precipice. Ha-ha-ha! Adieu "Fire-Hair" goodbye! Oh! Gaya will die with Rahan! Rahan grabbed Gaya's ankle. Screaming in terror, the leader also slipped into the abyss! He desperately tried to cling to the ground, but in vain. Argh! Argh! Old Thamouk saw the two men disappear into the void. A terrifying cry of pain immediately arose. Page Eighteen: Gaya had managed to grab a root but he was now bearing the full weight of the stump and Rahan. Who had caught a glimpse of a rocky platform below. Gaya has no choice: either he resists, or he lets go and dies with Rahan! The son of Crao gave the heavy stump a pendulum swing. Ra-ha-ha! When it was above the platform, he released Gaya's ankles. The fall was hard, but momentarily he was saved. An instant later he broke free from his bonds. Alerted by the cries, men of the wild clan had come running and Gaya, exhausted, begged them to come to his aid. Page Nineteen: But none of these men were obedient! Gaya-the-cruel had wanted to kill the captive. Gaya had not complied with the strain test. Gaya had to die! You have reigned over the clan by force for too long, Gaya! It is right that this force abandons you! A vine had been thrown to the son of Crao. You have endured the ordeal with courage, "Hair of fire"! You have nothing more to fear from us. Flat against the steep wall, above the bottomless abyss, Gaya-the-cruel was still pleading. But no one cared about his pleas. Perhaps you can be more generous than him, Thamouk? No Rahan! Our clan has suffered too much from the decisions of this savage! Page Twenty: Argh! Argh! Argh! Darkness had long enveloped the hills when a long, mournful cry of dread rose from the ravine. The last cry of the coward, Gaya-the-cruel! We will appoint a new leader. We will choose him, not for his strength, but for his loyalty and his wisdom! And this shore, as before, will once again become welcoming to those who come from the "Desert-of-water"! Old Thamouk's words went straight to Rahan's heart. He was certain that this clan, blinded for a while by force, would become hospitable and fraternal again. Crao always said that you should never despair of "Those-who-walk-upright"! And Crao was right! Thus thought Rahan, in this night of fierce ages, in these times when humanity was still seeking its way between evil and good. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Chapter Eighteen. May 23, 1993. This is my last night in Dallas. I've been here two weeks now, and I'd hoped to be heading back to Washington tomorrow, but orders came in this afternoon to go to Denver instead. It looks like I'll be doing approximately the same thing there I've been doing here, which is teaching. I have just finished conducting a crash course in the technology of sabotage for eight selected activists here, and I do mean "crash"; this is the first free hour I've had since I arrived here when I wasn't too tired to think. We've been at it from eight in the morning until eight at night every day, with only a few minutes off for meals. I have taught the people here virtually everything I know. We started by learning how to build improvised detonators, timers, igniters, and other gadgets from scratch. Then we studied the structure, properties, and performance characteristics of currently available military devices which can be adapted for various purposes. All my students can now disassemble and reassemble every type of fuse and delay device we studied, blindfolded. After that we examined a large number of hypothetical targets and worked out detailed plans for attacking them. We considered reservoirs, pipelines, fuel depots, rail lines, air terminals and aircraft, telephone exchanges, oil refineries, power transmission lines, generating stations, highway interchanges, grain elevators, warehouses, and various types of machinery and other manufacturing equipment. Finally, we picked a real target and destroyed it: Dallas's central telephone exchange. That was yesterday. Today we held a post- mortem and criticized the operation in detail. Actually, everything went extraordinarily well; my students all passed their final examination with flying colors. But I did everything possible to guarantee there would be no slipups. We spent three full days preparing specifically for the telephone exchange. First we thoroughly pumped one of our local members who had formerly worked in the building as an operator. She described the layout for us, giving us the approximate location of the rooms on each floor which held the automatic switching equipment. With her help we made a rough map, showing the stairwells, the employees' entrances, the guard room, and other pertinent details. Then we prepared our equipment. I decided we would use surgical precision on this job rather than brute force; besides, we didn't have a sufficiently large quantity of explosives for a brute- force demolition job. What we did have were three 500-foot spools of PETN-filled detonating cord and a little over 20 pounds of dynamite. I broke our eight activists up into four two-man teams. One man in each team carried a sawed-off, autoloading shotgun, and the other carried demolition equipment. Three of the teams were assigned to the three floors of switching equipment, one to a floor. Each of these teams was given one of the spools of detonating cord; a five-gallon can of a homemade, napalm-like mixture of gasoline and liquid soap; and a delayed-action detonator. The fourth team was given a 20-pound satchel charge and a homemade thermite grenade and assigned to the transformer vault in the basement. The dynamite would wreck the transformers, and the thermite would set the transformer oil afire. About ten o'clock last night we were parked in two automobiles on a dark side street two blocks from the telephone exchange. Every few minutes a telephone company service truck went through the intersection directly in front of us. Finally the situation for which we had been waiting occurred: a service truck came to a stop for the red light at the intersection, and there were no other vehicles or pedestrians in sight. We sped out of the side street, blocking the truck fore and aft while two of our men jerked open the truck doors and ordered the driver into the back at gunpoint. Then we drove all three vehicles back onto the side street and transferred everyone and all our gear into the service truck. That only took a few seconds, but we spent another half hour talking to the telephone serviceman we had kidnapped. With a minimum of prodding he answered a number of questions we still had about the location and layout of the switching equipment in the telephone building and about the security staff and procedures. We were pleasantly surprised to learn that there was only one armed guard in the building at night and that he depended upon a direct line to the police substation five blocks away for backup in case of emergency. We relieved the serviceman of his uniform and his magnetically coded company security badge, which was needed to unlock the rear employees' entrance at night. Then we tied him securely with wire, gagged him, and drove the truck back to the rear entrance of the telephone building. I was wearing the uniform. Following the serviceman's instructions, I gained entrance to the building while the others remained hidden in the truck. It was then only a matter of a moment to relieve the surprised guard of his gun and beckon to the others to enter. While our four teams fanned out through the building I found a convenient janitor's closet and used the guard's own master key to lock him in it. From that point the whole operation took less than five minutes. The three teams assigned to the switching equipment worked quickly and efficiently. While the man with the shotgun on each team herded any employees that were encountered into an office and kept an eye on them, the other man went to work on the equipment. The detonating cord was unreeled and laced through two or three long banks of electronic panels on each floor. Then the demolition man took the five-gallon can of napalm and sloshed its contents over large sections of the equipment, both those which had been laced with the detonating cord and those which had not. Finally, a time-delay detonator was taped to one end of the detonating cord. As our men came racing down the stairs to join me on the ground floor, three deafening explosions rocked the windowless building. A moment later our fourth team came running up the stairs from the basement. We wasted no time in piling back into the truck. Just as we drove out of the parking lot, the satchel charge went off in the basement transformer vault with a roar which caused a huge section of the brick facade on one side of the building to split off and topple into the street, exposing the interior, which by now was filled with flames and smoke from the blazing napalm and burning switching gear. The accounts of the operation in this afternoon's local newspaper indicated that the two dozen or so employees who were in the building managed to get out safely-all except the guard I locked in the closet, who died of smoke inhalation. I feel guilty about that, but it couldn't be helped; we were in a hurry. Although our destruction of the equipment in the telephone building was pretty thorough, the telephone company has announced that it expects to have most essential telephone lines back in service within 48 hours and complete restoration of telephone service for the city within two weeks. That announcement did not surprise us. We knew that the telephone company can fly in new equipment and teams of repair specialists to quickly undo the damage we did. Our attack on the telephone exchange would only make real sense as a blow against the System if it had been coordinated with an all-out assault on a number of other fronts. The System has figured that out for itself, of course, and, not having any way of knowing that yesterday's operation was only a training exercise, it is bracing itself for the worst. There are tanks at nearly every downtown intersection, and troops and police have set up so many vehicle checkpoints on all the main roads and freeways that automobile traffic is at a virtual standstill throughout the city. If it weren't for that, I'd be leaving for Denver tonight instead of tomorrow.June 8. Received a note from Katherine today! It came enclosed in a box of equipment I had asked the Organization to have sent to me from the shop back home. I didn't discover the note until I unpacked the box, and so there was no chance to send a reply with the courier who made the delivery. She and the others have all been working 70 to 80 hours a week in the shop, she reports, printing money mostly but also large quantities of propaganda leaflets. She suspects from the urgency with which the leaflets have been requested that a major new campaign is afoot in the Washington area. (She'll find out what's afoot soon enough!) She thinks I am still in Dallas, and she says she is hoping she will be ordered to make another cash delivery to Dallas soon so she can see me. How my heart aches to be with her again, even if only for a few hours! There's not much chance of my getting back to Washington again for at least another three weeks, though. Things have really mushroomed out here in the Rocky Mountain area. The Organization is not particularly strong here, and yet Revolutionary Command has designated 43 high-priority targets in the area- more than half of them military installations- which we must prepare ourselves to hit simultaneously when the order is given, probably early in July. On top of that, there is practically no one out here with any experience in specialized ordnance, and so I am having to train everyone from scratch-26 students altogether. They will have the responsibility for preparing and using all the incendiary and explosive devices required for the assigned targets in the area. Fortunately, we do have several military people here with an excellent grasp of guerrilla tactics, and so I am restricting my training to the technical end only and leaving the tactics to the military people. Despite the narrower scope of my work here, it's still going more slowly than in Dallas, because things are so spread out. It was deemed inadvisable to try to hold classes for 26 people at a time, so I meet with six here in Denver; 11 in Boulder, a college town about 20 miles north of here; and nine in a farmhouse just south of here. I see each group every third day, but I give them plenty of homework to do between meetings. We've initiated virtually no violent actions against the System in the Rocky Mountain area so far, and the general atmosphere here is quite a bit more relaxed than along the East Coast. Something very unpleasant happened last week, though, which serves as a grim reminder that the struggle here will be just as brutal and vicious as anywhere else. One of our members, a construction worker, was caught trying to sneak a few sticks of dynamite off the construction site where he was employed. Apparently he had been smuggling a dozen or so out in his lunch box every day for quite a while. The site guard turned him over to the local sheriff, who immediately searched the man's house and found not only a big cache of dynamite but also several guns - and some Organization literature. The sheriff figured he had stumbled onto something which could really give a boost to his career. If he could crack the Organization in the Rocky Mountain area, the System would be very grateful to him. He would have a good chance of winning a seat in the state legislature, perhaps even becoming lieutenant governor or being appointed to some other high post in the state government. So the sheriff and his deputies began beating our man, trying to make him name other Organization members. They gave him a vicious working over, but he wouldn't talk. Then they brought in the man's wife and began slapping and kicking her around in his presence. The outcome was that our man, in desperation, snatched a revolver from the holster of one of the deputies. He was shot dead by another deputy before he could pull the trigger. The wife was handed over to the FBI and flown back to Washington for interrogation. She should not be able to give them any significant information, but I shudder to think of the ordeal to which she is being submitted. The sheriff's glory was short-lived, however. The evening of the day our member was killed, the sheriff appeared in a televised news interview, boasting of the blow he had struck in the name of law, order, and equality and pompously warning that he would treat with equal ruthlessness any other "racists" who fell into his hands. When he arrived home that night after his TV interview, he found his wife on his living-room floor, with her throat cut. Two days later his patrol car was ambushed. His bullet-riddled body was found in its burned-out wreckage. It is a terrible thing to kill women of our own race, but we are engaged in a war in which all the old rules have been scrapped. We are in a war to the death with the Jew, who now feels himself so close to his final victory that he can safely drop his mask and treat his enemies as the "cattle" his religion tells him they are. Our retribution against the sheriff here should serve as a warning to the Jew's Gentile henchmen, at least, that if they adopt the X Jew's attitude toward our women and children, then they cannot s expect their own families to be safe. (Note to the reader: Several sets of books containing the Jewish religious doctrine, which was called "Judaism," are still extant today. These books, the Talmud and the Torah, do, indeed, refer to non-Jews as, "cattle." Especially horrifying to us is the attitude the Jews had toward non-Jewish women. The word they used to designate a girl of our race was "shiksa," which was derived from the Hebrew word meaning both "abomination" and "non-kosher meat" or "unclean meat.") June 21. I was stopped at a police roadblock driving back from Boulder tonight. No problem getting through it; they just checked my driver's license (i.e., the late and unlamented David S. Bloom's license), asked me where I was going, and took a quick look in the car. But the roadblock had traffic backed up for miles, and other motorists were really fuming. One of them told me this is the first time they've used roadblocks in this area. The roadblock and a couple of hints I've caught on news broadcasts in the last few days lead me to believe that the System knows something big is cooking. I hope they don't tighten up security out here the way they have back on the East Coast, it'll mess up our plans if they do. On the other hand, it'll do these bumpkins around here a lot of good to get a full dose of Big Brother's loving care. Most of them hardly ever see a liberal or a Jew, and they act as if there's not a war going on. They seem to think that they're far enough away from the things that are plaguing other parts of the country that they can keep on with their same old routine. They resent any hint that they may have to halt their pursuit of pleasure and affluence long enough to cut a cancer out of America that will surely destroy us all if it's not eliminated soon. But it's always been that way with Boobus Americanus. I'm quite concerned that I've heard no news of Evanston. I've been expecting the raid there every day since the last week of last month. Has there been more trouble with Harrison? Or has Revolutionary Command decided to postpone the Evanston raid, perhaps until our big offensive next month? There was no indication of such a postponement at my last briefing. More than likely the trouble is Harrison, damn him! When I recalculated the hit probability on the target at the range given me by our Chicago mortar team just before I left Washington for Dallas, I decided we should distribute our radioactive contaminant among five rounds instead of only three. That gives us a probability of nearly 90 per cent that we'll get one or more rounds into the generator building. But Harrison may have balked at having to handle that much ordnance. If that's the case, why hasn't someone told me? I'm also becoming concerned that I've received no orders as to what I'm to do when I finish my work here next week. If I don't get back to Washington then, I'm afraid I may not make it before the big push starts. I want to be back there with Katherine and the others when everything hits the fan next month. And I can't see any reason why I shouldn't, because there will hardly be time to send me anywhere else to set up another training course in special ordnance.

Reptil John Catchpole Angus Peter Allen Index of Reptile Episodes. 01 https://rumble.com/v2c5l9a-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-epsiode-one.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 02 https://rumble.com/v2d610m-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-two.html 03 https://rumble.com/v2drjas-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-three-the-cursed-is.html 04 https://rumble.com/v2fk0ki-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-four-the-shadow-of-.html 05 https://rumble.com/v2h9b4g-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-episode-five.-the-bewitched-cavern.html 06 https://rumble.com/v2m9hs8-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-six.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 07 https://rumble.com/v2ozbnq-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-seven.-the-slave-ar.html 08 https://rumble.com/v2skbjy-reptil-by-john-catchpole-and-angus-peter-allen.-episode-eight..html 09 https://rumble.com/v362i13-reptil-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-episode-nine.-the-enraged-crowd..html 10 https://rumble.com/v3azgfv-reptile.-episode-ten.-checkmate-john-catchpole-angus-peter-allen.-a-puke-tm.html

Rahan. The son of the fierce ages. Text by Roger Lecureux. Art by Andre Cheret. Episode Thirty. To save Alona. Rahan is not strong enough to face a "two-nose"! The son of Crao knew the sounds of the jungle too well not to know that this pounding of the ground, which he perceived, was that of a charging rhinoceros. In those fierce times, the great woolly rhinoceros was one of the most fearsome monsters. Rahan was taking refuge on a big tree when. A demanding howl rang out! A woman! Rahan cannot abandon a woman to the anger of the "Two Noses"! Page Two: Leaping from branch to branch, he very quickly dominated the immense clearing. The rhinoceros was charging a hunter. As for the woman, she was lying in the tall grass. Although robust and firmly planted, the man was thrown to the ground by the brutal shock. Ghlong! The "Two-nose" lumbered on its course and turned around, searching for its victims with its cruel little eyes. Ra-ha-ha! Letting go of the vine, the son of Crao fell back on the hairy monster's spine! The ivory knife struck! Page Three: But the blade slid on the thick fleece, and only further excited the Rhinoceros, who rushed forward, towards the stunned hunter. Grabbing the horns, Rahan attempted to deflect the monster's charge. He succeeded, but was himself thrown close to the man. You have not killed Rahan yet, "Two-Nose”! The son of Crao had seized the hunter's long and strong spear. He leapt onto a stump, once again challenging the rhinoceros. What are you waiting for to attack, "Two-nose"?! Are you scared of Rahan? When the monster charged, Rahan had already wedged the spear between the roots. He held it, ready to dive to the side. You will die "Two-nose"! Page Four: Blocked by the stump, the spear did not break, and its point, hardened in the fire, disappeared into the woolly chest. Ra-ha-ha! The hunter, coming to his senses, saw the monster lying on its side. You saved Arok and Alona! Who are you? I am Rahan, son of Crao! Rahan fears the "Two-nose"! But when he heard the cry of your companion he was ashamed to flee! Rahan should have let the "Two Nose" kill us! Oh? As the woman clumsily got to her feet, Rahan noticed. That her ankles were tied with a vine! Arok fears that Alona will escape him! That's why he treats her like a captive!! Deliver me, Rahan!! Page Five: Rahan certainly saved our lives. But that does not allow him to meddle in the affairs of our clan! The robust hunter had unceremoniously thrown the young woman over his shoulder. Deliver Me, Rahan! Save Me! I do not want to become Arok's wife!! I do not like him! I do not like him! The son of Crao, taken aback, did not intervene. He saw the strange couple disappear in the thickets. Maybe Rahan is wrong to want to interfere in everything!? And yet, if Alona does not like Arok, nothing can force her to become his companion!! Crao-the-wise always said. Page Six: In a happy horde, "Females-who-walk-upright" Have the same rights as "Men-who-walk-upright"! It was almost mechanically that Rahan followed in the hunter's footsteps. Clouds fringed with blood, over the distant mountains, announced the approaching night. Arok cannot walk all night. He will stop to rest! The first calls of nocturnal birds were already rising in the foliage. Hardly had this thought crossed his mind than he caught a glimpse of the couple. He was sound asleep at the foot of a tree. She, feet bound, moaned softly. Do not hesitate, Rahan! Do not hesitate! What you are about to do would amuse Crao the Just! Page Seven: A moment later, a long but soft whistle alerted the young woman. And she saw a creeper coming down towards her! A whisper fell from the foliage. Rahan has come to deliver you, Alona! Hold on to this vine and say nothing. Nothing! While his "Captive" rose silently towards the foliage, hoisted by Rahan, Arok still slept. Rahan is risking his life by helping Alona! Arok's anger will be terrible! Rahan is already leading his charge on the tormented track of the big branches. Page Eight: A little after. Arok is a loyal hunter but my heart doesn't beat for him! The clan leader, Helas, gave me to Arok! This morning I wanted to flee Arok, flee my clan, and flee the territory. But Arok, as a skillful hunter, quickly found my tracks. He tied me up to take me back to the village. It was on the way that the "Two Nose" attacked us! Alona was serious and concerned. Never had the son of Crao felt so embarrassed. What are you going to do with me Rahan? Abandon me? Bring me back to the clan? Uh, Uh? Rahan had a horde once. "Those-who-walk-Upright". They had the right to choose their companion! The custom is quite different with mine! Page Nine: It is the chief who decides to unite us with such or such hunters, according to the merits of this one or that! And Arok has many merits? Unfortunately, yes! He is a great and brave hunter! But Alona doesn't want to become his wife, since it's too much for her to be pregnant! A cry of rage suddenly rang out. Arok arose! I finally found you Rahan! So you pretend to steal Alona from me!! Arok does not fear your knife, Rahan! He will prove it to you! Chtok! Rahan does not need his knife to subdue Arok-the-guilty! Deftly thrown, the weapon flew and stuck in a nearby tree trunk. Page Ten: A moment later, the two men were mortally engaged, and rolled in the tall grass. They were as strong as each other. If Arok was more massive, and more powerful, then the son of Crao was more agile, and more flexible than his adversary. It was a strong and fair fight where each took the upper hand in turn. Arok and Rahan are each so strong! Neither one nor the other will triumph! Panting, the two men ceased this hopeless struggle. If Marg-the-chief so decides. Alona will be yours! Alona will not be with Arok or Rahan! She prefers to die in the jungle! Furious, the young woman disappeared in the thick coppice. Page Eleven: Arok has lost the one who was to become his companion! And Rahan has lost his knife! However, behind the hills. Arok should have brought Alona back to the village a long time ago! I know, Taroo. And like you, I fear misfortune! Marg-the-chief was concerned. I did not know Alona was running away from our clan! I did not think her love for you would drive her to defy custom! Go find her, Taroo! If by luck you bring her back alive, I promise you that we will make an exception to the custom! At the same time, Arok and the son of Crao were searching for traces of the fugitive. Look at this! Alona is crafty! By taking the path of water, she makes us lose her tracks! Page Twelve: Had the young woman descended or ascended the river? It is difficult to swim against this current! Rahan thinks she chose this direction! If the river kills Alona, your clan's bad custom will be the cause! Arok will also be guilty! The two hunters observed each other with the same frankness. What will you do if we find each other? I will ask her to return to our clan. But she will be free to decide her destiny!! These are the words that Rahan likes to hear!! Confidence, Arok, we will find her! They were carried away by the current. Here and there on the muddy shores roamed huge hippos. Alona will not have risked herself in the middle of the "Flat-teeth". She would have had to descend along the water-way again! Page Thirteen: Alona! Alona! Only the bawling monkeys responded to the anxious calls that Arok occasionally made. I hope she was able to escape the "Sky Killer"! A bird with immense wings circled above the river. It dove towards the two men. Underwater Arok! Under water! The Son of fierce ages had faced similar winged monsters before. But he had never seen one so big! The giant pterodactyl's fearsome beak smashed through the surface, narrowly missing Rahan. The monster gained height and dived again. The "killer of the Sky" never abandons its prey! As long as he hasn't cut our throats, he will harass us! Page Fourteen: Flying level with the water, the bird returned to the attack. Rahan will not let his throat be cut! Arok sank, but the son of Crao waited. He dodged the terrifying beak. And. Clung to the clawed paws of the monster! The monster carried him for a moment but, weighed down by this burden, could not regain height! Ra-ha-ha! The great wings flapped heavily, but Rahan held on. You never abandon your prey, but neither does Rahan! Arok howled in admiration as his companion disappeared underwater, dragging the exhausted pterodactyl with him. Page Fifteen: Rahan had to use all his energy to drown the winged monster. But in this strange aquatic fight between the man and the giant bird, the man came out victorious! Ra-ha-ha! Rahan is the boldest hunter Arok has ever encountered! The fight would have been faster if Rahan had had his knife! Rahan will soon find his knife! Look out!! Alona! Yes, with Taroo! In the distance, indeed on a rocky platform overlooking the river, stood out two silhouettes. They seemed to be surrounded by a halo on the Rock!? Page Sixteen: Placed in front of the young woman as if to protect her, Taroo seemed to face an invisible danger. Taroo is a young hunter. He still lacks experience. That is a reason to help her! Is not it Arok!? The bitter little smile on Arok’s face faded. As they swam to shore, Rahan guessed that his companion had overcome his jealousy. A moment later, leaping into the thickets. They were aware of the grunts of wild animals. Alona and Taroo are being attacked by “Panthers”. His hearing had not deceived the son of Crao. The fight will be hard! Is Arok not afraid? Arok is never afraid! Three black panthers prowled at the foot of the rocky platform on which Alona and her companion had taken refuge. Page Seventeen: Arok has already faced "Baghaes" without any weapon. He breaks their spines! Rahan will try to imitate Arok! The son of the fierce ages was too modest. He too could, without a weapon, triumph over a beast. But Rahan would still prefer to have his knife! The two men huddled together, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. The felines, thirty paces away, were only interested in the couple taking refuge on the platform. Ra-ha-ha! When Rahan's battle cry alerted them, they turned sharply. And the most violent, wildest melee began! Stimulated by this unexpected help, Taroo immediately dove into it. Page Eighteen: Alona anxiously observed the phases of the triple confrontation. She saw the first animal collapse under Taroo's blows. She also saw Rahan who, riding a wild "Baghae", tried to break the vertebrae of its neck. She saw Arok who, in an unfortunate position, was fighting fiercely. Arok is in danger! Help him Taroo. Help him! Without having heard this call, the young hunter was already rushing forward, brandishing the ivory knife. A moment later, the three beasts were lying at the feet of the panting hunters. Welded by this common fight, they exchanged friendly smiles. Page Nineteen: Arok won't forget that Taroo saved his life! But it was Arok who came to Taroo's aid! But how did Taroo find Alona? We come very often to this rock, to admire the river. And I knew she would come back here! She came back! The young hunter tenderly embraced his companion. Rahan was right. It is with Taroo that Alona will be happy! Yes, those-who-walk-upright have the right to choose their destiny! The son of Crao joyfully went to retrieve his knife, which remained stuck in the side of the "Baghae". By courageously opposing the custom of your clan. Page Twenty: Alona gave an example to her sisters! May this example be followed! It will be, Rahan! Ours were too scared for Alona's life! So all that is left for Rahan is to continue on his way. No, brother! We owe you a lot! All three of us! Do us the kindness of staying with us for a while! In these fierce times, where everything is a struggle for life. The fraternity of "Those-who-walk-upright" was the most beautiful thing. This was why the son of Crao agreed to stay among this clan. As they descended the hill, into the sunset fires, Rahan and Arok seemed to be escorting the young couple to happiness. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Rahan. Episode Twenty Nine. The Long Manes. Rahan, the son of the fierce ages. Rahan was hungry, he was scared, and he was cold. Since dawn, to escape the downpours, he had holed up in this refuge. And he knew that, sooner or later, a wild animal would come to challenge him for this shelter. A hoarse growl told him that this moment had come. If the long mane attacks, Rahan won't have the strength to resist him! Overcoming his fatigue, the son of Crao braided the vines which hung at the entrance into a fragile barricade. Page Two: Then he tied one of these vines to his wrist. This frail rampart was not intended to stop a lion, but to signal its approach if he succumbed to sleep. The curtain of rain concealed the forest from him. But, from the grunts of the beast, he guessed its movements. What is "Long-mane" waiting for, thought Rahan? Why does he not attack? The thunder ceased, but the son of Crao did not see the moon reappear. Burdened by fatigue, he did not hear the beast approaching. It was a sudden jerk at the wrist that signaled the danger. His fingers twitched on his ivory knife. And as stupor riveted him to the ground, the lion he had glimpsed for a moment fled, and disappeared into the thickets. Rahan has never seen a “long-mane” flee like this! Could Rahan have dreamed it? Page Three: But, in front of the refuge, the footprints of the beast which prove that he had not dreamed it. As soon as it is daylight Rahan will go in search of the "Long-mane”! At dawn, in fact, he set off in pursuit. On the soggy, muddy ground, the tracks would be easy to follow. But this trail suddenly stopped at the edge of a large pond. Knowing the repulsion felt by big cats for water, Rahan was amazed that this one had crossed the pond. However Rahan must admit it, since the traces do not go back! On the other bank he could not find the track of the lion. But he discovered another. A little man has passed here! Page Four: These footprints of children prove that a clan lived on this territory. In his haste to find men again, he set off happily on this new track. But his joy was very short, as he suddenly saw a body. Oh! The little man is dead! Slaughtered by a "Long-mane"!! Here and there indeed reappeared the traces of the beast. But it is not a little man, thought Rahan. He is a small man! The cast of the body was that of an adult hunter, but very small. Crao sometimes spoke of these "Pygmies", who do not grow! Rahan could do nothing more for this man. He was about to resume the trail when a shower of short, slender spears struck all around him. Page Five: Forming an almost perfect circle! Such skilled hunters could have killed Rahan if they had wanted to! Why did they spare him? Pygmies appeared from all sides, impressed by the size of Rahan. They observed him with a certain fear, but without animosity. What horde do you belong to "Big Man"? Rahan has no more horde, and no more clan! But all "Those-who-walk-upright" are his brothers! As a roar rose in the distance, the "Pygmies” tore their javelins from the ground and rushed into the thickets. I hope they will avenge Daha! May a "Long-mane" finally perish under their blows! Page Six: Staying with Rahan, the chief led him to his village. Whose huts were hardly taller than the son of Crao. Since the season of green leaves the "Long-manes" have been attacking our isolated hunters. On nights with a big moon, these demon-beasts roam the crests of the hills, terrorizing our women and children with their cries. We men ourselves are afraid and there are many who would like to flee this territory! To this day, I have been opposed to abandoning such a game-filled forest! Why don't hunters kill these "Long-manes"? Because they are elusive! No one can approach them! Rahan however glimpsed a "long-mane" who fled without attacking him! Probably because you are a "tall man"! Page Seven: The hunters soon returned, without having discovered the beast. Rahan will help his Pigmy brothers! Dawn found the son of the fierce ages lying in ambush on the shore of the pond. He hoped that the "long manes" would come to drink there. As the mist slowly lifted from the surface, he made out the head of a beast. To both of us "Long-mane", thought Rahan!! A moment later he was swimming underwater, his knife between his teeth. It is strange that the "long-manes" of this territory love water so much! He was only a few feet away from the beast, in its wake, when he saw the amazing thing. Page Eight: It was not a beast he was about to disembowel. But a man! A man who was hiding under the skin of a "Long-mane"!! Recovering from his stupor, the son of Crao sheathed his knife, and grabbed the swimmer's ankle. Rahan wants to know the secret of "the wild man"! Rahan could stay underwater three times longer than anyone. He pulled the stranger down, who quickly lost his breath. Rahan wants to know why you hide under the skin of a "long-mane"! The son of Crao had just hoisted the man onto the bank, when a roar rang out. Attack Ayak! Kill the enemy! Page Nine: The thickets parted before a large lion. This time it was a real beast! Attack Ayak! Attack! Obeying the order, the beast leapt. The knife's ivory blade glinted as it burst from the lizard's sheath. This was not the first time that the son of the fierce ages faced a "long-mane". He knew that the first blow he would land would have to be fatal. And it was! His blade plunged into the side of the beast, who launched his last roar. Ra-ha-ha! The fierce cry of victory ended in a howl of anger. The lion-man had taken advantage of the brief fight to flee! Rahan will find you wherever you go!! Page Ten: With the agility of "Those-who-run-in-the-trees"! Rahan hoisted himself onto a high branch. He saw the man who already far away was climbing a hill. Rahan thanks you for showing him the way to your lair! Soon after, the son of Crao climbed in his turn towards the crest of this hill. And one new surprise awaited him. A clan of wild men! At the entrance to a cave, some men conferred. All wore a "Long-mane" skin. On a rock, a few lions dozed in the bright sun. Page Eleven: If Ayak hasn't returned yet, it's because he was killed by the "enemy-with-the-fire-hair"! You will be punished Dragka! By allowing yourself to be surprised by this enemy, you have delivered to him our secret! The "Little Men" will now know that they are not being attacked by real "Long-manes". Their terror will disappear! They will regain their courage and defend this game-filled forest that we have been coveting for many moons! For the son of Crao, in ambush not far from the cave, these words cleared up the mystery. This clan terrifies the "Pygmy’s” so that they will abandon their territory! A howl arose followed by hoarse growls. Dragka had just been offered to the lions!! These men are ruthless! May Rahan never fall into their hands! Page Twelve: Rahan could have slipped away and gone to reveal to the "pygmies" what he had just learned. But his curiosity was stronger. How do the "Beast-men" manage to leave behind them traces of "Long-manes"? A light rasping on a rock alerted him. A few steps from him, a snake was watching him. If Rahan makes the slightest noise while killing him, the whole clan will come running! Remembering a trick that Crao the Brave had taught him, he no longer moved. He even stopped breathing when the reptile slid down his chest, slowly, so slowly. Page Thirteen: A moment later the snake disappeared under the rocks. In front of the cave, the chief of the clan gave an order. You must bring back "The Fire-Haired Enemy" before dark! The wild men dispersed. They did not imagine that Rahan is so close to them! Otherwise, they would not leave their leader at Rahan's mercy! The chief was indeed left alone. But the four lions that had torn Dragka to pieces were once again dozing on the outskirts of the cave. The son of fierce ages, crawling to the grotto, did not take his eyes off the beasts. Fortunately, the wind is blowing from Rahan's side! Perhaps sated and not sniffing the scent of the man, the lions did not flinch when he slipped into the cave of the "Beast-men". Page Fourteen: At the bottom of the cave, in front of a big fire, the chief of the clan implored the gods of the hunt. Make the game-rich land of the "Little Men" return to Vigor the leader! And also make sure that the fiery-haired enemy dies before revealing the secret of "Long-manes"! It is up to you to kill him, Vigor! If you can!! Springing from the shadows, the son of Crao leapt into the open. Oh! Oh! Rahan understands now how you cut the throats of the "Small-Men"!! The hands of Vigor were gloved with sharp-clawed paws! Kaa! Sloka! Grag! Thor! To me! To me! Rahan understood that the chief, who was rushing on him, had called his four lions for help! Page Fifteen: Leaping aside, he dodged the strange clawed "Hands." His leg extended, unbalancing Vigor. The latter was still on the ground, and the point of the ivory knife was already goading his back. Rahan hates killing "Those-Who-Walk-Upright"! But. The lions, roaring, stood at the entrance to the cave. They were going to jump. The tip of this blade will visit your heart if you do not order your beasts to flee! And so Vigor howled. Back! Back! Go join your masters! Docile, the beasts disappeared. Rahan will not take your life, but he will deliver you to the "Small-Men" that you wanted to decimate. Page Sixteen: Oh! For the first time, Crao's son noticed the strange wooden plates laced on Vigor's feet. Rahan now understands how yours leave "Long-mane" footprints! The skillfully sculpted underside of the plates perfectly imitated the underside of a lion's paw! Rahan had not recovered from his surprise when Vigor, suddenly straightening up, snatched the ivory knife from him. Ha-ha-ha! You now know all our secrets! Yes it is with these skins and these false legs that we deceive the "Small-Men"! And it is with these trunks that we imitate the roars of the "Long-manes!" When the big moon arrives, we will prowl around their village. Woe to their hunters who linger in the forest! Page Seventeen: Without taking their eyes off each other, the son of Crao and Vigor circled slowly around the fire. You yourself should have died the other night! But Dragka was afraid of your size and ran away! We sent him out to find you, with one of those real long manes we trained. But you killed Ayak and Dragka fled again! If you have been spying on us for a long time, you know the fate we have reserved for this coward! This fate will be yours Rahan! Kaa! Sloka! Grag! Thor! To call his lions, Vigor only turned his head towards the entrance of the cave for a brief moment. A moment that Rahan knew how to take advantage of! Argh! Hit in the face by a flaming branch, Vigor collapsed near the fire. Page Eighteen: Rahan had promised himself to hand you over to the "Little Men"! But? But? Having impaled himself on the ivory knife, Vigor did not move. He deserved to join the "Territory of Shadows"! He was a "Bad-Man"! The son of the fierce ages, intrigued, looked at the tusks. Vigor said that his people imitate the cry of "Long-manes" with these "Things"! But how? Imitating the men of the great river, whom he had seen blowing into sea-shells, Rahan blew at the top of his lungs into the tusk. The roar which escaped from it was covered by a vengeful clamor. The wild men are back! Page Nineteen: Alone, Rahan had no chance of escaping the men of vigor and their lions! Nevertheless, he came out of the cave, ready for the final fight. And the menacing clamors became ovations. All the Pigmy hunters were there brandishing their javelins. Rahan has delivered us from fear! Rahan chased away the evil spirits that terrorized our people! The son of Crao found it hard to understand this sudden enthusiasm. But the chief of the pygmies continued. Since it was no longer about “Demon-Beasts", but simple beasts, confidence has returned to us. We have followed your footsteps here. Page Twenty: "Long-Manes" and "Tall-Men" who wanted to look like them, attacked us! But our hunters were no longer afraid, and they killed them! All of them! The son of fierce ages imagined the men of Vigor succumbing to the javelins of the pygmies. But these were too cruel, too perfidious not to reach the "Territory of Shadows"! With the mystery of the wild men clarified, peace and happiness returned to the "Little men". With whom Rahan remained until the season-of-yellow-leaves. Then one morning, as usual, he entrusted his destiny to his knife. The weapon spun for a moment and stopped, its blade pointing at the blazing horizon. It is towards this unknown territory that the son of Crao would go, to encounter new dangers, to discover new mysteries. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Reptile. Episode Nine. The Enraged Crowd. Summary: Thanks to Mark Bowen, the police now know the sinister secret of “Reptile”, the terrifying professor Andros Andprophis, who has the power to transform into a reptile and whose purpose is to dominate the universe by terror! After many dramatic adventures, “Reptile” has a new idea to achieve his ends. My dear old college! Ha-ha-ha! Here I am like a fish in the water! How can I help you sir? Oh? Doctor Meredith is in the lab. Is he waiting for you by chance? The Fool! In the past there was no doorman. Too bad for him! Page Two: Eh! Air! What is happening? Are you sick? Huh! Huh! My blood freezes in my veins! My strength grows, multiplies, increases! I metamorphose! Hou-la-la! Mother! Ha-ha-ha! He fainted from terror! Ha-ha-ha! The section for the study of venoms and toxins. Page Three: Ha-ha-ha Dear Meredith is harvesting venom from a. Super Mamba I will give him a hand. Hiss! Ha-ha! Immediately the terrible reptile reacts. Argh! Thwack! Ha-ha-0ha! Sorry my dear colleague! You should not get in the way of the invincible “Reptile”! Smash! Page Four: It only remains for me to perform certain operations that will allow me to dominate huge crowds! A few hours later, Inspector Manning was learning what had happened at the college of Biology. The laboratory for the study of snake venom you say? It can only be him! What else is he up to? We will find out soon, I hope! Meanwhile the guard has been doubled around the parliament, the ministries, and the Royal Palace! We do not know which way to turn our head! Page Five: A little later, at the college of Biology. So Mark? He has distilled all sorts of venoms and extremely powerful poisons! All I can tell you is that this preparation is certainly intended to be ingested! Drunk, you mean? At such a high dose? No! Extremely diluted it should still give powerful results. I mean diluted in the water supply of the capital, for example! Hello! Hello! Urgent call! Closely monitor reservoirs, settling ponds, water distribution facilities! It is very important! We fear one of Reptile’s enterprises! And this is how: What panic! When I think only one man caused all this! Finally! With all of the supervision that is now exercised over everything related to the distribution of water. He won't mess with it! Page Six: I do not see any holes in our disposition! I thought about the question Mark! It is not to poison people, which “Reptile” made his preparations, but to start again on an immense, an immense, ah. Scale, what he did in the tank regiment or with the airmen. You mean? Enslave crowds!? By Jove! That's certainly what he wants to do! Then he would have thousands of people at his disposal! What to do? Just in case, dozens of chemists were mobilized to constantly analyze the water in the pumping stations. Forgive me darling! But I have to go, like my colleagues! I have not seen Pierre run so fast since that time he thought his mistress was pregnant. Page Seven: In five minutes I have to be at Wardley station! They have stopped the distribution! They will only reopen the valves when I give the green light after analysis! I must hurry! Ha-ha! They think they're smart, but. Eh! Who is it?! So! Kraits’ ring hisses. Page Eight: So gently now! Now is not the time to have an accident! Screech! You are in my power, mister! Here is what you're going to do! You are going to pour the contents of this test tube into the water distribution pipes. Without being noticed! Without being noticed, Yes! Ha-ha-ha! It is childishly simple! Next objective: The radio! Shortly after, the chemist arrives at his destination. Page Nine: This is the room where the analysis takes place, sir! Do you need me? But no, but no! I can very well do this on my own! The employee is gone! So! Directly in the distribution pipe. Mister! You don't need to draw water from. Eh! He saw me? Hey! What’s got into you? You will die! Die so that my master's orders are carried out! Page Ten: Die? Not me! Help! The orders of my master! Argh! Thrang! Hey! What is happening here? Less than ten minutes later, the news reached the headquarters of the police. Doctor Abe. A reputable chemist! He had reptile teeth marks on his neck. He half killed a lab worker at the pumping station!? Just what I feared, Manning! The drugs are in the circuit now Mark! You have to make a call. On the radio, Manning! Right away! Page Eleven: Already it is too late and, at this very moment, on the facade of the building of the B. B. C. in London. Ha-ha-ha! Like the chameleon, I have the power to make myself invisible. Like the gecko, I have suction cups on my fingers. I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away, I don’t know where my soul is! Like a snake I slip through the smallest opening. I have to interrupt this program for a moment to send you an urgent communication from Scotland Yard. Whack! Thump! Page Twelve: All who are now hiss, slaves, prepare to follow my instructions, hiss! The reptile's hissing voice reverberated hundreds of miles across the airwaves. Eh! You hear? Phew! The more it goes on, the more they say nonsense on the radio! It was the voice of my master! I must obey him! Smash! Johnny! What are you saying? For reptile! Ahead! Page Thirteen: In the streets were now massing the unfortunates who had the misfortune to drink the drugged water. What is happening? These people are crazy! They look like robots! We have to call the police! Chaos! Destruction! Such is the will of Reptile! Chaos, destruction such is his. Chaos and destruction, yes, well put slaves! And London becomes the first flagship of the Reptil Empire under the sign of chaos. And. Vlan! Look there! We have you Androphis! Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition! Hiss! Pour Fools! Hiss! Page Fourteen: Halt! Or I shoot! Never! Take that in your face, you stupid fools! The venom of the invisible Reptile! Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha- Adieu, poor fools! Anyone other than me would kill themselves in such a fall! But Reptil is not just anyone! Thruk! Page Fifteen: It was then that, driving in racing cars, Mark Bowen and Inspector Manning arrived. Over there Mark! Don't stop, Manning! Run him over! Screech! They think they have me, The little fools! Screech! But here are just a few of my slaves, who amuse themselves. Slaves! Hear the voice, of your Master! Enemies. Page Sixteen: Purse me! Kill Them! Obey! Kill them! Master! Master! He says! To kill his enemies! Let us obey! Damnation! We are in deep trouble! Let's not stay here! Ha-ha-ha! Too Late Bowen! Hiss, hiss, spittle! This time you will not escape death! Ha-ha-ha-hiss! You won't bother me anymore! Lamentable little fool! Page Seventeen: Come on Slaves! Finish it! I'm sorry, Manning, but we have to hit the ground running! The poor fools! They don't know what they are doing. Let's go over there, Mark! Execute the orders of our master! They chant Kill! Kill! Manning! Thunk! Argh! Manning! Ho, ho, ho! This time we got them! He will not escape carrying his side-kick! The mob yells Kill! Death! Page Eighteen: They are right but, a garage! I may have a chance. If it is full of oil! Time to smash it with an ax and. Let us see what you think of that!? Splursh! Page Nineteen: Argh! It’s slippery! Perfect! That will keep them busy for a little bit of time! However, believing to have finished with his enemies Reptil continues the realization of his insane plan. I knew that among the slaves I would find a representative of the law! I you! I have a special mission for you! Oink, oink! I am your slave, master! Take this message to Downing Street. To the prime minister, sir? But he is no longer there. Like all members of the government, they are in refuge in a secret retreat. Page Twenty: But there are undoubtedly still personnel there, who will convey my message to them! My ultimatum! Come on! And as the policeman strode away. You over there! I need a radio transmitter! How exhilarating! I only have to say the word, and it is executed! Ha-ha-ha! However, in the city it was absolute chaos. Page Twenty-One: No one knew who was who, and if they drank a drop of the water drugged by Professor Androphis, the most balanced of citizens turned into horrible vandals. Death to the Cops! Chaos and destruction! Yes! Chaos and destruction! Terrified citizens who had not lost their heads, left the capital. In order, if you please! You are here under the protection of the army! No need to panic! Now the streets where Mark Bowen and Inspector Manning walked were deserted. It is terrible, Mark! We really do not know what to do to get out of this incredible situation! You are not the only one, old man! Never has such a thing happened and even the Prime Minister must wonder. Page Twenty-Two: Attention! A tailor's dummy! Oh! Good! I have cold sweats! And I as well! Say, do you have any idea what crazy professor is going to do now? Now that he has proven his power, I wouldn't be surprised if he issued an ultimatum to the government. Downing Street! The Prime Minister and the members of his cabinet have taken refuge, I don't know where, but there are still people there! Come on, maybe that's the thing to do. For the lack of another idea! Page Twenty-Three: But at this same moment, not far from Downing Street. Hey you! Identify yourself! Holden of “C” Division! And you. You belong to the Prime Minister's Protective Services, Sir? Yes, Why? I have an important message from my master, Reptile! You do not have to be afraid of me! My Master ordered me not to commit violence, said the stupid pig. Incredible, thought Manning. A real robot. Meanwhile in an abandoned hotel on the west end. Ha-ha-ha! What peace, hiss, in this place! My message, hiss, should soon be delivered to the Prime Minister. Page Twenty-Four: Hiss! Other people must have had some of my drugged water! And the army of my slaves must be infinitely more numerous! To entertain myself I will give them new instructions. An instant later. Do you hear me, slaves? Where ever you are. Abandon what you are doing. Mechanically, the crane operator acts upon a lever and. Skrung! Just as Mark Bowen and Detective Manning arrived. Oh! Mark! Page Twenty-Five: What is it? Attention! Run! Run! As if fascinated by the terrifying charge which fell towards him, Mark Bowen remained nailed to the ground. My Apologies old Friend! And so Inspector Manning punches him in the face. Crack! Smash! And Now. Kratoom! Crash! Page Twenty-Six: Eh! What is this? Who!? What? Forgive me Mark, but I had no choice! Where are you going Manning? The crane operator! I have to corner him before he joins the crowd of other reptilian slaves! Hey there friend! Wait! What? An enemy of my master no doubt? Page Twenty-Seven: Thrang! To obey him, my strength is irresistible! Nothing can resist me! Reptile’s so fine, there’s no telling where the money goes! Huh! It's a real killing machine! Courage Inspector! Thwack! Crash! Smack! This is a quite sufficient, and well measured amount of violence. Thanks Mark! Now, if you want my opinion, we should take ourselves to the Prime Minister! If they put a lab at my disposal, I might find an antidote to this drug! A little later. Who is in command here? Inspector Grey! But he left. To give the Prime minister the ultimatum from Reptile! Page Twenty-Eight: If only we know where this scoundrel is! Do not remind me, mister! Can you give me some bodyguards to protect me while I study in a laboratory the case of these "Slaves" of Reptil? Not far away. Damnation! Bowen is still alive! Lucky that I came to see with my own eyes what is happening here! He is too well protected for me to openly attack him. But I know that he is going to a laboratory! The closest, certainly. A laboratory that I know very well. And where he does not suspect what awaits him! A few minutes later, while protected by a formidable escort of policemen, Mark Bowen was crossing a bridge over the Thames. Page Twenty-Nine: It is a very, very well-equipped laboratory for the study of snake venom, following the methods instituted by Professor Androphis. Oh! We are in trouble again! Again those unfortunates are enraged by the Reptile drug! As warning salvo to disperse them, my friends! Bam! Bam! It does not make them hot or cold, Inspector! Good! Load your guns with rubber bullets and shoot to the body. A volley of bullets specially planned to disperse the demonstrators fell on the front row of the slaves of reptile. Page Thirty: Forward! Forward! Nothing can prevent the realization of the plans of the invincible Reptile! Death! Argh! Of course, Reptile was not far away. Ha-ha-ha! How exhilarating the spectacle of violence! This is exactly what I need. A little diversion. Permitting me to set up my trap for the stupid Mark Bowen. Once again reptile is ahead in the game! When will this nightmare end? The next episode will tell us, friends!

Rahan. Episode Twenty Eight. The land that speaks. A rumbling wave lifted the raft and threw it against a reef. The skiff broke apart and the son of Crao was submerged by the foaming waves. In other times, he would have been able to reach the near shore where, under the gusts of the wind, the coconut palms shook their disheveled heads. But, lost on the great river for several moons, hungry, exhausted, he could not fight the storm. Page Two: He glimpsed the green wall of a gigantic wave rolling towards him. Rahan is lost! He will join the black “Territory of the Shadows”! The wave seemed to engulf him, but it carried him to the shore, where it died in a seething foam. The day has not come for Rahan to join you, Crao! Amazed to still be alive Rahan felt his chest, his arms, and his legs. As his fingers met the ivory handle of his cutlass, he thought of the game he should kill. But what beast could well venture on this shore! This wild beach was lined with mossy rocks. The crabs that the waves had just thrown there, rushed back to the sea. Page Three: Suddenly perceiving a slight lapping between the rocks, Rahan leaned over a fault. A serpent from the "Great River!" Rahan will finally be able to eat! In the water hole, he had seen a huge conger eel, which was no doubt waiting for high tide to return to the ocean. He knew how dangerous the bite of that snakehead was. So he cut a strong harpoon. He plunged this one into the fault, bracing himself when the point had crossed the body of the conger. Ra-ha-ha! The son of Crao launched his cry of victory because the snake-fish, extirpated from his lair was so big that he would have satisfied a whole clan! Page Four: Finishing off this furiously struggling conger was difficult, but Rahan managed it. The storm is over. When Rahan regains his strength, he will be able to explore this territory! Shortly after, the son of Crao was happily devouring a large slice of fish. Another was already grilling on the low fire. The wind died down and, on the sea, which was no longer being shaken by anything but a light swell, a few boats appeared in the distance. Rahan is happy that "Those-who-walk-upright" come from this side. He will share the snake-fish with them! Page Five: A little later. We have seen the smoke of your fire! By what right does a man from the “land that speaks” come to fish on our shores! Rahan ignores the meaning of your words, brother! It was the storm that dragged him here! Lie! Those of the "Speaking Earth" know how to lie! The men, surrounding Rahan, dragged him towards their boats. When ours risk themselves on the "earth-that-speaks", yours hunt them or kill them. Kaglok, our leader, will decide whether you should be killed or hunted! But Rahan knows nothing about this "Speaking Earth"! Kaglok will decide! But as he has avenged his son, I believe that you will be hanged by the feet, until death ensues! Page Six: And I will regret that your people, from over there, cannot be present at this torture! The man pointed to an island on the horizon. He called out to his people. Let us go closer to the "Speaking Earth"! I would like to show those damned people that we have captured one of theirs! As they approached the island, Crao's son reflected. Rahan might escape, but he would have to abandon his knife! Indeed, the ivory weapon that had been stolen from him had been slipped into the belt of a man on another boat. The boat was now close to the beach. On the island, men observed the boats. Stand up Rahan! I want your people to see you! Page Seven: The son of Crao stood up. And suddenly dove into the water. A cry of amazement arose. Those of "land that speaks" do not yet know how to crawl on the water. Let us kill him! Let us kill him! Although a remarkable swimmer, Rahan could not compete in speed with the spears that were thrown so violently. As some fell dangerously around him, he let himself sink, swimming between the spears. When he came to the surface, it was out of reach of the men who, curiously enough, remained at a distance from the "land that speaks"! Page Eight: Kaglok will not forgive us for leaving the enemy! Is he really an enemy? We all know that those of the "land-that-speaks" have never known how to crawl on water! And Rahan crawls there as well as on land! The boats pulled away when the son of Crao pulled himself up onto the beach. These are no more welcoming than the others! The men, indeed, wielded great bows. What madness pushes you to come and challenge us, man of the great land!? Rahan doesn't want to challenge anyone! He is the brother of all "Those-who-walk-upright"! Of those of the "Grand Terre" as of those of "the land that speaks"! Page Nine: You have seen that those of the "Great Land" wanted to kill Rahan! Which proves that Rahan is not one of them! We know Kaglok's tricks, this is one to infiltrate one of his men among our horde! Lock up Rahan with Kag!! The man speaking must have been the leader. He wore a large leather bracelet on which sparkled pearls. Each clan believes that Rahan belongs to the other! The son of the fierce ages was lead to an enclosure of tall bamboo. A moment later he found there a young captive. I am Rahan, son of Crao. And you, who are you? I am Kag, the son of Kaglok. Page Ten: Those of "Speaking Earth" captured me ten moons ago. They say they will kill me if my people come to fish in their waters! Their waters? Isn't the great river wide enough for your two clans to fish in peace! There are enough fish for. It is not about fish, Rahan. But shells in which we sometimes discover wonderful pearls! These shells are abundant around the "earth-that-speaks" and that is why mine often come to dive near and. Tabaro's men, who cannot crawl, neither on water nor under water, are furious! For Rahan things became clearer. Page Eleven: Kag went on, a look of dread in his eyes. Tabaro will kill me if those of my clan approach his island! Tabaro won't kill you, Kag. Because Kag and Rahan are going to escape tonight! The darkness descended slowly on the ocean enveloping the “earth-that-speaks” and all over there, the shores of the "Great land". In the bamboo enclosure the captives were ready. When you are on the other side, you will throw me a vine! I understand Rahan! A moment later, Rahan lifted the teenager at arm's length. Kag's hands narrowly grabbed the enclosure, but grabbed it. Page Twelve: Rahan heard him fall on the other side. Kag is cunning enough to avoid Tabaro’s guards! In fact a few seconds later, a vine fell near him. After having tested the solidity. The son of fierce ages climbs it with his customary agility. Where could Kag have attached this vine? Reaching the crest of the enclosure, he nearly screamed in surprise. Three Tabaro men braced themselves against the rope! A fourth held Kag down. They surprised me too early Rahan!! The son of Crao, then, only listens to his instincts. From the top of the bamboo enclosure, he dove on the trio! Ra-ha-ha! Page Thirteen: A tornado would not have produced more of an effect. The Tabaro guards collapsed under his blows and the one who mastered Kag fled, terrified. But other men, emerging from the huts, prevented the fugitives from gaining access to the boats. Into the forest, Kag, quick! Fast! A moment later, Rahan and his young companion bounced into the bushy thickets. They ran thus until the shouts of their pursuers no longer reached them. We have escaped them but how will we leave the "Earth-that-speaks"? How will we reach the mainland? As they descended a long rocky slope, Kag suddenly stumbled, and slid down a deep ravine. Kag! Kag! Page Fourteen: Kag held on at a ledge but stupor petrified the son of Crao. The name he had screamed was hanging everywhere. Kag! Kag! This name. Ten times repeated, came from the cliff, rising from the ravine. Kag! Kag! Kag! The son of fierce ages was unaware of any echo phenomenon. More intrigued than worried, he launched his own name and. Rahan!! Rahn! Rahan! The cliffs and the ravine answered him. Rahan understands why this island is nicknamed the "land that speaks"! But your cries have attracted tabaro! Look out!! Page Fifteen: Tabaro and his clan arose, threatening the fugitives with their great bows. Rahan will perish according to the custom of his people: Hanging by the feet! “Hung by the feet” echoed, repeating sinisterly. “Hung by the feet”! “Hung by the feet”! Shortly after, Kag was again locked in the enclosure and the son of Crao hung from a low branch. If Rahan doesn't break free soon, his head will explode! Tabaro and his men had returned to their huts and no longer cared about the captive. The latter, giving his body a swinging motion, wore down the vine on the branch. The blood rushed to his brain. His ears buzzed. His vision was blurring! Page Sixteen: He was about to pass out when the vine gave way. His thick hair happily softens the shock with the ground. A moment later, with the flint of a spear, he freed his ankles. Then his wrists. Not far from him, boats were lined up on the beach. It would be easy for Rahan to run away! But he will not give up on Kag! He was about to slip towards the enclosure when he felt the sting of an arrow in his back. I wanted to talk to you Rahan! The bow stretched, Tabaro smiled. I thought I would find you hanging from this tree, and I wanted to make you an offer to stop the torture. Page Seventeen: What proposal? Rahan is listening to Tabaro! I saw how wonderfully you crawl on water. If you teach Tabaro to crawl on water this way, you will be free to leave the “Land that speaks”! Rahan agrees. Provided Kag is set free with him. Tabaro accepts Rahan's condition! From then on, staying on the island was almost pleasant. It was certainly forbidden for the captives to approach the boats. But. They were free to roam around the lagoon where the son of Crao was teaching the clan chief to swim. Slow down, Tabaro! Slower! Page Eighteen: When Tabaro. He will know crawl on water, he will learn to crawl! His brothers! We will have the same chances as those of the "Grande Terre" to fish. Fish for pearl shells. Tabaro is certain that the hatred between our two clans will fade! Rahan wants it too! One morning, all the echoes of the “speaking earth” resounded. Tabaro can crawl on water! Tabaro can crawl on water! Tabaro can crawl on water! The chief even learned to dive into the green depths of the lagoon. He discovered there a school of giant oysters. It was during one of these dives that Rahan had his leg caught by one of these monstrous shells. Page Nineteen: Slicing the giant oyster's tendon, Tabaro then saved his life. Tabaro crawls on water and underwater as well as Rahan! And Tabaro keeps his promise. Rahan and Kag are free! When Rahan is on the "Great Land", he will be able to tell Kaglok that our arrows will no longer decimate his fishers! He could fish for shellfish around the island. We, we will fish those of the lagoons! Shortly after, the son of Crao and Kag left the island. "Farewell Rahan!" "Farewell Rahan!" Cried the echoes of the land-that-speaks. Page Twenty: Those of the "Great-land" welcomed them with the same emotion as the men of Tabaro had saluted them. Kag! Kag! My son! My son who I thought was dead! Kag recounted everything Rahan had done for him. And we who took you for an enemy! Take back your knife brother! You no longer have an enemy, Kaglok! Your clan and that of the "Speaking Earth" will now live in peace. Which is the best thing for "Those-who-walk-upright"! Will Rahan stay with us? No Kag. Rahan has too much to learn, and too much unknown territory to discover! As always, the son of fierce ages confided his destiny to his ivory knife. He twirled the weapon on a stone, waiting for the blade to indicate the direction in which he would venture off again. Index: https://rumble.com/v3486cm-rahan-index-of-episodes-by-roger-lecureux..html

Index of Rahan Episodes. 01 https://rumble.com/v2e75py-rahan-episode-1-the-secret-of-the-sun.-by-roger-lecureux.html 02 https://rumble.com/v2f3748-rahan.-episode-two.-the-crazy-horde.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 03 https://rumble.com/v2gh0g2-rahan.-episode-three.-the-fish-trap.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puketm-comic.html 04 https://rumble.com/v2hns8g-rahan.-episode-four.-the-magic-stone-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic.html 05 https://rumble.com/v2janck-rahan.-episode-five.-the-liquid-tomb.-rahan-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 06 https://rumble.com/v2jvwsu-rahan.-episode-six.-the-mammoth-god.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 07 https://rumble.com/v2l18ou-rahan.-episode-seven.-the-country-with-the-white-skin.-by-roger-lecureux.-a.html 08 https://rumble.com/v2m98g8-rahan.-episode-eight.-the-long-claw.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 09 https://rumble.com/v2nihgq-rahan.-episode-nine.-the-arc-of-heaven.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 10 https://rumble.com/v2osm2u-rahan.-episode-ten.-the-flat-beast.-by-roger-lecureux.a-puke-tm-comic..html 11 https://rumble.com/v2q1v66-rahan.-episode-eleven.-the-men-with-heavy-legs.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-t.html 12 https://rumble.com/v2r2f1i-rahan.-episode-twelve.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 13 https://rumble.com/v2rpsta-rahan.-episode-thirteen.-as-crao-would-have-done.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 14 https://rumble.com/v2t7cf2-rahan.-episode-fourteen.-the-new-trap.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 15 https://rumble.com/v2ua0ip-rahan.-episode-fifteen.-death-to-the-manta.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 16 https://rumble.com/v2uoblj-rahan.-episode-sixteen.-the-necklace-of-claws.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html 17 https://rumble.com/v2uom53-rahan.-episode-seventeen.-the-weapon-that-flies.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 18 https://rumble.com/v2vtlo2-rahan.-episode-eighteen.-the-demon-tree.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic.html 19 https://rumble.com/v2x9lgs-rahan.-episode-nineteen.-the-forbidden-shore.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-.html 20 https://rumble.com/v2x9yfg-rahan.-episode-twenty.-the-chief-of-chiefs.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 21 https://rumble.com/v2yd4vo-rahan.-episode-twenty-one.-the-cliff-of-sacrifice.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puk.html 22 https://rumble.com/v2yqsxy-rahan.-episode-twenty-two.-the-white-arrow.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 23 https://rumble.com/v309cwo-rahan.-episode-twenty-three.-the-people-of-the-trees.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-.html 24 https://rumble.com/v31h0ps-rahan.-episode-twenty-four.-the-ivory-knife..html 25 https://rumble.com/v32l96o-rahan.-episode-twenty-five.-the-territory-of-shadows.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-.html 26 https://rumble.com/v32svci-rahan.-episode-twenty-six.-the-mammoth-killer.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html 27 https://rumble.com/v347yxg-episode-twenty-seven.-the-clan-of-the-cursed-lake.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puk.html 28 https://rumble.com/v34rdhu-rahan.-episode-twenty-eight.-the-land-that-speaks.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puk.html 29 https://rumble.com/v36oana-rahan.-episode-twenty-nine.-the-long-manes.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 30 https://rumble.com/v36ooxe-rahan.-episode-thirty.-to-save-alona.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 31 https://rumble.com/v38brp1-rahan.-episode-thirty-one.-the-savage-clan.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 32 https://rumble.com/v38n1ei-rahan.-episode-thirty-two.-faster-than-the-zebra.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 33 https://rumble.com/v38zu15-rahan.-episode-33.-the-monster-from-another-time-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 34 https://rumble.com/v3b039l-rahan.-episode-thirty-four.-the-forest-of-axes.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-t.html 35 https://rumble.com/v3dfn9w-episode-thirty-five.-the-sorcerer-of-the-full-moon.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-pu.ht36ml 36 https://rumble.com/v3e0o7i-rahan.-episode-thirty-six.-the-monkey-men.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-com.html 37 https://rumble.com/v3g3ul0-rahan.-episode-thirty-seven.-the-lagoon-of-dread.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 38 https://rumble.com/v3i9wsc-rahan.-episode-thirty-eight.-the-sign-of-fear.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html 39 https://rumble.com/v3iays2-rahan.-episode-thirty-nine.-the-bonds-of-truth.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-t.html 40 https://rumble.com/v3lgtgp-rahan.-episode-forty.-the-last-man-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 41 https://rumble.com/v3mj7ld-rahan.-episode-forty-one.-the-clay-cliff.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 42 https://rumble.com/v3nhexj-rahan.-episode-forty-two.-the-demon-of-the-swamp-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 43 https://rumble.com/v3q7vyy-rahan.-episode-43-the-island-of-the-lost-clan.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html 44 https://rumble.com/v3rop5v-rahan.-episode-forty-four.-the-miracle-herb.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-c.html 45 https://rumble.com/v3sirnp-rahan.-episode-45.-the-hunters-of-the-lightning.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 46 https://rumble.com/v3t4lmp-rahan.-episode-forty-six.-the-return-of-the-goraks.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-pu.html 47 https://rumble.com/v3uklx7-rahan.-episode-forty-seven.-the-men-without-hair.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 48 https://rumble.com/v3w0svp-rahan.-episode-forty-eight.-the-weapons-that-fly.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 49 https://rumble.com/v3werwd-rahan.-episode-forty-nine.-the-blue-shells.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 50 https://rumble.com/v3xbrp1-rahan.-episode-fifty.-those-of-the-high-country.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 51 https://rumble.com/v3z4axa-rahan.-episode-fifty-one.-the-one-who-killed-the-river.-by-roger-lecureux.-.html 52 https://rumble.com/v406sod-rahan.-episode-fifty-two.-the-weapon-with-three-arms.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-.html 53 https://rumble.com/v43pwwb-rahan.-episode-fifty-three.-the-little-man.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 54 https://rumble.com/v44s4we-rahan.-episode-fifty-four.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-mother-of-mothers.-a-puke.html 55 https://rumble.com/v45qd83-rahan.-episode-fifty-five.-roger-lecureux.-the-one-who-makes-clouds.-a-puke.html 56 https://rumble.com/v46arsr-rahan.-episode-fifty-six.-the-eaters-of-men.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 57 https://rumble.com/v47na9f-rahan.-episode-fifty-seven.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-bridge-of-monkeys.-a-puk.html 58 https://rumble.com/v493ms3-rahan.-episode-fifty-eight.-the-god-of-happiness.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 59 https://rumble.com/v4al6kr-rahan.-episode-fifty-nine.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-king-tree.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 60 https://rumble.com/v4b72mr-rahan.-episode-sixty.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-childhood-secret-of-rahan.-a-p.html 61 https://rumble.com/v4dgix9-rahan.-episode-sixty-one.-by-roger-lecureux-the-magic-spear.-a-puke-tm-comi.html 62 https://rumble.com/v4e2axf-rahan.-episode-sixty-two.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-share-of-the-chiefs.-a-puk.html 63 https://rumble.com/v4ewxsr-rahan.-episode-sixty-three.-by-roger-lecureux-the-beast-that-speaks.-a-puke.html 64 https://rumble.com/v4gbcvx-rahan.-episode-sixty-four.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-eye-that-sees-far.-a-puke.html 65 https://rumble.com/v4gozrk-rahan.-episode-sixty-five.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-infant-chief.-a-puke-tm-c.html 66 https://rumble.com/v4gv7l2-rahan.-episode-sixty-six.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-men-without-heads.-a-puke-.html 67 https://rumble.com/v4i35yh-rahan.-episode-sixty-seven.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-bird-that-runs.-a-puke-t.html 68 https://rumble.com/v4io96x-rahan.-episode-sixty-eight.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-captive-of-the-great-riv.html 69 https://rumble.com/v4j3jgr-rahan.-episode-sixty-nine.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-weapon-of-terror.-a-puke-.html 70 https://rumble.com/v4jw89r-rahan.-episode-seventy.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-spirits-of-the-night.-a-puke.html 71 https://rumble.com/v4khztb-episode-seventy-one.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-sacrifice-of-maoni.-a-puke-tm-c.html 72 https://rumble.com/v4li83f-rahan.-episode-seventy-two.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-mud-that-devours.-a-puke.html 73 https://rumble.com/v4m58mr-rahan.-episode-seventy-three.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-blue-eye.-a-puke-tm-co.html 74 https://rumble.com/v4mp3st-rahan.-episode-seventy-four.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-worshipers-of-the-dead..html 75 https://rumble.com/v4njilx-rahan.-episode-seventy-five.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-children-of-the-river.-.html 76 https://rumble.com/v4nxsnk-rahan.-episode-seventy-six.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-cave-of-deception.-a-puk.html 77 https://rumble.com/v4ooyt9-rahan.-episode-seventy-seven.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-four-legs..html 78 https://rumble.com/v4qgbfk-rahan.-episode-seventy-eight.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-clan-of-gentle-men.-a-.html 79 https://rumble.com/v4qmour-rahan.-episode-seventy-nine.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-island-of-the-living-de.html 80 https://rumble.com/v4rf032-rahan.-episode-eighty.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-valley-of-torments.-a-puke-tm.html 81 https://rumble.com/v4skdki-rahan.-episode-eighty-one.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-demon-of-straw.-a-puke-tm.html 82 https://rumble.com/v4sxc10-rahan.-episode-eighty-two.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-rocks-of-water.-a-puke-tm.html 83 https://rumble.com/v4t9gln-rahan.-episode-eighty-three.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-fish-women.-a-puke-tm-c.html 84 https://rumble.com/v4u1hd2-rahan.-episode-eighty-four.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-heads-of-horn.-a-puke-tm.html 85 https://rumble.com/v4ulocq-rahan.-episode-eighty-five.-story-by-lecureux.-the-wampas-without-wings.-a-.html 86 https://rumble.com/v4us662-rahan.-episode-eighty-six.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-stones-that-burn.-a-puke-.html 87 https://rumble.com/v4vfv9o-rahan.-episode-eighty-seven.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-venom-of-docility.-a-pu.html 88 https://rumble.com/v4w0y4u-rahan.-episode-eighty-eight.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-secret-of-wandaka.-a-pu.html 89 https://rumble.com/v4w8gh6-rahan.-episode-eighty-nine.-by-roger-lecureux.-the-thing-that-stretches.-a-.html 90 91

Rahan. Episode Twenty Seven. The clan of the cursed lake. With a simple tap on the handle, the son of Crao spun his ivory knife on a polished stone. This was how he sometimes acted, when no precise goal guided his steps. Catching the fire of the sun, the weapon made a few turns and stopped. So Rahan will go that way! In the distance, in the direction which chance had imposed on the blade, rose a volcano. Rahan ran his fingers over the claws of his collar. Page Two: The vision of a volcano always reminded him of the terrifying night of his childhood, when all his family had been devoured by the torrent of fire. That night when Crao-the-brave, dying, had bequeathed to him the necklace of courage and loyalty. Rahan would have preferred that you guide him to another territory! But he will not disobey you! As the son of the fierce ages was accustomed to the noises and activities of the jungle, Rahan suddenly guessed a nearby presence. His fingers gripped the precious knife. When he realized that the danger was above him, in the foliage, it was too late. A wide net fell on him! Page Three: For having already been captured in this way by a clan of fishermen, he knew how difficult it is to free oneself from this trap. He saw everything at once: the creeper tied to the hunter's wrist and the long pointed harpoon that he brandished. He relaxed with the power of a big beast, rolling on the ground in the net, unbalancing the man from his perch. A moment later Rahan was slicing the net, and the hunter, stunned by his brutal fall, was lying, a calf impaled on his own harpoon! Page Four: The son of Crao could have abandoned his attacker. The law of the fierce ages allowed it. But he never felt hatred for "Those-who-walk-upright". If Rahan extracts this weapon while he is knocked out, he will feel less pain! He could not pull the harpoon without the curved spikes horribly aggravating the wound. So he sliced the shaft of the weapon as close as possible to the calf. When he tugged at the spike, the wood sliced into the flesh and the man, revived by the pain, howled!! Argh! He saw Rahan holding his knife in one hand, and the tip of the harpoon in the other. Kill me! You have the right! If Rahan wanted to kill you he would have left this in your leg! Page Five: What enemy are you then, not to take advantage of your victory? I am Rahan, son of Crao. The hunter tried to stand up but his injury prevented him from doing so. Rahan will help you rejoin your clan! But why did you want to capture him? Karok would have been proud to bring you back to his clan. The wizard always says that Karok does not know how to fish. Karok would have proved him wrong! Rahan learned that Karok was part of a clan of fishermen, who lived on a nearby lake. When he had bandaged his wound with the help of leaves. He cut two long bamboos. We will be with your brothers before the sun goes down! Why are you wasting your time with me? Page Six: Rahan cannot let you die in the jungle! And then Rahan is curious about everything. He wants to know about your strange village, which you say is built on water! Remembering how the hunters of his horde brought back the most game, the son of Crao made a kind of travois, rudimentary but solid. Shortly after, following Karok’s instructions, he dragged him into the jungle. It was an exhausting hike. And it was interrupted for a moment by the passage of a deep ravine. You can skip it easily. But I cannot! Leave me here Rahan! No! Rahan probably still has enough strength to get you to the other side! It is impossible! No one could! Page Seven: The son of Crao pushed Karok to the edge of the Ravine. The long bamboos of the Travois slid to the other side, but were still too short to lean on. Rahan picked up his momentum and leapt across the chasm. And now you have to trust Rahan! He had to bend down to grab the ends of the bamboos. His plan required uncommon strength. Hold on tight Karok! Because as soon as the body of the injured person no longer touched the hard rock, he would support all the weight! Watch out Karok! Here we go! Let us hope the bamboos will survive! There was a sudden jolt and Rahan had to use all his strength not to be lifted from the ground. Ra-ha-ha! Page Eight: The travois bent over the abyss, while the son of Crao pulled it to him. But the bamboo held, and Karok held on! A moment later. Karok will never forget what you did for him! He will ask the wizard of the clan to welcome you as a brother! The sun was disappearing behind the volcano when the two men finally arrived in sight of the large lake. The sight of the huts erected over the water amazed Rahan. Who had never seen a lakeside village before. A very long bridge linked this village to the shore of the lake. Fishermen rushed along there. The men look agitated! Some men had recognized Karok on the travois. Questions flew, to which the wounded man answered. Rahan was generous, he took care of me and brought me back here! Page Nine: Cranaa has seen Rahan. He says that he is the one who provokes the new anger of the mountain of fire and forbids him to be in the village! A pout of bitterness puckered Karok’s lips. Cranaa is the clan's wizard. I can do nothing against his orders Rahan! Leaving the son of Crao on the shore, the fishermen were carrying their wounded companion along the deck. A dull rumble shook the ground. Flee Rahan. Flee! The "Mountain of Fire" tells you that he is angry! He will kill you tonight! A new rumble arose that reminded Rahan of those of the Blue Mountain before it had spewed its fiery entrails on Crao's horde! Page Ten: That night Rahan had been able to protect himself under the rocks! But where will he take refuge here?? The side of the volcano fell almost sheer to the shore which offered no shelter. Rahan understands why the clan of Karok built their village on the water. Over there, the fishermen have nothing to fear from torrents of fire! Cries rose from the village as proof that there was a quarrel. Karok demands that we welcome Rahan, and Cranaa the sorcerer opposes it! Such was, indeed, the reason for the quarrel. Why does Cranna want to abandon a generous hunter like Rahan to the wrath of the Mountain of Fire!? It is cowardice! Page Eleven: It is the presence of this enemy on our territory that irritates the "Mountain of Fire"! Listen! Listen to it!! The growls were getting louder, and more frequent too. When would the volcano spit its fire and incandescent rocks skyward? In a moment perhaps! The rapidly falling night gave an idea to the son of fierce ages. The Lake Clan will not see Rahan approaching! He was slipping into the black waters when a terrible tremor shook the cliff. The sky immediately flared up. Stones crackled on the surface, around him and he thought he was reliving the terrifying night of previous times. That of the blue mountain, the one where all his brothers had joined the territory of the shadows! Page Twelve: Uninterrupted jets of fire sprung from the crater from which overflowed a thick mud, flaming more than the fires of the setting sun. The torrent of lava was indeed breaking on the shore, towards the footbridge which linked the lakeside village to the mainland. Cries of terror rose from the village towards which Rahan swam. In a moment, the bridge will burn! Why do they not destroy it? Huddled between the piles the son of Crao could hear the stupid incantations of Cranaa, which implored the gods of the mountain. That wizard better act! It is not by whining like this that he will save his people! No one heard Rahan hoist himself between the huts. Page Thirteen: Over there, the bridge was beginning to catch fire. The lava spreading on the shore, flowed into the lake from which rose a barrier of vapor. The gods do not hear our plea! The lake clan must flee their village! Rahan could not help intervening. Why flee! All you have to do is destroy a part of this bridge that leads the fire towards you! The wizard glared at him with rage. What are you doing among us, you who have angered the fiery mountain!? Know this demon, brothers!! The men overcame the son of fierce ages. Tie him on to the board walk! The spirits tell me his body will stop the fire! Page Fourteen: Rahan struggled vigorously, throwing two fishermen into the water. Argh! Ah! But others arose, which carried him away. A moment later, he was firmly bound to the piles that supported the trunks, in the middle of the gangway. On the side of the shore, this one was devoured by the flames which quickly approached the captive. They had left Rahan his knife but, with his legs and arms spread, he could not draw the weapon. He could hear the crackling of the fire, now very close. He also heard the clamor of the fishermen who piled into their boats to evacuate the village. Page Fifteen: The high flames were only a few steps from the prisoner when. Courage, Rahan! I will not give up on you!! Crawling on the bridge, Karok had just appeared. His injury must still have been hurting him, for every movement wrung a moan from him. Cranaa says and does anything to remain the wizard of the clan! Karok had seized the ivory knife and cut the bonds. Rahan thanks Karok! Oh! Attention! Argh! Disfigured by hate, Cranaa-the-sorcerer rushed onto the bridge. Karok has come to the aid of the mountain of fire! Karok must die! Page Sixteen: The long harpoon he was brandishing was not released. Karok, faster, had thrown the ivory knife. Argh! Cranaa spun around and disappeared under the waters where the reflections of the blaze danced. The son of Crao plunged behind him to retrieve his weapon. Under the effect of the spreading molten lava the waters had become lukewarm. Rahan appeared a moment later on the surface. Hurry Karok! We can still save the village! The two men busied themselves, one pulling the bindings, the other pushing back the trunks. The gap thus made in the bridge would prevent the fire from progressing. Page Seventeen: Cries of joy rose from the boats. The volcano finally died down and the fire that threatened the village was stopped by the hole in the bridge. These cries greeted the son of Crao who, supporting Karok, returned to the huts. This idea of destroying the footbridge had never occurred to us! That is why our village has already been struck three times by fire! Each time, we had to build it again. But why not rebuild it somewhere else? Why stay so close to the mountain of fire, at the mercy of his anger? Because this part of the lake has by far the most fish! And the shore is full of game. When the mountain of fire does not ravage it! Page Eighteen: In the calm that had returned, the footbridge was completely consumed. The son of fierce ages, pensive, observed the sky still heavy with reddish smoke. Where would his destiny take him when he left these fishers? He consulted the ivory knife once more. As the weapon slowly turned, an idea suddenly crossed his mind. The bridge! Rahan knows how to make a bridge that will not be destroyed by the mountain of fire! The clan can throw a new bridge that would spin like this cutlass! Karok! Karok was confused. From dawn an intense activity reigned on the lake. From a forest spared by the lava, the fishermen brought back huge bamboos. Others were bringing huge stones from the shore. Others carved thick pillars. Page Nineteen: Rahan went from one group to another, who on his advice, were erecting between the village and the shore, a strange building on stilts. On this platform stones were aligned around the central pillar, which would serve as a pivot for the footbridge. Setting it up was a tough job. But the enthusiasm and ardor of the fishermen got the better of it! Our bridge is finished, Karok! It will be enough to pull on these vines so that it turns at will. Like the knife! Everyone held their breath when a group of men performed the maneuver for the first time. Sliding on the stones, the catwalk pivoted gently on the platform. Page Twenty: A clamor thundered as it crossed the lake. When the mountain of fire threatens your village, you will place it like this! Rahan deserves to become our leader! Why will you not stay with the lake clan? Karok will also be a good Chief! And Rahan wants to know how "Those-who-walk-upright" live beyond the great mountains. Beyond the great rivers. The son of Crao lived a few days in this lakeside village. Then one morning. Good bye Karok! Goodbye Brothers! Come back to us one day Rahan! When he was on the hill, he gazed for a moment at the green lake where the sun shone. As the fishermen moved merrily across the gangplank, he reached for his knife. And he entrusted to the ivory weapon the task of guiding his steps. Index of Rahan Episodes. 01 https://rumble.com/v2e75py-rahan-episode-1-the-secret-of-the-sun.-by-roger-lecureux.html 02 https://rumble.com/v2f3748-rahan.-episode-two.-the-crazy-horde.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 03 https://rumble.com/v2gh0g2-rahan.-episode-three.-the-fish-trap.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puketm-comic.html 04 https://rumble.com/v2hns8g-rahan.-episode-four.-the-magic-stone-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic.html 05 https://rumble.com/v2janck-rahan.-episode-five.-the-liquid-tomb.-rahan-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 06 https://rumble.com/v2jvwsu-rahan.-episode-six.-the-mammoth-god.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 07 https://rumble.com/v2l18ou-rahan.-episode-seven.-the-country-with-the-white-skin.-by-roger-lecureux.-a.html 08 https://rumble.com/v2m98g8-rahan.-episode-eight.-the-long-claw.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 09 https://rumble.com/v2nihgq-rahan.-episode-nine.-the-arc-of-heaven.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 10 https://rumble.com/v2osm2u-rahan.-episode-ten.-the-flat-beast.-by-roger-lecureux.a-puke-tm-comic..html 11 https://rumble.com/v2q1v66-rahan.-episode-eleven.-the-men-with-heavy-legs.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-t.html 12 https://rumble.com/v2r2f1i-rahan.-episode-twelve.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 13 https://rumble.com/v2rpsta-rahan.-episode-thirteen.-as-crao-would-have-done.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke.html 14 https://rumble.com/v2t7cf2-rahan.-episode-fourteen.-the-new-trap.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic..html 15 https://rumble.com/v2ua0ip-rahan.-episode-fifteen.-death-to-the-manta.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 16 https://rumble.com/v2uoblj-rahan.-episode-sixteen.-the-necklace-of-claws.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html 17 https://rumble.com/v2uom53-rahan.-episode-seventeen.-the-weapon-that-flies.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-.html 18 https://rumble.com/v2vtlo2-rahan.-episode-eighteen.-the-demon-tree.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-comic.html 19 https://rumble.com/v2x9lgs-rahan.-episode-nineteen.-the-forbidden-shore.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-.html 20 https://rumble.com/v2x9yfg-rahan.-episode-twenty.-the-chief-of-chiefs.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 21 https://rumble.com/v2yd4vo-rahan.-episode-twenty-one.-the-cliff-of-sacrifice.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puk.html 22 https://rumble.com/v2yqsxy-rahan.-episode-twenty-two.-the-white-arrow.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm-co.html 23 https://rumble.com/v309cwo-rahan.-episode-twenty-three.-the-people-of-the-trees.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-.html 24 https://rumble.com/v31h0ps-rahan.-episode-twenty-four.-the-ivory-knife..html 25 https://rumble.com/v32l96o-rahan.-episode-twenty-five.-the-territory-of-shadows.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-.html 26 https://rumble.com/v32svci-rahan.-episode-twenty-six.-the-mammoth-killer.-by-roger-lecureux.-a-puke-tm.html

Rahan. Episode Twenty-Six. The Mammoth Killer. The son of Crao, charged by a large mammoth, had made the mistake of taking refuge in an isolated tree. He was now at the mercy of the monster whose trunk furiously whipped the lower branches. Rahan should have fled to the forest! "Two-Teeth" will uproot the tree! Baroom! Crack! Each thrust of the mammoth shook the trunk dangerously and roots were already springing from the ground. Page Two: The Ivory Knife that the son of fierce ages hugged was useless to him. “Two-Teeth” is too large! Rahan cannot strike at the Heart! The son of fierce ages, hugging his ivory cutlass, suddenly fell in a crash of branches, burying him under a maze of foliage. Through a gap he glimpsed the fearsome tusks of the mammoth that was charging. Rahan will no longer see the sun or the moon. He will rejoin the land of the shadows. But the monster stopped, sending a terrifying roar skyward. A long but solid spear was stuck in his side. Strok! Rahan made out the hunter who, at thirty paces, was already throwing a second spear. Rahan thanks you for helping him brother! Oh! Page Three: Turning his anger against this unknown hunter, the monster charged heavily at him. The man shouted a hateful challenge and fled to the forest. You aided Rahan! Rahan will aide you against the “Two-Tooth”! The hunter, who had just reached the thick copse, could have disappeared there. But he waited until the mammoth was very close to him to take his course again! Rahan understands! You want to lure "Two-Tooth" into a trap! The man was now rushing into a clearing. Rahan saw him running nimbly on a bamboo trunk, lying on some grass. Grasses that did not have the same hue as the surroundings. Page Four: A moment later, the great mammoth tumbled into the pit concealed by this carpet of grass. Without worrying about the monster, the hunter disappeared into the thicket. The clamor which arose nearby, perhaps explained his flight? But why was such a brave hunter running away from his clan? A club flying out of the bushes hit the neck of the son of Crao. He did not see the men appear, brandishing spears. When he came to he was hanging upside down by his feet. Who are you? Why are you behaving like an enemy in our territory? I am Rahan, son of Crao! And I am not an enemy! So why did he trap a "two-tooth"? The man was pointing to the pit where the mammoth was dying. Page Five: There will soon be no more “two-teeth” on our territory! The clan watched in dismay the monster impaled on stakes at the bottom of the trap. And the horde will go hungry again! Why did Rahan kill that "Two-Tooth" that we had been saving for ages! Rahan would have killed it if he could have! But it was not Rahan who lured it into this trap. It was a brave hunter with fiery hair, whom Rahan could not even thank! Ho-Nak! You have heard of him!? It is a new crime of Ho-Nak against the horde!! Untie Rahan! Page Six: The clan remained hostile. Rahan is not telling the truth! He lies to save his life! Do not listen to him, Baho!! How would Rahan know that Ho-Nak had fire hair if he had not seen it? And Rahan could not know the location of this trap! That is why Baho believes him! With the help of the ivory knife, the chief of the clan himself freed the son of the fierce ages. Who allowed himself to be led to the hunter's village. Why does the horde resent Ho-Nak for killing a "Two-Tooth"? Because Ho-Nak has lost his mind! It's the fourth "Two-Tooth" that he slaughters unnecessarily! Page Seven: Baho narrated how Ho-Nak had abandoned the horde a few moons earlier. Ever since, the Fire-Haired Man hunted for himself alone. Or rather Ho-Nak does not hunt! He kills for the pleasure of killing! And the meat of the "Deux-Dents" that he slaughters rots on the spot, in the traps or the swamps! If we do not stop this killing there won't be a single "Two-Tooth" alive in the bad season. And hunger will decimate the horde! For days and days we have been looking for Ho-Nak! Alas. He is a skilled hunter. He always knew how to escape us! Rahan is also a skilled hunter. But he does not approve of Ho-Nak's conduct! Oh! What are you doing? Page Eight: On an order from Baho, men overpowered him, and snatched away his ivory Knife. You gave Baho an idea! Ho-Nak escapes us because he knows all the hunters of the horde. But he does not know Rahan! If you find him you can approach him without arousing his mistrust! Bring back Ho-Nak and we will return your knife to you! The son of Crao had no choice. He either abandoned his precious knife to Baho. Or he could track down the man to whom he owed his life! Rahan will go hunting this very night! If you succeed, our wives and children will owe you a great deal! Page Nine: The rough hands of the chief gently caressed the hair of his children. Rahan understood the feelings of these starving hunters. But delivering them a man without whom he would have joined the "Territory of Shadows". Was that not a crime? If it had not been for the ivory knife, he might have abandoned these hunters to their quarrels. But there was the knife! So, at nightfall, he went hunting. Not far from the trap, he found Ho-Nak's tracks. Despite the darkness he knew, just by feeling the ground. Whether he was following the track of an animal. Or a man. At dawn, the traces of the hunter were linked to those of a mammoth. Ho-Nak has found another "Two-Tooth" thought Rahan. He is following his trail! Page Ten: The great river shimmered in the sun when he saw the man. This one hardened the points of his spears in the fire and his hair was the color of flames. It was Ho-Nak the mammoth-slayer! He straightened up suddenly! Who are you? I have never seen you in this territory! I am Rahan, whom you saved from a "Deux-Dents" yesterday! The man was confused. From his expression, Rahan understood that the man had not seen him, the day before, under the uprooted tree. Ho-Nak did not act to help Rahan, only to lure the "Two-Tooth" into the trap! Made as it was in the fierce ages, this thought made the task less difficult. Rahan promised Baho to bring you home! The spear point was still smoking when he got up. Page Eleven: Mine have been tracking me for ages! They have become my enemies and since Rahan obeys Baho, He is also my enemy! He will die. Like a "Two-Tooth"! The spear shrieked in the ears of the son of Crao who had foreseen this reaction. Ho-Nak will learn that Rahan is more agile than a "Two-Tooth"! The hunter had no time to grab another spear. The two men rolled on the muddy bank. Cries of joy arose and the children of Baho emerged from the thickets. We have been following you, Rahan! We wanted to see how you would capture Ho-Nak!! The furious hand-to-hand combat had dragged the two men into the water, fortunately though the river was not very deep. Ho-Nak was as tough as his opponent. Page Twelve: He took over for a moment and now Rahan's face was underwater. Ho-Nak meant you no harm. But if you obey Baho, you must die! The children followed the fight with anxiety. Would the fearsome Ho-Nak drown Rahan!? No! The son of Crao had freed himself, bracing himself on his back. His Legs exploded, catapulting the mammoth-slayer. Ra-ha-ha! As the two men stood up, the trumpeting of a "Two-Tooth" resounded. Over there, the mammoth was charging the children! Hate twisted the features of Ho-Nak, who rushed to the bank in front of Rahan. No! You will not kill those children, “Two-Tooth"!! Rahan was confused. Page Thirteen: Pulling out the spear stuck in the ground, Ho-Nak, with incredible courage, went to meet the monster! A few steps from the beast, he threw his weapon. It penetrated the breast of the Mammoth which continued its course. And the son of Crao saw the hunter knocked down, and disappear between the huge legs of the monster. The audacious diversion of Ho-Nak had allowed the children of Baho to take refuge in the Bushes. Ho-Nak saved us! He, He, Sacrificed himself for us! The mammoth was now charging Rahan, who had armed himself with one of Ho-Nak's spears. Page Fourteen: The spear, thrown with violence, flew towards the hairy chest and penetrated deeply. Schronk! Ra-ha-ha! The sky darkened above Rahan, who felt as if an avalanche of hair was burying him. Ah! Argh! Something suddenly encircled him and the sky appeared again. Snatched up by the trunk, he saw the monstrous spine of the “Two-Tooth”. He also glimpses there, Ho-Nak coming back to him. Then the whole landscape turned upside down. The Mammoth had thrown him to the ground! Stunned by the shock, he vaguely distinguished the monster which, after having moved away, was going to charge him again. Page Fifteen: Rahan saw that he was only a few paces from the fire over which Ho-Nak had hardened the points of his spears. The last of these spears had remained in the fire and the hardwood was beginning to blaze. Ra-ha-ha! Rahan became aware that the ground was shaking behind him. The mammoth was attacking! Approach “Two-Tooth”! Rahan is waiting for you!! Ho-Nak, from afar, was yelling vengeful encouragement! Kill him Rahan! Kill him! Then I will know peace! As the monster came upon him, the son of Crao leapt aside. You won't surprise Rahan twice "Two-Tooth"! Page Sixteen: The tip of the flaming spear that he had just thrown disappeared into the mammoth's thick fleece. Ra-ha-ha! A flame rose immediately, devouring the side of the beast. It ran to the spine, and wrapped around its paws. A moment later, the entire fleece of the mastodon was blazing like a torch. Barking with fear and pain, it fled towards the forest. The children arrived and Ho-Nak rushed towards Rahan. Hatred had fled from the hunter's gaze. The last “Two-tooth” will not go far! The last!? What does Ho-Nak mean? Ho-Nak had sworn to kill five "Two-Tooths"! This was the fifth! Page Seventeen: But why kill five "Two-Teeth"? Because a few moons ago Ho-Nak had a wife and four children. And Ho-Nak no longer has a wife or children! All of them were massacred by a herd of "Two-Toothed" as they were going to the river! Ho-Nak has sworn to avenge them by killing a "Two-Tooth" for everyone he loves! Why did not Baho say this to Rahan!? Baho claims that the interests of the horde must be placed above their feelings! He may be right, but he would have to understand Ho-Nak! Rahan understands him! What will Rahan do!? Page Eighteen: What he promised Baho: To bring Ho-Nak home! Mine will kill me! No! Cried the Children. We will say Ho-Nak saved us! Baho will forgive you! The son of Crao watched Baho's children with a smile. An idea came to him. There may be a better way to convince Baho!! The sun was sinking behind the distant mountains when Rahan and the Mammoth-Killer arrived at the village. There reigned the greatest excitement. Rahan kept his promise, Baho. He Brings Back Ho-Nak! To the devil with Ho-Nak! Can you not see my Pain!? My two sons have been missing since last night! No one has been able to find their traces! But what do you have!? Rahan's face darkened. Page Nineteen: Rahan discovered the corpses of two young children, near the river. They had been crushed, trampled and mangled by the "Two Teeth"! Baho seemed to faint, but he pulled himself together and his gaze filled with hatred. If these corpses are those of his sons. Baho will kill two "Two-Tooth" with his own hands!! One to avenge my son Kaik! One as vengeance for my son Look!! Ho-Nak did not react any differently, Baho! But you, you will not have to go hunting! What? Rahan cried out and the two children appeared on the crest of a mound. Look! Kaik! Page Twenty: They happily descended the slope. Why did you lie Rahan? So that you could better understand the feeling that Ho-Nak has more reason to kill "Two-teeth"! But Rahan only half lied! Without Ho-Nak, you would never have seen your sons alive again! Shortly after, Kaik and Look relayed the death of the fifth mammoth. A death that finally brought peace to the heart and mind of Ho-Nak. This night would have pleased Crao! He liked so much that “Those-who-walk-upright” understood each other! Rahan savored this moment, when a horde finds one of his own. Crao's son lived among these hunters until the morning when, eager for new horizons, he left. The last vision he had of this clan was that of Baho and Ho-Nak who saluted him with the same gesture.

Rahan. Episode Twenty-Five. The Territory of Shadows. Panting, the son of Crao let himself fall in front of the swamps. He no longer felt the strength to flee from these mysterious beings, who had been hunting him since the moon shone. Rahan cannot defy the water that swallows "Those-who-walk-upright"! He caught his breath as he stared at the shimmering, ominous surface of the swamps. From all sides, strange murmurs reached him, interspersed with heart rending sighs. If Rahan lets himself be consumed by fear, he will not be able to fight anymore! Page Two: There remained in this son of fierce ages, a certain fear of night and darkness. But he still dominated it. Who are you "Beasts-of-the-night"!? Show yourself to Rahan! Show yourself! His hand clutched the polished handle of the ivory knife, restoring his confidence. Haunting wailing arose constantly from the forest. The gleams of torches echoed behind the thickets. The son of Crao felt dread seep through to his veins. Rahan is dead! Rahan has violated the "Territory of Shadows"! The lights were not torches, as he had thought. They were haloed human skulls! This is how "Those-who-walk-upright" become. When they have joined the "Territory of Shadows"! Page Three: Rahan has disturbed the peace of the dead! And the dead are looking for him, to take him with them! The skulls appeared here and there, above the thickets, as if floating in the void. The son of Crao had formed another image of this "Territory of shadows". From which no one had ever returned. He had always thought of a realm of silence and eternal stillness. He pricks himself slightly with his knife to see if he was not the victim of a nightmare. Rahan does not dream! Rahan is alive! So. Why is he in the "Territory of Shadows"!? The moans still rose as the skulls haloed in light approached. Page Four: But why do these dead no longer have bodies? And why do their heads float so high?? A scene suddenly surged from his memory. The one where, one night, he had lit a fire behind a mammoth skull to impress his enemies. His calm returned. Hunters may be doing the same thing, to scare Rahan! A moment later, the son of Crao was crawling silently through the brushwood. He circled around the closest of the luminescent skulls. And. Rahan was right! It is just a ruse of "Those-who-walk-upright"! A man had his back to him. Brandishing a bamboo where a skull was fixed. Page Five: Rahan does not fear you man! The hunter turned around but did not hear the whistle of the ivory knife. The blade stuck in the bamboo and the skull rolled on the ground. The flaming resin it contained flowed from an orbit. Rushing on the man, Rahan was already tearing away his long bamboo. Why are your people hunting Rahan! The hunter had no time to answer. Alerted by the rising flames, all those of his clan came running. The son of fierce ages found himself surrounded by these men who waved their macabre emblems. You will not capture Rahan! Rahan will escape you!! Page Six: He no longer had time to snatch his knife, but an idea came alive in him. He struck the nearby tree. Ra-ha-ha! And the ivory blade went right through the bamboo! The son of Crao now had an unusual weapon, with which he could keep his opponents at a distance. These fell back in disorder when a breach opened up in their ranks. Rahan does not kill “Those-who-walk-upright”! But he does not allow himself to be captured like a beast! The ominous swamps shimmered under the huge moon. He rushed there! Page Seven: He knew the treachery of these muddy swamps which stick and suck at his feet. But the water was not deep enough to swim in. But Rahan has only this path to escape the "Fire Skull" hunters! The luminescent heads were still floating above the copses. But those who wielded them dared not venture into the swamps. Rahan felt the soft mud beneath his feet as he stalked towards a clump of tall reeds. He was reaching that one when a saurian sprang from it. Back "Little Wood"! Rahan will not be afraid! Page Eight: The crocodile's tail whipped the reeds. He faced the man and his mouth gaped open. The son of Crao struck with his strange, improvised weapon at the mud-covered side of the monster. His cry of victory ran over the swamps, and drowned the distant laments of the men with the "Skulls-of-fire". Ra-ha-ha! The Hunters had spears. Why did they not throw them at Rahan?? Luck seemed to be on Rahan's side as he found firmer ground beneath his feet. The water only reached his knees. Page Nine: The moon lit up a small island, where on a few trees hung garlands of vines. Rahan will be able to wait there for the sunrise! He was very close to the island when he felt sucked into the mud! The water came suddenly to his thighs! He got bogged down!! Instinctively, he raised his bamboo, hooking a vine with the knife. But he was wrong to believe himself safe. For the vine suddenly yielded under the edge of the ivory blade! And the son of Crao got bogged down again! Up to the belly. Up to the chest. This time, Rahan will experience the true "Territory of Shadows"! Page Ten: The muddy water was now up to his neck. He tried to hook another vine, but in vain. Rahan comes to join you Crao! Oh! When he thought he was seeing the moon for the last time. His feet met a hard body! No doubt the roots of one of the trees on the island! Feeling these roots with his toes and heels, he slowly freed himself from the filth of the mud. Ra-ha-ha! A moment later, he climbed up onto the island. And then disputed the place with young crocodiles! Page Eleven: These saurians were too small to be dangerous. The son of Crao easily pushed them back into the swamp. In the darkness on the side of the forest still rose the lamentations. They know the swamps better than Rahan! Why are they not chasing him anymore? This island was only a precarious refuge and Rahan hesitated. To abandon it was to take the risk of getting bogged down again in the mud. But to stay there until dawn was to find himself surrounded on all sides by the "Skull of Fire" hunters! All these grouped "Skulls" indicated that down there, on the mainland, the hunters had gathered and conferred. Page Twelve: If Rahan falls into their hands, his skull will one day swing from the top of a bamboo! As the men divided to circle the marshes, the son of the fierce ages hesitated no more. He abandoned the island. A moment later, he probed the mud with his bamboo, and sought the firmest ground before taking a step. Sometimes he sank to his knees, and sometimes he sank to his thighs. And had to employ all his energy to free himself. Rahan has never crossed such dangerous territory! Page Thirteen: The luminescent skulls, in the distance, proved that the hunters skirted the shore and did not abandon their human game! The son of Crao suddenly saw a fissure in the bank. This constriction separated this swamp from another area, which he could not see. He also caught a glimpse of the tree trunk which formed a bridge over this constriction. The hunters threw it there to cross the fault!! Rahan is saved, if he gets to this tree before the "Skull-of-fire" men! Redoubling his efforts, he soon arrived under the trunk. He grabbed onto dry land with a single bound. Page Fourteen: But the slime that stuck to his legs prevented him from making such a leap. He looked at the branches and. His face lit up. The son of Crao, who knew how to take advantage of everything, brandished his bamboo. If the bamboo does not split, Rahan is safe! Wedging the handle and the blade of the ivory knife in a fork formed by a branch. And while the dull lamentations approached, he tore himself from the mud, and climbed towards the bridge tree. He was beginning to hoist himself up when two "Skulls-of-fire" sprang from the darkness! The hunters carrying them rushed towards the trunk! Page Fifteen: But these men only lasted a few steps on the tree whose roots Rahan vigorously shook. Vlouf! Ha-ha-ha! When you get out of there, Rahan will be far away! And up high! The son of Crao was already climbing an almost vertical mound. His cutlass, stuck in the bamboo, facilitated this hard ascent. And he launched as a challenge his cry of victory. Ra-ha-ha! When a rock broke loose under the ivory blade! Oh! It struck him violently in the forehead and he let go, falling into the void towards the swamps! Page Sixteen: Unconscious, he rested on the mud which had cushioned his fall. The moon lit up his body. His body slowly became stuck in the mud. The hunters he had pitched into the swamp emerged from it not far from him. They caught sight of him, and terror paralyzed them for a moment. Then they began to howl, alerting the horde. On the two banks connected by the bridge tree, men came running. The most audacious jumped on the mud and approached Rahan, still unconscious. The lamentations of the "Skulls-of-fire" hunters had given way to shouts of joy. Page Seventeen: When the son of the fierce ages awoke, the sun blazed in the sky. He was lying on a long flat rock. His "Weapon" was near him. All around the rock were piles of necklaces and furs. You deserve these gifts, you who come back from the "Territory of Shadows"! Every time the big moon appears, we celebrate our deaths. We wander all night. Around the swamps, praying for them to return from the "Territory of Shadows"! When. When we saw you, we knew that our pleas were finally heard! For the first time a man had returned from the kingdom of the dead! But why did you run away from us? Our horde only wanted to celebrate your resurrection! Rahan now understood the laments of his pursuers. Page Eighteen: They thought Rahan had torn himself out of "Shadow territory"! And Rahan fled all night from hunters who only wanted to celebrate!! The son of Crao could have lied, taking advantage of the credulity of these men. He did not. Rahan is just a hunter like you! Rahan had strayed into your territory and he was never in that of the shadows! A murmur of disappointment rose from the horde. Rahan believes "Those-Who-walk-standing" never return from the "Territory of Shadows"! The chief stopped the gesture of a man who raised his spear. No! You don't kill a hunter who tells the truth! Page Nineteen: Rahan could have fooled the horde. We would have adored him as we adore the sun-god! But Rahan preferred the truth to the lie! He will now be our brother! The chief's last words were those that the son of Crao liked to hear. The surface of the marshes in the distance was dazzling in the sun. Will Rahan stay with us? Game is abundant, and our horde lives happily. Rahan observed the knife stuck in the bamboo. The idea of a new weapon was already born in his inventive spirit. Rahan will stay for a few days! Then he will go in search of other clans, other hordes! Rahan wants to learn it all! To know everything about "Those-who-walk-upright"! Page Twenty: The son of Crao lived among these men as many days as a hand has fingers. He spent them cutting a long, flat flint. From this flint bound in a split bamboo, he gave birth to a new weapon. Lighter than the club, more effective than the axe. On the morning of his departure, he offered it to the leader of the marsh horde. May she help you hunt, Craziik! But let her never hit "Those-who-walk-upright"! When he disappeared under the lights of the east, doubt returned to some hunters. Perhaps it was death that taught him to make this weapon that mows down game? The representation of death, which men later imagined, did it not originate on that night of fierce times when a primitive horde believed that Rahan had returned from the "Territory of Shadows"? Who Knows!?

The Iron Dream. By Norman Spinrad. Let Adolf Hitler transport you to a far-future Earth, where only FERIC JAGGAR and his mighty weapon, the Steel Commander, stand between the remnants of true humanity and annihilation at the hands of the totally evil Dominators and the mindless mutant hordes they completely control. Lord of the Swastika is recognized as the most vivid and popular of Hitler's science-fiction novels by fans the world over, who honored it with a Hugo as Best Science-Fiction Novel of 1954. Long out of print, it is now once more available in this new edition, with an Afterword by Homer Whipple of New York University. See for yourself why so many people have turned to this science-fantasy novel as a beacon of hope in these grim and terrifying times. Other Science-Fiction Novels by Adolf Hitler: EMPEROR OF THE ASTEROIDS. THE BUILDERS OF MARS. FIGHT FOR THE STARS. THE TWILIGHT OF TERRA. SAVIOR FROM SPACE. THE MASTER RACE. THE THOUSAND YEAR RULE. THE TRIUMPH OF THE WILL. TOMORROW THE WORLD. About the Author. Adolf Hitler was born in Austria on April 20, 1889. As a young man he migrated to Germany and served in the German army during the Great War. After the war, he dabbled briefly in radical politics in Munich before finally emigrating to New York in 1919. While learning English, he eked out a precarious existence as a sidewalk artist and occasional translator in New York's bohemian haven, Greenwich Village. After several years of this freewheeling life, he began to pick up odd jobs as a magazine and comic illustrator. He did his first interior illustration for the science-fiction magazine Amazing in 1930. By 1932, he was a regular illustrator for the science-fiction magazines, and, by 1935, he had enough confidence in his English to make his debut as a science-fiction writer. He devoted the rest of his life to the science fiction genre as a writer, illustrator, and fanzine editor. Although best known to present-day SF fans for his novels and stories. Hitler was a popular illustrator during the Golden Age of the thirties, edited several anthologies, wrote lively reviews, and published a popular fanzine. Storm, for nearly ten years. He won a posthumous Hugo at the 1955 World Science-Fiction Convention for Lord of the Swastika, which was completed just before his death in 1953. For many years, he had been a popular figure at SF conventions, widely known in science-fiction fandom as a wit and nonstop raconteur. Ever since the book's publication, the colorful costumes he created in Lord of the Swastika have been favorite themes at convention masquerades. Hitler died in 1953, but the stories and novels he left behind remain as a legacy to all science-fiction enthusiasts. Chapter One. With a great groaning of tired metal and a hiss of escaping steam, the roadsteamer from Gormond came to a halt in the grimy yard of the Pormi depot, a mere three hours late; quite a respectable performance by Borgravian standards. Assorted, roughly humanoid, creatures shambled from the steamer displaying the usual Borgravian variety of skin hues, body parts, and gaits. Bits of food from the more or less continuous picnic that these mutants had held throughout the twelve-hour trip clung to their rude and, for the most part, threadbare clothing. A sour stale odor clung to this gaggle of motley specimens as they scuttled across the muddy courtyard toward the unadorned concrete shed that served as a terminal. Finally, there emerged from the cabin of the steamer a figure of startling and unexpected nobility: a tall, powerfully built true human in the prime of manhood. His hair was yellow, his skin was fair, his eyes were blue and brilliant. His musculature, skeletal structure, and carriage were letter-perfect, and his trim blue tunic was clean and in good repair. Feric Jaggar looked every inch the genotypically pure human that he in fact was. It was all that made such prolonged close confinement with the dregs of Borgravia bearable; the quasi-men could not help but recognize his genetic purity. The sight of Feric put mutants and mongrels in their place, and for the most part they kept to it. Feric carried his worldly possessions in a leather bag which he hefted easily; this enabled him to avoid the grubby terminal entirely and embark directly upon Ulm Avenue which led through the foul little border town toward the bridge over the Ulm by the shortest route possible. Today he would at last put the Borgravian warrens behind him and claim his birthright as a genotypically pure human and a Helder, with a spotless pedigree that was traceable back for twelve generations. With his heart filled with thoughts of his goal in fact and in spirit, Feric was almost able to ignore the sordid spectacle that assailed his eyes, ears, and nostrils as he loped up the bare earth boulevard toward the river. Ulm Avenue was little more than a muddy ditch between two rows of rude shacks constructed for the most part of crudely dressed timber, wattle, and rusted sheet-steel. Nevertheless, this singularly unimpressive track was apparently the pride and joy of the denizens of Pormi, for the fronts of these filthy buildings were festooned with all manner of garish lettering and rude illustrations advertising the goods to be had within, mostly local produce, or the castoff artifacts of the higher civilization across the Ulm. Moreover, many of the shopkeepers had set up street stands purveying rotten-looking fruit, grimy vegetables, and fly-specked meat; these fetid goods they hawked at the top of their lungs to the creatures which thronged the street, who in turn added to the din with shrill and argumentative cajolery. The rank odor, raucous jabbering, and generally unwholesome atmosphere reminded Feric of the great marketplace area of Gonnond, the Borgravian capital, where fate had confined him for so many years. As a child, he had been shielded from close contact with the environs of the native quarter; as a young man he had taken great pains, and at no little expense, to avoid such places as much as was practicable. Of course it had never been possible to avoid the sight of the sorts of mutants who crowded every nook and cranny of Gormond, and the gene pool here in Pormi appeared not one whit less debased than that which prevailed in the Borgravian capital. The skins of the street rabble here, as in Gormond, were a crazy quilt of mongrelized mutations. Blueskins, Lizardmen, Harlequins, and Bloodfaces were the least of it; at least it could be said that such creatures bred true to their own kind. But all sorts of mixtures prevailed, the scales of a Lizardman might be tinted blue or purple instead of green; a Blueskin might have the mottling of a Harlequin; the warted countenance of a Toadman might be an off-shade of red. The grosser mutations for the most part bred truer, if only because two such genetic catastrophes in the same creature ended more often than not in an unviable fetus. Many of the shopkeepers here in Pormi were dwarfs of one kind or another, hunchbacked, covered with wiry black hair, slightly pinheaded, many with secondary skin mutations, incapable of more strenuous labor. In a small town such as this, the more arcane mutants were less in evidence than in what passed for a Borgravian metropolis. Still, as Feric elbowed his way through the foul-smelling crowds, he spotted three Eggheads, their naked chitinous skulls gleaming redly in the warm sun, and brushed against a Parrotface. This creature whirled about at Feric's touch, clacking its great bony beak at him indignantly for a moment until it recognized him for what he was. Then, of course, the Parrotface lowered its rheumy gaze, instantly gave off flapping its obscenely mutated teeth, and muttered a properly humble "Your pardon, Trueman." For his part, Feric did not acknowledge the creature one way or the other, and quickly continued on up the street staring determinedly straight ahead. However, a few dozen yards up the street, a familiar floating feeling wafted gently through Feric's mind; this indeed gave him pause, for long experience had taught him that this psychic aura was sure indication that a Dominator was in the area. Sure enough, when Feric studied the row of shacks to his right, his eyes confirmed the proximity of a Dom, and the dominance pattern was hardly the subtlest he had ever encountered either. Five stalls sat on the street all in a line, presided over by three dwarfs, a Blueskin-Toadman mongrel with warty blue skin, and a Lizardman. All of these creatures displayed the slackness of expression and deadness of eye characteristic of mutants captured in a long-standing dominance pattern. The stalls themselves held meat, fruit, and vegetables in a loathsome state of advanced decay that should have rendered them totally unsalable, even by Borgravian standards. Nevertheless, hordes of mongrels and mutants flocked around these stands, snapping up the putrid goods at inflated prices without so much as a moment's haggling. Only the presence of a Dominator in the vicinity could account for such behavior. Gormond was richly infested with the monstrosities, since they naturally preferred large cities where victims abounded; that such a minor town as this was infected was clear indication to Feric that Borgravia was even further under the spell of Zind than he had imagined. His immediate impulse was to pause, seek out the Dom, and wring the monster's neck, but upon a moment's reflection, he decided that freeing a few wretched and worthless mutants from a dominance pattern was not really worth delaying his long-awaited exit from the cesspit of Borgravia a moment longer. Therefore, he continued on his way. At last, the street petered out and became a path through an unwholesome grove of stunted pine trees with purplish needles and twisted trunks covered with cankers. Though this could hardly be described as a scene of beauty, it was certainly a welcome respite from the boisterous foulness of the town itself. Shortly, the path turned slightly to the north, and began to parallel the south bank of the Ulm. Here Feric paused to stare northward across the wide calm waters of the river which demarked this section of the border between the fester of Borgravia and the High Republic of Heldon. Across the Ulm, the stately, genotypically pure oaks of the Emerald Wood marched in wooden ranks to the north bank of the river. To Feric, these genetically spotless trees growing out of the rich, uncontaminated black soil of Heldon epitomized what the High Republic stood for in an otherwise mongrelized and degenerate earth. As the Emerald Wood was a forest of genetically pure trees, so was Heldon itself a forest of genetically pure men, standing like a palisade against the mutated monstrosities of the genetic garbage heaps that surrounded the High Republic. As he proceeded farther up the path, the Ulm bridge became visible, a graceful arch of hewn stone and oiled stainless steel, an obvious product of superior Helder craftsmanship. Feric hastened his stride, and was soon able to note with satisfaction that Heldon had forced the wretched Borgravians to accept the humiliation of a Helder customs fortress on the Borgravian end of the bridge. The black, red, and white building astride the entrance to the bridge was painted in the Helder colors in lieu of a proper flag, but to Feric it still proudly proclaimed that no near-man would be permitted to contaminate an inch of pure human soil. As long as Heldon kept itself genetically pure and rigorously enforced its racial purity laws, the hope still lived that the earth might once again be the sole property of the true human race. Several paths from various directions converged on the customs fortress and, strangely enough, a sorry collection of mongrels and mutants were queued up outside the public portal, which was guarded by two purely ceremonial customs troops, armed only with standard-issue steel truncheons. It was a peculiar business indeed, for most of these creatures had no hope of passing a cursory examination by a blind moron. An obvious Lizardman stood right behind a creature whose legs had an extra joint. There were Blueskins and humpback dwarfs, an Egghead, and mongrels of all kinds; in short, a typical cross section of Borgravian citizenry. What deluded these poor devils into supposing that their like would be permitted to cross the bridge into Heldon? Feric wondered as he took his place in line behind a plain-dressed Borgravian with no apparent genetic defect. For his own part, Feric was more than prepared for the thorough genetic examination he would have to undergo before being certified a pure human and admitted to the High Republic; he welcomed the ordeal and heartily approved of its stringency. Although his spotless pedigree virtually assured certification, he had, at some pains and no little expense, verified his genetic purity beforehand, or at least done so to the extent possible in a country inhabited chiefly by mutants and mutant-human mongrels, where, no doubt, the genetic analysts themselves were thoroughly contaminated. Had both his parents not held certificates, had his pedigree not been spotless for ten generations, had he not been conceived in Heldon itself, though forced by the banishing of his father for so-called war crimes to endure a birth in Borgravia, Feric would not have dared to presume to seek admittance to the spiritual and racial homeland he had never seen. Though instantly acknowledged as a true man on sight throughout Borgravia and verified as such by what passed for genetic science in that mongrelized state, he eagerly looked forward to the only confirmation of his genetic purity that really counted: acceptance as a citizen by the High Republic of Heldon, sole bastion of the true genotype of man. Why then did such patently contaminated material presume to attempt to pass Helder customs? The Borgravian in front of him was a fair example. True his surface veneer of genetic purity was marred only by an acrid chemical odor exuded by his skin, but such an obvious somatic aberration was sure indication of thoroughly contaminated genetic material. The Helder genetic analyst would spot it in an instant, even without recourse to instruments. The Treaty of Karmak had forced Heldon to open its borders, but only to certifiable humans. Perhaps the answer was merely the pathetic desire of even the most genetically debased mongrel to gain admittance to the brotherhood of true men, a desire sometimes strong enough to override reason or the truth in the mirror. At any rate, the queue was moving along quite swiftly into the customs fortress; no doubt very rapid processing and rejection of most of the Borgravians was taking place inside. It was not long before Feric passed by the portal guards, through the portal itself, and stood on what might in a sense be regarded as Helder soil for the first time in his life. The interior of the customs fortress was unmistakably Helder, in sharp contrast to everything else south of the Ulm, where unfortunate circumstance had confined Feric during his growth to manhood. The large antechamber had a floor of smart red, black, and white tile, and similarly styled paintwork embellished the polished oaken walls. The chamber was brightened by powerful electric globes. What a far cry from the crudely finished, poured concrete interiors and tallow candles of the typical Borgravian public building! A few yards inside the portal, a Helder customs guard in a somewhat slovenly gray uniform with tarnished brasswork divided the queue into two streams. All the more obvious mutants and mongrels were directed across the chamber and out through a door in the far wall. Feric approved heartily, there was no point in wasting the time of a genetic analyst with shambling quasi-humans such as these. An ordinary customs guard was quite qualified to dismiss them without further examination. The smaller number of hopefuls that the guard directed through a nearer door included quite a number of very dubious cases, such as the foul-smelling Borgravian who preceded Feric, but nothing on the order of a Blueskin or Parrotface. However, as he approached the guard, Feric noticed a strange and disquieting thing. The guard seemed to nod to a good many of the mutants he guided into the reject line as if acknowledging familiarity; moreover, the Borgravians themselves acted as if they knew the drill, and, strangest of all uttered not a word of protest at their exclusion, indeed displayed little emotion at all. Could it be that these sorry creatures were all so below the human geno-type in intelligence that they were incapable of retaining memories for more than a day or so and thus returned day after day ritualistically? Feric had heard that such fixated behavior was not unknown in the real genetic sinkholes of Cressia and Arbona, but he had never observed anything of the like in Borgravia, where the gene pool was constantly enriched by the exile of native-born Helder who could not quite be certified true humans, but who certainly were close enough to bring the level of the Borgravian gene pool far above that of places like Arbona or Zind. As Feric reached the head of the queue, the customs guard addressed him in a flat, rather bored tone. "Day pass, citizen, or citizen candidate?" "Citizen candidate," Feric replied crisply. Surely the only conceivable pass into Heldon was an official certificate of genetic purity! Either you already held Helder citizenship or you applied for certification and were found pure or you were refused admission to Heldon. What was this impossible third category? The guard directed Feric into the smaller line with no more significant a gesture than the slack nodding of his head in the indicated direction. There was a pattern in all this, something about the whole tone of the operation, that Feric found profoundly disturbing, a wrongness that seemed to hover in the air, a deadness, a definite lack of the traditional Helder snap and dash. Had their daily isolation on the Borgravian side of the Ulm had some subtle detrimental effect on the esprit and will of these genetically robust Helder? Wrapped in these somewhat somber musings, Feric followed the queue through the indicated doorway and into a long narrow room paneled in pine set off tastefully with ornately carved wooden trim depicting typical scenes from the Emerald Wood. A counter of black stone, polished to a high gloss and accented with inlaid stainless steel, ran down the length of the room, separating the queue from the four Helder customs officers who stood behind it. These fellows seemed fine specimens of true humanity, but their uniforms were somewhat slovenly, and a certain proper soldierliness was absent from their bearing. They looked more like clerks in a money depository or a public post office than customs troops manning a citadel of genetic purity. Feric's uneasiness grew as the sour-reeking Borgravian preceding him finished his short interview with the first of the officers, wiped fingerprint ink off his hands with a rather soiled cloth, and followed the queue on down the line to the next Helder official. At the far end of the long room, Feric perceived the entrance to the bridge itself, where a guard armed with a truncheon and a pistol seemed to be passing an extremely dubious collection of genetic baggage on through to Heldon. In fact there was an insane perfunctory air about the whole operation. The first Helder officer was young, blond, and a prime example of the true human genotype; moreover, though Feric sensed a certain laxness in his demeanor, his uniform was better tailored than most of the others Feric had noticed, freshly pressed, and the brasswork was at least untarnished, if not exactly gleaming. Before him on the shiny black counter were a pile of forms, a scriber, a blotter, a soiled scrap of cloth, and an inkpad. The officer looked Feric straight in the eye, but the manliness of his gaze lacked a certain conviction. "Do you hold a certificate of genetic purity issued by the High Republic of Heldon?" he asked formally. "I am applying for certification and admission to the High Republic as a Citizen and a true man," Feric replied with a dignity he hoped was sufficient to the occasion. "So," the officer muttered diffidently, reaching for his scriber and the top form on the pile, and averting his blue eyes from Feric's person. "Let us dispose of the formalities. Name?" "Feric Jaggar," Feric answered proudly, hoping for a flicker of recognition. For although Heermark Jaggar had only been a cabinet subofficial at the time of the peace of Karmak, there were surely those in the fatherland who Still revered the names of the martyrs of Karmak. But the guard showed no recognition of the honor implicit in Feric's pedigree and wrote the name on the form in a casual, even somewhat imprecise hand. "Place of birth?" "Gormond, Borgravia." "Present citizenship?" Feric winced somewhat as he was forced to admit his technical Borgravian nationality. "However," he felt constrained to add, "both my parents were native Helder, certificate holders, and pure humans. My father was Heermark Jaggar, who, served as undersecretary of genetic evaluation during the Great War." "Surely you realize that not even the most illustrious pedigree can guarantee even a native-born Helder certification as a true man." Feric's fair skin reddened. "I merely wish to point out that my father was exiled not for genetic contamination but for service to Heldon. Like many other good Helder, he was victimized by the loathsome Treaty of Karmak." "It's none of my affair," the officer replied, inking Feric's fingertips and applying them to the proper boxes engraved on the form. "I'm not much interested in politics." "Genetic purity is the politics of human survival!" Feric snapped. "I suppose it is," the officer muttered inanely, handing him the odious ink rag, contaminated by the fingers of the mongrel in the queue before him, and by fate only knew how many others before that. Feric gingerly removed the ink from his fingers as best he could with a small unsoiled corner of the rag, while the young officer passed his form along to the Helder on his right. This officer was an older man with trimly cropped gray hair and a dignified waxed mustache; obviously he had been an impressive figure in his prime. Now his eyes were red and rheumy as if from fatigue, and his shoulders stooped as if with the actual physical weight of the tremendous responsibility they metaphorically bore, for on the shoulder of his tunic was the red caducous in the black fist emblematic of the genetic analyst. The analyst glanced at the form, then spoke in a diffident voice, without looking directly at Feric. "Trueman Jaggar, I am Doctor Heimat. It will be necessary to perform certain tests before issuing you a certificate of genetic purity." Feric could scarcely credit his ears. What sort of genetic analyst was this that would so state the obvious while implicitly granting him the honorific of "Trueman" beforehand? Where was their sufficient cause to explain the slackness and incredible lack of rigor in the bearing and manner of the men manning this customs fortress? Heimat passed the form to the underling at his right, a somewhat slender, fair young man with chestnut hair bearing the ensign of a scribe on his uniform. As the paper was handed over, Feric's attention was momentarily drawn to this scribe, and his puzzlement was instantly resolved in the most horrifying manner conceivable. For although the scribe appeared genetically pure to all but the highly sensitized eye, Feric knew for a certainty that this was a Dom! He could not have precisely specified the characteristics of the scribe which marked him as a Dominator, but the total gestalt of the creature's presense fairly shrieked Dom at him through all his known and perhaps several unknown senses: a certain rodential gleam in the creature's eyes, a subtle smugness about his bearing. Perhaps there were other guideposts that Feric perceived on an entirely subliminal level: a wrongness in the body odor detectable only to the back reaches of his brain, an actual broadcast of electromagnetic energy subtle enough to arouse his suspicion even though the dominance field was not being directed at his own person. Perhaps it was simply that Feric, a true man isolated for the most part among mutants and mongrels in a land heavily influenced by the Doms, had developed a psychic sensitivity to their presence that Helder who dwelt among their own kind lacked. At any rate, though constantly exposed to Dominators throughout his life, Feric had never been snared in a Dom's mental net, though at times his will had been severely taxed. This continuous exposure certainly enabled him to sniff out a Dom, whatever the subtleties of his method might be. And standing there before him with scriber and form in hand at the very shoulder of a Helder genetic analyst in a most critical position was one of the loathsome creatures! It explained everything. The whole garrison must be ensnared in varying degrees in the dominance pattern that this seemingly insignificant scribe had no doubt slowly and painstakingly constructed. It was monstrous! But what could be done? How could men trapped in the dominance net themselves be convinced of the presence of their master? Heimat had a small panoply of his science's paraphernalia out before him, but it seemed a paltry display; the Borgravian quack he had been forced to settle for in Gormond had employed a broader spectrum of tests than the Helder had equipped himself to perform. He handed Feric a large blue balloon. "Breathe into this, please," he said. "It's been chemically treated so that only the biochemical breath-profile associated with the pure human genotype will turn it green." Feric exhaled into, the balloon, knowing full well that this was one of the most basic of tests; innumerable mongrels had been known to have passed it, and, moreover, it was totally ineffective in weeding out Doms. Presently, the balloon turned a bright green. "Breath analysis, positive," Heimat called out, and the Dominator scribe, without looking at either of them, made the appropriate mark on the form. The analyst handed Feric a glass vial. "Expectorate into this, please. I will subject the composition of your saliva to chemical analysis." Feric spat into the vial, wishing fervently that it were the face of the Dominator, who now looked up and stared at him with an infuriatingly feigned mildness. Doctor Heimat diluted the saliva with water, then pipetted a bit of the liquid into each of a rack of ten glass tubes. From a series of bottles, he decanted various chemicals into the tubes, so that the clear liquid in each turned colors: black, aqua, yellow, brickorange, aqua again, red, once more yellow, yet again aqua, purple, and opaque white. "Saliva analysis, one hundred percent perfect," the genetic analyst called out. This test, taking ten separate characteristics of pure human saliva separately as genetic criteria rather than merely testing the total biochemical gestalt, had perforce a much greater precision. However, there were dozens of mutations from the true human norm that were in no way linked to the composition of saliva or breath, including the Dominator mutation itself, which could not be smelled out by somatic tests at all. Feric glared at the Dominator, daring the creature to test his will and reveal his true colors. But of course the scribe directed no psychic energies in his direction. Why should he expose himself to a passing stranger and thus risk the dissolution of his dominance pattern, when circumstances foreclosed the possibility of adding him to the string? Doctor Heimat affixed the twin electrodes of a P-meter to the skin of Feric's right palm with a gummy vegetable adhesive. The P-meter consisted of a device for detecting the minute changes in bioelectricity generated by psychic responses, and a pen-and-drum apparatus for recording the resultant psychic profile. Its adherents claimed that, properly used, it was efficacious in the detection of Doms. But it was impossible to be certain that the Doms had no conscious control over their psychic discharges and, therefore, could not feign a genotypically human profile by carefully calculated acts of will. "I'm going to make a series of statements and record your psychic responses," Heimat informed Feric diffidently. "You need not react verbally; the instrument is designed to measure your inward reaction." He then reeled off a set of stock statements quickly, mechanically, and without apparent emotion. "The human race is doomed to certain extinction. The human genotype is the best true breed of sapient animal yet evolved. No genetic material could have passed through the Time of Fire entirely uncontaminated. The highest instinct of any sapient species must be to perpetuate its kind at the expense of all other sapient species. Love is a cultural sublimation of sexual lust. I would sacrifice my own life for a comrade or lover." And so forth; a list of stimuli designed to elicit different patterns of psychic response from true men than from mutants and mongrels, especially Doms. Feric was quite dubious of the test's total validity, for a Dominator who could anticipate the order of statements by inside information or other means might very well be able to tailor his responses appropriately by filling his mind with thoughts calculated to produce the "human" galvanic response proper to the various statements. Still, when combined with a battery of more rigorous tests, it had considerable use; all but the most dominantly human mongrels, and perhaps the Doms, would be weeded out. Upon completion of the statements, Heimat glanced perfunctorily at the pattern enscribed by the pen on the drum and announced: "P-meter profile, positive." The Dominator scribe handed the analyst the form. This the fellow signed, proclaiming: "Trueman Jaggar, I hereby certify you a pure example of the uncontaminated human genotype and verify your right to citizenship in the High Republic of Heldon." Feric was aghast. "That's all?" he demanded. "Three superficial tests and you grant me a certificate of genetic purity? This is an outrage! A quarter of the rabble of Zind could weasel past this farce!" As he uttered these words, Feric felt a certain pressure against the ramparts of his mind, a lightning thrust of psychic energy aimed at the core of his will. For an instant, the vain and foolish nature of the fuss he was raising seemed glaringly apparent: a reasonable man did not rave like this in public; to continue in this way would vex any number of pleasant and harmless beings. Much the best course would be to melt into the ebb and flow of cosmic destiny and eschew the fruitlessness of resistance to the will of one's betters. But even as the psyche of the Dominator reached out to sap his will, Feric, out of long experience, recognized the will-less pleasant drifting feeling for what it was: a Dom attempting to draw him into his net. Feric determinedly stoked the fires of his formidable will with the torch of righteous hate for these soulless creatures who would displace the supremacy of true men with their own obscene reign, whose highest emotion was the desire to exterminate their genetic superiors, who sought to turn the earth into their own squalid pigpen. Although the scribe showed no outward sign of either his attempt at domination or of its successful repulsion, Feric felt the horrid will-less moment dissolve in the fires of his fierce hate. "Surely I, as a genetic analyst, am more capable of judging genetic purity than you are as a layman," Heimat had been saying while the psychic contest was fought and won. "With three tests?" Feric said. "An evaluation of proper rigor would involve at least several dozen tests including tissue, blood, urine, tear, feces, and semen analysis." "Such an examination would consume too much time to be practical," the analyst said. "Few men with contaminated genetic material can pass these simple tests, and those who can are human for all practical purposes any-way, aren't they?" Feric could contain himself no longer. "The creature beside you is a Dom" he shouted. "You are enmeshed in a dominance pattern! Exert your will and free yourself at once!" Those behind him in the queue looked alarmed; even some of the clearly dubious mongrels seemed dismayed, as well they might. For a moment, the room was on the verge of uproar; then the faces of all seemed to dissolve into bland blankness as the Dom acted to preserve himself. "You are clearly in error, Trueman Jaggar," Doctor Heimat said with utter mildness. "Lance Corporal Mork is a certified true man; surely you can see that if this were not so he would hardly be wearing the uniform of Heldon." "Perhaps Trueman Jaggar is simply unfamiliar with the ways of Heldon, sir," Mork suggested with an irony audible only to himself and to Feric, the only man in the room who shared his grim secret, and who apparently could do nothing to harm him. "No doubt had any of us been forced to grow to manhood surrounded by mutants, mongrels, and Godknows what, we too might be seeing Doms in every nook and cranny." Mork stared at Feric without a trace of a smile on his face or a hint of emotion in his eyes, but Feric could well imagine the satanic glee with which he was enjoying this moment. Doctor Heimat returned Feric's form to Mork, who passed it on to the final officer behind the counter. "You have now been certified a true human, whether you think the tests were adequate or not, Trueman Jaggar," he said. "You may accept citizenship or not as you please, but in any case, you are holding up the line." Furious, but knowing that further conversation with Heimat or the treacherous Mork would prove pointless, Feric stalked down to the last official. The man who stood glancing at his form was a square, hard, bluff true man in prolonged late middle age, with iron-colored hair and a trim beard to match. The ribbons on his tunic announced that he was no peacetime soldier, but an old warrior who had seen honorable action in the Great War. Nevertheless, the diffidence in his bearing and the slight lack of proper manliness in his eyes betrayed the sad fact that he, too, was enmeshed in the dominance pattern. Still a fellow such as this might well be encouraged to exert his will and fracture the pattern. "You, sir," Feric said crisply, "do you not detect a certain slackness in your will, an unmanly readiness to go along with the flow of events? Surely an old soldier such as yourself must realize that all is not well in this garrison." The officer placed Feric's form in the orifice of a complex duplicating device. "Please look straight ahead at the red dot above the lens of the machine," he said. Feric froze automatically for a second during which the officer threw a switch on the side of the duplicating machine. There was a very bright flash of light of extremely short duration; then a soft humming sound began in the bowels of the machine. "You have been "certified a genotypically pure human, Trueman Feric Jaggar," the officer said mechanically. "In a moment I shall present you with your certificate. This must be displayed upon demand to any police, customs, or military official. Any tradesman may refuse your custom if you do not display your certificate upon request. You may not marry without it. Is this understood?" "This is ridiculous!" Feric snapped. "Don't you realize that a river of contaminated genes must be gushing through this border crossing?" "Do you understand the conditions of citizenship?" the officer repeated doggedly. "Of course I understand! Don't you understand that you're under the influence of a Dominator?" For a moment, the officer looked Feric square in the eye. Feric channeled every ounce of will he could muster into his gaze. A spark from his steely blue eyes seemed to jump the gap for a moment and glow fitfully in the pupils of the Helder officer. "Surely, surely," the fellow muttered with a certain uneasiness, "surely you must be mistaken?" At that moment, a chime rang inside the duplicator, and Feric's certificate dropped into the hopper. The sound caused the Helder officer to look away from Feric's eyes and Feric could sense that the fragile effect of the psychic counterforce he had been so strenuously projecting had been shattered by this caprice of circumstance. The officer took the certificate from the hopper and handed it to Feric. "By accepting this certificate, Trueman Jaggar," he said with perfunctory ceremony, "you accept all the rights and responsibilities of a citizen of the High Republic of Heldon and a certified true man. You may participate in the public life of Heldon, vote for and hold office, serve in the military forces of the High Republic, leave and enter the fatherland at will. You may not marry or propagate without the written permission of the Ministry of Genetic Purity, under pain of death. Knowing this, and of your own free will, do you accept citizenship in the High Republic of Heldon?" Feric stared at the certificate which lay hard and smooth and glossy in his hand. On its clear plastic surface was engraved his name and date of certification, his fingertip patterns, his color photograph, and the signature of Doctor Heimat. This elegant artifact was suitably embellished with ornate scrollwork and swastikas in red and black which lent it a proper dignity of appearance. For years, even before his coming to manhood, Feric had dreamed of the moment when this sacred document would be his proudest possession. Now his appreciation of this moment was ruined by the defilement of the stringent genetic standards without which the certificate became a meaningless bit of plastic and pigment. "Surely you are not going to reject Helder citizenship at this point?" the Helder officer said, displaying for the first time a hint of emotion, albeit nothing nobler than petty bureaucratic annoyance. "I accept citizenship," Feric muttered, tucking the document carefully into his strong leather wallet which was firmly secured to his horsehide belt. As he strode toward the bridge entrance, he vowed that he would cling to this sacred privilege with more tenacity than this lot of sorry specimens had. He would avenge this outrage a thousandfold before he would let go of the Doms. A millionfold would still be insufficient. Chapter Two. A cool breeze swirled Feric's blue cloak about him as he stepped out onto the uncovered bridge over the Ulm. The bridge bed consisted of wooden walkways on either side of a stone roadway, both wood and stone worn to polished smoothness by the passage of countless leather soles and latex wheels. The gentle wind blew across from Heldon, carrying the pleasant odor of the Emerald Wood to Feric's nostrils, helping to clear away the stink of the customs fortress and, for that matter, of all Borgravia. With powerful strides, Feric set out across the bridge toward his destiny in the High Republic. A few steamers passed by him roaring smoke, clanging iron, hissing steam, but otherwise traffic seemed quite light, and the only pedestrians visible were perhaps a hundred yards ahead of him up the walkway. As a consequence, Feric was able to wrap himself in solitude as he walked, and contemplate what lay before him. What lay before him was, in short, all that really mattered in the world: the High Republic of Heldon, in which the future of true humanity resided, if the true human genotype were to have a future at all. The states bordering the fatherland were comparatively rich in human genetic material, but since mongrels and mutants formed the vast bulk of their populaces, and had held political sway since the failure of the High Republic to crush their hold during the Great War, the likelihood that such governments would pass the stringent racial laws necessary to breed such debased gene pools back to the pure human genotype seemed nil. It had taken Heldon several centuries of rigorous enforcement of just such laws to purify the gene pool to the present degree, and even so Heldon had started with a clear majority of genotypically pure human stock, unlike the states around it, which at present swarmed with mutants and mongrels of the most obscene sort. Beyond these states were such total cesspits as Arbona and Cressia where even the mutants themselves did not breed true from generation to generation, and to the east the vast Dominator-ruled pestilence of Zind. Beyond that in all directions, naught but reeking contaminated wildlands with astronomical geiger counts, where nothing could live beside stomach-turning things resembling ambulatory carcinomas, animal and human stock mutated beyond all hope of recognition. No, only Heldon was the bastion of true humanity, and if the world were to one day be genetically pure again, it would have to be done by force of Helder arms. Feric pondered his place in the common human destiny as his long, powerful strides carried him closer to the dozen or so figures on the walkway ahead of him. As a young man in Borgravia, he had easily mastered several areas of endeavor: the art of motive mechanics, the science of sloganeering, the crafts of interior and exterior design, clothing design, and pamphleteering. He had secured a livelihood from each of these sources at one time or another. Moreover, his pride in his true humanity, and the encouragement of his father, had caused him to study deeply the subjects of history, genetics, and military art for their own sakes. It seemed to Feric that a man of his varied skills would never lack for gainful employment. His deepest desire, however, was not to enrich himself but to serve the cause of true humanity to the best of his ability. To this end, two choices seemed open to him in this new life in Heldon: embark upon a military career or enter politics. The choice was a difficult one. On the one hand, a military career promised the quickest road to concrete patriotic action, but only provided that the political leadership of the High Republic developed the will to properly employ its armed forces. On the other hand, politics was an avenue by which he might gain access to the very circles in which such decisions were made, but only by a tedious and deadening process of accommodation, wrangling, and weaseling, which struck Feric as essentially unmanly. He resolved that he would not make such a momentous decision until destiny gave him a clear sign, one way or the other. While he pondered these weighty affairs, the natural reflexes of his superb body and his consequent rapid gait bad carried him to within a few strides of his fellow immigrants on the bridge, and when he chanced to look up at them, his jaw fell open in amazement and dismay. For there on the Ulm bridge, shuffling toward the bastion of genetic purity, was an incredible gaggle of the most blatant and disgusting mutants and mongrels imaginable! Here was a Parrotface whose mutated teeth formed an unmistakable beak. Here was a female Blueskin, and three humpbacked dwarfs, one with the Toadman warted skin as well. And a manlike being whose gait clearly revealed two extra joints in his legs, alongside an Egghead with a grossly warped elipsoid skull. This was a sight common enough to the streets of Gormond, but on the bridge to Heldon, in a sense Helder territory itself, it was an inexplicable phantasm of horror. Furiously, Feric broke into a near run, and caught up with the gristly menagerie in a few quick strides. "Halt!" he shouted. "What is the meaning of this?" The collection of mutants came to a shambling halt and regarded Feric with a mixture of fear, befuddlement, and awe, which nevertheless seemed to him to have a hint of surliness. "Your pleasure, Troeman?" the Parrotface croaked hoarsely in a vile voice which, however, seemed basically free of guile or malice. "What are you folk doing on the bridge to Heldon?" The quasi-men stared at him in what seemed to be genuine incomprehension. "We are traveling to the town of Ulmgam, Trueman," the female Blueskin finally ventured. Were these creatures totally incapable of comprehending the impossibility of the situation? "How were you allowed on this bridge?" Feric demanded. "Surely creatures such as yourselves will not presume to tell me that you are Helder citizens!" "We travel on the customary day passes, Trueman," the Parrotface said. "Day passes?" Feric muttered. Lord, were they actually issuing passes of entry to mutants? What treason to true humanity was this? "Let me see one of these passes," he commanded. The Egghead reached into a greasy oilskin pouch which hung on a ragged thong about its neck and handed over a small red card. The card was made of cheap paperboard rather than plastic; nevertheless, it bore the Great Seal of Heldon and an engraved border of tiny locked swastikas, the traditional motif of the Ministry of Genetic Purity. In simple block lettering of a rather inelegant design, the card proclaimed: "Day pass good for ten hours sojourn in Ulmgarn only on the date of May 14, 1142 A.F. Transgression of these terms punishable by death." Thoroughly disgusted, Feric handed the card back. "Is this common practice?" he asked. "Are non citizens commonly admitted across the river for limited stays?" "Provided there is a job to be done that true men, such as yourself, deem beneath their proper station," one of the dwarfs said. So that was it! Feric had heard that Universalism was gaining popularity among the masses of Heldon, but he had scarcely imagined that the insidious doctrine promul-gated by the Doms had sufficient influence to actually weaken the stringency of the genetic purity laws. The Universalists demanded the breeding of mindless slave creatures to perform menial tasks, the sort of perversion of protoplasm that the Dominators practiced in Zind. They were not yet powerful enough to achieve this unspeakable end, but apparently they had stirred up the slothful masses to the point where the craven government was actually permitting mutants to work in Heldon as a sop to this tendency. "Revolting!" Feric muttered, and with a dozen long strides, he put the wretched quasi-humans behind him. What he had seen thus far had deeply disturbed him. He had not yet entered Heldon proper, and already he had observed a customs fortress under the sway of a Dominator and a shocking relaxation of the genetic purity laws that could only be traced to the influence of Universalists. Was the High Republic rotten to the core or merely contaminated around the edges? At any rate, his duty as a true man was clear: to exert his powers to the utmost to restore the rigor of the genetic purity laws, to work for their stringent, indeed fanatic enforcement, and to make full use of whatever opportunity destiny granted him to further this sacred cause. With new determination and a growing sense of mission, Feric quickened his pace and fairly loped along the walkway toward the town of Ulmgarn and the great reaches of Heldon stretching majestically beyond. The Ulm bridge debouched directly onto the main street of the town of Ulmgarn: an enameled sign atop a slim cast-iron pillar informed Feric that this substantial boulevard was known as Bridge Way. Before him was a spectacle that warmed his soul, burning away both the off-river breeze and the deeper chill of his encounters in the customs fortress and on the bridge. For the first time in his life, he beheld a town built by true men on uncontaminated soil and inhabitated by healthy specimens of the pure human genotype; what a difference from the sordid squalor and decay of Gormond! In Gormond, the streets and walkways were naught but rude rocks pounded into the earth with hammers, on which one might expect to find the foulest of ordure and muck. The streets of Ulmgarn were paved with smooth, perfectly maintained concrete, and the walkways, too, were of concrete artfully decorated with inlaid glazed bricks in yellow, gold, and green, and both were spotless. In Gormond, the ordinary buildings were of sheet metal and timber, and the larger ones of unadorned poured concrete. Here the ordinary buildings were of glazed brick in a multitude of colorful hues, set off with lushly modeled wooden facings; the more majestic edifices were of rich, dark, polished stone, embellished with ornate brasswork facades and heroic statuary. Swarming on the streets of Gormond was a mongrel horde of Blueskins, dwarfs, Eggheads, Parrotfaces, Toadmen, countless other varieties of pure mutants and mongrelized crosses, and human mutant hybrids; a random collection of bits and pieces of dozens of different species cobbled together piecemeal and dressed for the most part in reeking rags. In grand contrast, the streets of Ulmgarn were graced by fine specimens of true humanity wherever the eye might fall: tall fair men with blond or brown hair, blue or green eyes, and all their parts of the proper order and in the right places, handsome women of the same coloring and configuration, and all dressed in a rich variety of garments of leather, nylon, linen, and silk, furs and velvets, adorned with silver and gold jewelry and many colored embroidery. The whole generated a psychic aura of genetic and somatic health, a spirit of racial purity and high civilization, that uplifted Feric's soul and overwhelmed him with gratitude for and pride in his genetic good fortune. These beings were the crown of creation, and he was one of them! Squaring his shoulders, Feric set off down the street in search of a meal, and thence to the roadsteamer station, for he planned to set off for the great southern Helder metropolis of Walder which lay just north of the Emerald Wood directly after an early dinner. There, in the second grandest city in the fatherland, he would perhaps tarry a while before traveling further to the capital of Heldhime, deep in the heart of the industrial center of Heldon. Surely his destiny lay in one or another of the great metropolises of the High Republic, rather than in the towns bordering the Ulm or the Emerald Wood. Feric sauntered past shops offering all manner of riches and wonders. Here were stalls offering the bounty of the land, and shops purveying the finest of clothing for men and women. On Bridge Way, one could purchase the latest and most carefully crafted mechanical and electrical devices: steam engines for the home and the slave mechanisms they powered, clothes washers, wood-working tools, grain mills, pumps and winches of every conceivable sort. Other emporiums offered richly carved furniture, outer garments of leather or synthetic rubber of the highest quality and gloss, paints and turpentines, medicines and remedies famous even in Borgravia for their potency, every manner of civilized product one might imagine or desire. Scattered among these shops were sundry eating houses and taverns. Feric paused outside several of these in turn, sniffing the aromas which wafted out into the street and observing the clientele. Finally, he selected a large tavern called the Eagle's Nest, which was housed in a red brick building whose facade was embellished with painted scenes from the Blue Mountains. The central motif expressed in graphics the legend written above it: a large black eagle landing on its nest atop a snowcapped mountain. The doors to the tavern were opened wide, the smells drifting through them were pleasant enough, and from within came the vague sounds of some sort of fervent discussion. All in all, the place seemed appetizing to Feric's hunger, and the hubbub within piqued his curiosity. Upon passing through the tavern door, Feric found himself in a large vaulted common room filled with sturdy wooden tables and benches. Perhaps forty men or more were scattered about the room sitting at the tables and drinking beer from large ceramic mugs upon which the Eagle's Nest motif had been painted. The attention of perhaps half the men in the room was focused on a slight figure in a trimly cut green tunic who perched on the edge of a table against the far wall haranguing a small group clustered about him; the rest of the customers conversed with each other and were quiescent. Feric chose an empty table well within earshot of the slim, intense speaker, but somewhat outside the commotion that surrounded him. A waiter in a brown uniform with red piping approached him even as he seated himself. "The present leadership of the High Republic, or more accurately the deadheads and simpletons who profane the seats of the Council Chamber with their unclean buttocks, has not the vaguest notion of the true threat to Heldon," the speaker was saying. Though there was a faint trace of superciliousness about his lips and a light hint of mockery in his voice, there was something about the very sardonic humor of his bright black eyes that drew Feric's attention and approval. "Your pleasure, Trueman?" the waiter inquired, diverting Feric's attention momentarily. "A mug of beer and a salad of lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, and whatever other vegetables you may have at hand that are fresh and uncooked." The waiter gave Feric a somewhat arch look as he departed. Meat was, of course, the traditional staple in Heldon as elsewhere, and upon occasion Feric indulged himself with this questionable fare, since fanatic dedication to vegetarianism seemed to him both impractical and perhaps a bit unwholesome. Nevertheless, he knew full well that progress up the food chain from vegetable matter to meat concentrated the level of radioactive contamination of foodstuffs, and he therefore eschewed flesh as much as possible. His genetic purity was not his to squander on the indulgence of his appetite; in a higher sense it was the common property of the community of true men and demanded to be guarded as a racial trust. A peculiar look from a waiter now and then was not enough to keep him from sticking to his racial duty. "And of course your buttocks would better grace the seat of power, eh Bogel?" bellowed a bluff fellow whose face was somewhat reddened by overconsumption of beer. His comrades showed their appreciation of this remark with crude, albeit good-natured, laughter. The speaker Bogel seemed to have been brought up short for a moment. When his reply came, Feric sensed that it sprang not from inborn instinct but from a sharp, if somewhat cold and mechanical, intellectualization. "I seek no personal power for myself," Bogel said impishly. "However if such a fine specimen as yourself urges a Council seat upon me, what an ingrate I would be to thwart your desires!" This drew somewhat pallid laughter. Feric directed closer attention to the men attending Bogel. They seemed divided up into two rough classes: those few who were paying serious and rapt attention, and those in the majority who seemed to regard the dapper little man with his bright eyes and thin saturnine features as some sort of comic entertainment. Nevertheless, both groups seemed to be composed of the same sort of fellow by and large: middle-aged, two-fisted beer drinkers, shopkeepers, craftsmen and farmers by the look of them, plain honest folk whose understanding of affairs of state could hardly be deemed profound. It seemed to Feric as if this Bogel overestimated his audience, putting on, as he did, an air of intellectual sarcasm and superiority in a public tavern. "Thus might a Dominator speak!" another fellow roared. There was more loud laughter, but this tune tinged with a certain uneasy quality. For the first time, a certain fire became evident in Bogel's eyes. "Thus might speak a Universalist sympathizer or a man enmeshed in a dominance pattern," he said. "The Human Renaissance Party is the deadly enemy of the Dom and his Universalist dupes and lackeys; no one denies this, least of all the scum themselves. Ridicule of the Party or its leadership therefore serves the interest of the Dominators. How do we know that such words were not put in your mouth by an inhuman master?" With this Bogel smiled, indicating that this was meant as jest. However this subtlety seemed totally lost on the poor fellow's audience; countenances darkened and a certain surly atmosphere began to build. Clearly this Bogel, while obviously possessed of a keen mind, had no instinct for moving men in the desired direction with oratory. "You dare suggest that I am on a Dominator's string, you pathetic wretch!" Bogel seemed somewhat lost; certainly he had not wanted to provoke anger against himself, but just as certainly that was rapidly becoming the result of his words. At this point, the waiter arrived with Feric's salad and beer. Feric sipped diffidently at the beer and picked at the food, intent now, for some reason he barely understood, on studying the drama being played out before him. Bogel smiled somewhat weakly. "Come, come, my friend," he said. "Don't be so solemn and serious-minded. I accuse no one here of being on a Dominator's string. Though, on the other hand, how can any of us ever be sure that anyone else is not enmeshed in a dominance pattern? That's the insidious horror of the creatures: true men such as ourselves cannot fully trust each other as long as one wretched Dom still lives within the borders of Heldon." This seemed to mollify the crowd somewhat, at least to the point where Bogel was allowed to continue. "This bickering among us is an object lesson in the depths to which Heldon has sunk under the present limp-wristed regime," he pointed out. "I'd stake my life on the fact that there isn't a true man here who wouldn't reach out to wring a Dom's neck if such a creature were to make itself apparent. Yet you shrink at supporting a party dedicated to ruthlessly rooting these vermin out. There isn't a true man here who would not slay his own offspring should that child betray the human race by mating with a mutant or a hybrid. Yet, tempted by sloth, you go along when the Council, under Universalist pressure, relaxes the genetic purity laws in order to allow foreign mutants to enter Heldon to do work that the lackeys of the Doms have convinced you is beneath your station. Surely in a town such as Ulmgam, in such close proximity to the Borgravian pestilence, good Helder such as yourselves would be up in arms and ready to flock to the standard of the Human Renaissance Party in droves, once I proclaimed our dedication to the preservation of the racial purity of Heldon and the ouster of the fools on the Council who to curry favor with slackers and rabble would betray the iron rigor of our genetic purity laws!" "Well spoken!" Feric felt constrained to utter aloud. His voice, however, was lost in the general cheering, for suddenly Bogel had touched his audience in their simple yet noble sense of racial pride. Others in the tavern now gave over their private conversation and turned their attention to the slim, dark-haired speaker. "Or so I in my naive musings imagined when I decided to journey from Walder to these border regions in search of support for our cause," Bogel continued after the ovation had subsided. "But instead of a righteously enraged citizenry, what did I find? Slothful slaggards too bemused by the prospect of having lesser beings take their tasks upon themselves to protest this outrage! Naive bumpkins who believe that all Doms have been driven out of Heldon because a government of fools and racial eunuchs tells them so!" It was too much for Feric to bear. This Bogel obviously spoke out as a true patriot. His speech had cogency, his cause was just and more than worthy of support, he had momentarily captured the hearts of his audience, and yet now he had thrown away his moment by indulging in tortured self-pity instead of building to a roaring demand for concrete and ruthless action. Instead of cheers, he was drawing renewed hostility. The man was a good speaker as such, but a clear failure as a political agitator. Perhaps, though, the situation could be saved. Feric leaped to his feet and shouted in a bold, clear voice: "There are those of us here who are neither slaggards nor naïve bumpkins!" This voicing of the crowd's own hostility insantly drew all attention to him; Bogel himself did not attempt to interfere, since Feric's words had revealed to his sharp mind the foul situation he had put himself in. All waited anxiously to hear Feric's next words, would he attack the speaker or speak in his defense? "There are those of us here to whom your words are a ringing challenge!" Feric continued, noting that Bogel's eyes had brightened, his thin lips creased in a smile. "There are those of us here who will not tolerate the impudence of mutants or the contamination of human soil by one instant of their unclean presence. There are those of us here who are ready to rip Doms apart with our bare hands when we see them. True men! Pure men! Men fanatically dedicated not merely to the preservation of the racial purity of the present High Republic of Heldon but to the extension of the absolute rule of true men to every humanly habitable spot on the surface of this sorry earth! In the heart of even the most slothful slaggard lives this hero willing to take up arms to preserve the pure human genotype! Our very genes cry out, exclude the mutant! Drive him before you! Slay the Dom wherever you find him!" The audience broke into hearty prolonged cheers. As the cheering went on, Feric observed that every pair of eyes in the tavern was upon him; lines of psychic energy seemed to connect the center of his being with the heart of every man in the room. It was as if the wills of the audience fed their full power into his own will, which in turn returned their fervor to them magnified tenfold, in an ever-building spiral of psychic power that flooded and enlarged his being, a massive racial force that was his to direct where he willed. A sudden inspiration struck him: he would give this energy a concrete outlet, a target. "And a Dom may be found not far from this very place," Feric continued when the cheering had lapsed. "Yes, there is a Dominator in your midst, and in the most monstrous place conceivable! This creature is within the reach of your fists at this very moment!" A silence descended upon the room into which Bogel spoke: "It's men like you that the Party needs, Trueman! Tell us, where is this hidden Dominator? I warrant there isn't a man here now not ready to rip him to pieces!" Feric was quite pleased that Bogel had caught the spirit of the moment. His cause had merit, it was the cause of true humanity; his efforts deserved reward. "Incredibly enough, a Dominator has secreted himself in the heart of the customs fortress on the Ulm bridge entrusted with protecting your genetic purity," Feric said. "He holds the entire garrison in a dominance pattern!" A horrified gasp issued from the men in the tavern. Instantly, Feric went on. "Think of the horror of it! This stinking monstrosity has secured certification and serves as a scribe to the genetic analyst empowered to grant certification to prospective citizens. From this citadel, he saps the will of the garrison and the analyst so that a veritable river of contaminated genes may gush into this area like the contents of a sewer to poison the posterity of your sons and daughters! Further, there is no one in the garrison not enmeshed in this pattern, no one able to dislodge the foul beast or smash his net!" A din of angry muttering filled the tavern now. They were clearly ready to carry out the racial will as he directed. Their deepest instinct had been fully aroused, the iron determination to protect the human species. A fire had been ignited which could only be quenched in Dominator blood. "What are we waiting for?" Feric bellowed. "We have our hands, and some of us are ar

Rahan. Episode Twenty-Four. The Ivory Knife. How many times did you save Rahan's life? Ten times the fingers of both hands? Maybe even more! Without you, Rahan would have long since joined the "Territory of Shadows"! The sun plays on the marvelously polished evenness of the ivory blade. The son of Crao thoughtfully admired his weapon. The remembrances of combat of incredible violence are tangled in his memory. Page Two: Combats which had always ended with its clamor of victory. A clamor that all the life of the jungle now knew! Absorbed in his memories, the son of Crao had not noticed the rustling of the branches. The "enemy" speaks to the "Thing-that-shines". And the "Thing" responds by throwing lights!! This time, the Breeze bought Rahan the whisper of the two ambushers. Who watches Rahan without daring to show himself?! Only those with bad intentions hide like cowards! And Rahan hates cowards! Page Three: A hunter emerged from the thickets, his club in his hand. Give Kabak the "Thing-that-Shines" and Kabak will let you go in peace! This "Thing" is a weapon! It belongs to Rahan! The man pointed to the lizard sheath where Rahan had slipped his cutlass. And if Kabak wants to rob him, he will have to fight Rahan! Well planted on his legs, the son of Crao waited for the attack of the man. But the treacherous attack came from elsewhere! When he turned his head, it was already too late. The club of a second hunter, who was swinging from a vine, struck his neck on the fly. Crack! Page Four: When the son of fierce ages recovered his spirits, his head was still sore and his vision was blurry. Men stirred and murmurs arose here and there. But above all, he heard Kabak's voice. Who, imitating the son of Crao, spoke to the ivory knife! Answer Kabak "Thing-that-shines"! Kabak wants to know your power! As the weapon remained mute, the chief of the clan challenged Rahan. Why does the "Thing-that-Shines" not obey Kabak!? Why does she not tell him if the hunt will be good? Because she only obeys Rahan! Who alone can understand her language! Rahan understood the advantage he could derive from Kabak's credulity. Page Five: So ask the "Thing" if the hunt will be good for our clan! The son of Crao solemnly seized the knife that the man held out to him. And made it play under the sun. The ivory blade flashed several times. She says a young mammoth!! It wanders on the side of the Great River. If Kabak and his hunters act fast, they can kill this Mammoth! Rahan hoped to drive away the men of the clan. But the chief issued an order. And ten hands grabbed him. If Rahan was right, he will be free. But if he lied it is he who will be killed!! A moment later, the son of Crao was pinned to a rock and tied up. Kabak had taken up the ivory weapon. Page Six: Rahan is not "The enemy" of "Those-who-walk-upright"! Give him his freedom! But the clan chief did not listen to the captive. He had gone away and was talking to the knife. Kabak wants to know. Is it true that a mammoth roams near the great river?? Answer "Thing-that-shines"! Answer!! The "Thing" doesn't hear you! It only answers Rahan's questions! As the glints of the ivory blade had no meaning for him, Kabak furiously brandished the weapon. Page Seven: Since you did not want to answer Kabak, you will disappear forever!! Rahan growled in rage. Over there, the chief had just thrown the ivory cutlass into an abyss. Gathering all his men Kabak disappeared into the forest. When they return, they will send Rahan into the Shadow Land! Although the son of Crao was exceptionally strong, all his efforts to break the shackles were in vain. Rahan won't let himself be killed by Kabak-the-stupid! Rahan must find a way to free himself! Page Eight: An idea suddenly came to him, which brought a smile to his lips. If Rahan cannot break this vine, he can free it from this rock! Bracing himself on a projection he rose slightly then, with a shake, raised the vine to his height. Ten times he repeated this maneuver. His back, bruised by the granite, mattered little to him. He was now halfway up the rock! His feet found new points of support and he was still rising. The vine relaxed with each jolt. And he must stretch it so as not to fall and see the end of all his efforts. Page Nine: He finally reached the top of the rock. With a final shake he freed the vine. And brutally descended the slab of granite. He was free! Ra-ha-ha! The echo of his victorious cry slowly died out as he lowered his wrists free. Kabak will think Rahan is a wizard! The joy of the son of fierce ages for his deliverance was tarnished by the loss of his precious knife. Kabak threw it into this abyss. Water from an underground spring was a mirror, reflecting at the very bottom of this circular hole. Vines took hold along the moss-covered wall. Page Ten: But they are too thin to support the weight of Rahan. Zlac! And Rahan cannot dive in, without knowing the depth of the water! It may have been, in fact, only a slice of a sheet of water. Into which a dive would have been fatal. This stone will enlighten Rahan! A moment later the stone attached to the thin vine descended slowly into the abyss. It disappeared under the black water, and sank, and sank, and sank further. The water is deep enough! Rahan can dive! Page Eleven: In fact, the son of Crao let himself fall into the abyss rather than plunge into it. Ra-ha-ha! His body burst into the icy water, between the few dead branches stuck between the walls. The darkness was almost total and Rahan, in search of the knife, felt the rocky bottom, groping. Several times he had to come back to the surface to breathe. Rahan is as stupid as Kabak! He did not even think of how he will get out of this abyss! His fingers finally felt the ivory handle of his knife. And that was when something twirled around him! Page Twelve: It was a strange fish that sprang from a fissure that the son of Crao had not noticed. This monster of darkness may come from an underground lake, was it dangerous? Without a doubt! He had no eyes, or rather, a plate of scales obstructed them. But Rahan caught a glimpse of the horrible mouth, bristling with sharp teeth. The blade of the ivory knife ripped open the monster, whose attack he had just dodged! Rahan hates these fights in the night! Rahan prefers the daylight, the sky, the sun! Page Thirteen: The daylight, the sky, the sun, the son of the fierce ages will find them. The first vine to which he clung gave way under his weight, and fell into the abyss like an endless snake. The rock covered with sticky moss offered no holds. But yet, Rahan suddenly had a hope. He felt under him a powerful eddy. Crao had said that there are rivers under the earth. And that these rivers sometimes invade chasms like this! The blue indeed rose, blocking the branches wedged between the walls. And Rahan rode with it towards the open day, towards the sky. Page Fourteen: The son of Crao's clamor of hope was prolonged by a gasp of resentment. Ra-ha-ha! The eddy had stopped and the water stopped rising. The level had risen only a few meters. The open sky, all the top, remained inaccessible to Rahan! Rahan should have reflected and not only thought about his knife! Now Rahan is like a trapped beast! Kabak's hunters will come back and slaughter him in this trap! No, Rahan doesn't want to join the "Territory of Shadows"! Rahan wants to live! He Will Live! Page Fifteen: The son of fierce ages held on to one of the dead branches. The broken vine floated on the surface. He was watching the branches. He watched the vine. The Branches. The creeper. The Branches. The creeper. An idea was born in his mind and quickly took shape. He suddenly screamed. Rahan knows how to get out of the abyss! A moment later he was busy among the branches, choosing those whose length suited his project. It was almost joyfully that he shortens one of them. Once again Rahan's knife will save his life! Page Sixteen: How could these branches, thrown into this chasm at random by the storms, come to the aid of the son of Crao? Shortly after he had tied the ends of the vine to the two branches. Rahan discovered the trap to get out of the traps! These branches were slightly longer than the diameter of the chasm. Rahan wedged the first one between the walls, and hoisted himself onto it. With the aid of a vine, he hoisted the second branch. And. As this perch supported him, his victory cry thundered, amplified by the rocky corridor. Ra-ha-ha! Page Seventeen: The branch like the previous one, was jammed above him. And so the imaginative son of Crao rose into the abyss!!! Abandoning each perch, to climb onto the other! He moved slowly, carefully leaning on the raised ends of the branches. The slightest wrong move could have thrown him back into the black waters. Or, he guessed, other monsters, similar to the one he had killed. But Rahan, son of Crao, son of fierce ages, knew how to be calm when the situation demanded it. Page Eighteen: He was about to reach the edge of the abyss when the shouts of the Kabak hunters rose, very close. Rahan will not have time to escape them! Gripping the granite ledge, he saw a few men running. And these come to a standstill, like statues, in front of the rock to which they had tied their captive. Rahan's disappearance must have seemed miraculous to them. Because they knelt at the foot of the rock and prostrated themselves several times. A noise from the side of the abyss suddenly caught their attention. The branch on which Rahan was leaning was unblocked. Page Nineteen: And it fell into the void, dragging the second with it! Plooch! The son of Crao could no longer resist the hunters! Others came out of the forest, preceded by Kabak. As Rahan climbed out of the abyss. Rahan hates fighting with "Those-who-walk-upright"! But he will not let himself go without a fight! Why would we kill Rahan, since he told the truth! YOU! We found the mammoth near the big river! Other hunters were coming, carrying huge quarters of meat. Page Twenty: But Rahan knew how not to show his astonishment. Rahan had lied to keep the hunters away. And they really found a mammoth. Kabak promised you freedom! Kabak has only one word! Rahan can travel in peace on our territory! The son of Crao went on his way. The night found him in a tree, his knife close to him, as he was used to. Rahan sends the clan on a hunt for an imaginary mammoth and the clan finds a mammoth! This is probably what Crao called "Chance"!! Accustomed as he was to dangers, the son of the fierce ages considered his adventure banal. He fell asleep peacefully, while the moon hung its pale light on the ivory weapon.

THE LOST CONTINENT. I felt a peculiar mixture of excitement and depression as my Pan African jet from Accra came down through the interlocking fringes of the East Coast and Central American smog banks above Milford International Airport, made a slightly bumpy landing on the east-west runway, and taxied through the thin blue haze toward a low, tarnished-looking aluminum dome that appeared to be the main international arrivals terminal. Although American history is my field, there was something about actually being in the United States for the first time that filled me with sadness, awe, and perhaps a little dread. Ironically, I believe that what saddened me about being in America was the same thing that makes that country so popular with tourists, like the people who filled most of the seats around me. There is nothing that tourists like better than truly servile natives, and there are no natives quite so servile as those living off the ruins of a civilization built by ancestors they can never hope to surpass. For my part—perhaps because I am a professor of history and can appreciate the parallels and ironies! not only feel personally diminished at the thought of lording it over the remnants of a once-great people, but it also reminds me of our own civilization’s inevitable mortality. Was not Africa a continent of so-called “underdeveloped nations” not two centuries ago when Americans were striding to the moon like gods? Have we in Africa really preserved the technical and scientific heritage of Space-Age America intact, as we like to pretend? We may claim that we have not repeated the American feat of going to the moon because it was part of tired overdevelopment that destroyed Space-Age civilization, but few reputable scientists would seriously contend that we could go to the moon if we so chose. Even the jet in which I had crossed the Atlantic was not quite up to the airliners the Americans had flown two centuries ago. Of course, the modern Americans are still less capable than we of recreating twentieth-century American technology. As our plane reached the terminal, an atmosphere-sealed extension ramp reached out creakily from the building for its airlock. Milford International was the port of entry for the entire northeastern United States; yet, the best it had was recently obsolescent African equipment. Milford itself, one of the largest modern American towns, would be lost next to even a city like Brazzaville. Yes, African science and technology are certainly now the most advanced on the planet, and some day perhaps we will build a civilization that can truly claim to be the highest the world has yet seen, but we only delude ourselves when we imagine that we have such a civilization now. As of the middle of the twenty-second century, Space-Age America still stands as the pinnacle of man’s fight to master his environment. Twentieth-century American man had a level of scientific knowledge and technological sophistication that we may not fully attain for another century. What a pity he had so little deep understanding of his relationship to his environment or of himself. The ramp linked up with the plane’s airlock, and after a minimal amount of confusion we debarked directly into a customs control office, which consisted of a drab, dun-colored, medium-sized room divided by a line of twelve booths across its width. The customs officers in the booths were very polite, hardly glanced at our passports, and managed to process nearly a hundred passengers in less than ten minutes. The American government was apparently justly famous for doing all it could to smooth the way for African tourists. Beyond the customs control office was a small auditorium in which we were speedily seated by courteous uniformed customs agents. A pale, sallow, well-built young lady in a trim blue customs uniform entered the room after us and walked rapidly through the center aisle and up onto the little low stage. She was wearing, face-fitting atmosphere goggles, even though the terminal had a full seal. She began to recite a little speech; I believe its actual wording is written into the American tourist-control laws. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the United States of America. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay in our country, and we’d like to take just a few moments of your time to give you some reminders that will help make your visit a safe and pleasurable one. ” She put her hand to her nose and extracted two small transparent cylinders filled with gray gossamer. “These are government-approved atmosphere filters,” she said, displaying them for us. “You will be given complimentary sets as you leave this room. You are advised to buy only filters with the official United States Government Seal of Approval. Change your filters regularly each morning, and your stay here should in no way impair your health. However, it is understood that all visitors to the United States travel at their own risk. You are advised not to remove your filters, except inside buildings or conveyances displaying a green circle containing the words FULL ATMOSPHERE SEAL.” She took off her goggles, revealing a light red mask of welted skin that their seal had made around her eyes. “These are self-sealing atmosphere goggles,” she said. “If you have not yet purchased a pair, you may do so in the main lobby. You are advised to secure goggles before leaving this terminal and to wear them whenever you venture out into the open atmosphere. Purchase only goggles bearing the Government Seal of Approval, and always take care that the seal is air-tight. “If you use your filters and goggles properly, your stay in the United States should be a safe and pleasant one. The government and people of the United States wish you a good day, and we welcome you to our country.” We were then handed our filters and guided to the baggage area, where our luggage was already unloaded End waiting for us. A sealed bus from the Milford International Inn was already waiting for those of us who had booked rooms there, and porters loaded the luggage on the bus while a representative from the hotel handed out complimentary atmosphere goggles. The Americans were most efficient and most courteous; there was something almost unpleasant about the way we moved so smoothly from the plane to seats on a bus headed through the almost empty streets of Milford toward the faded white plastic block that was the Milford International Inn, by far the largest building in a town that seemed to be mostly small houses, much like an African residential village. Perhaps what disturbed me was the knowledge that Americans were so good at this sort of thing strictly out of necessity. Thirty percent of the total American Gross National Product comes from the tourist industry. I keep telling my wife I gotta get out of this tourist business. In the good old days, our ancestors would’ve given these African brothers nothing but about eight feet of rope. They’d’ve shot off a nuclear missile and blasted all those black brothers to atoms! If the damned brothers didn’t have so much loose money, I’d be for riding every one of them back to Africa on a rail, just like the Space-Agers did with their black brothers before the Panic. And I bet we could do it, too. I hear there’s all kinds of Space-Age weapons sitting around in the ruins out West. If we could only get ourselves together and dig them out, we’d show those Africans whose ancestors went to the moon while they were still eating each other. But, instead, I found myself waiting with my copter bright and early at the International Inn for the next load of customers of Little Old New York Tours, as usual. And I’ve got to admit that I’m doing pretty well off of it. Ten years ago, I just barely had the dollars to make a down-payment on a used ten-seat helicopter, and now the thing is all paid off, and I’m shoveling dollars into my stash on every day-tour. If the copter holds up another ten years, and this is a genuine Space-Age American Air Force helicopter restored and converted to energy cells in Aspen, not a cheap piece of African junk, I’ll be able to take my bundle and split to South America, just like a tycoon out of the good old days. They say they’ve got places in South America where there’s nothing but wild country as far as you can see. Imagine that! And you can buy this land. You can buy jungle filled with animals and birds. You can buy rivers full of fish. You can buy air that doesn’t choke your lungs and give you cancer and taste like fried turds even through a brand-new set of filters. Yeah, that’s why I suck up to Africans! That’s worth spending four or five hours a day in that New York hole, even worth looking at subway dwellers. Every full day-tour I take in there is maybe twenty thousand dollars net toward South America. You can buy ten acres of prime Amazon swampland for only fifty-six million dollars. I’ll still be young ten years from now, I’ll only be forty. I take good care of myself, I change my filters every day just like they tell you to, and I don’t use nothing but Key West Supremes, no matter how much the damned things cost. I’ll have at least ten good years left; why, I could even live to be fifty five! And I’m gonna spend at least ten of those fifty-five years someplace where I can walk around without filters shoved up my nose, where I don’t need goggles to keep my eyes from rotting, where I can finally die from something better than lung cancer. I picture South America every time I feel the urge to tell off those brothers and get out of this business. For ten years with Karen in that Amazon swampland, I can take their superior-civilization crap and eat it and smile back at ’em afterward. With filters wadded up my nose and goggle seals bruising the tender skin under my eyes, I found myself walking through the blue haze of the open American atmosphere, away from the second-class twenty-second-century comforts of the International Inn, and toward the large and apparently ancient tour helicopter. As I walked along with the other tourists, I wondered just what it was that had drawn me here. Of course, Space-Age America is my specialty, and I had reached the point where my academic career virtually required a visit to America, but, aside from that, I felt a personal motivation that I could not quite grasp. No doubt, I know more about Space-Age America than all but a handful of modern Americans, but the reality of Space-Age civilization seems illusive to me. I am an enlightened modern African, five generations removed from the bush; yet I have seen films, the obscure ghost to woof Las Vegas sitting in the middle of a terrible desert clogged with vast mechanized temples to the God of Chance; Mount Rushmore, where the Americans carved an entire landscape into the likenesses of their national heroes; the Cape Kennedy National Shrine, where rockets of incredible size are preserved almost intact, which have made me feel like an ignorant primitive trying to understand the minds of gods. One cannot contemplate the Space Age without concluding that the Space-Agers possessed a kind of sophistication which we modern men have lost. Yet they destroyed themselves. Yes, perhaps the resolution of this paradox was what I hoped to find here, aside from academic merit. Certainly, true understanding of the Space-Age mind cannot be gained from study of artifacts and records, if it could, I would have it. A true scholar, it has always seemed to me, must seek to understand, not merely to accumulate knowledge. No doubt, it was understanding that I sought here. Up close, the Little Old New York Tours helicopter was truly impressive, an antique ten-seater built during the Space-Age for the military by the look of it, and lovingly restored. But the American atmosphere had still been breathable even in the cities when it was built, so I was certain that this copter had only a filter system of questionable quality, no doubt installed by the contemporary natives in modern times. I did not want anything as flimsy as all that between my eyes and lungs and the American atmosphere, so I ignored the FULL ATMOSPHERE SEAL sign and kept my filters in and my goggles on as I boarded. I noticed that the other tourists were doing the same. Mike Ryan, the native guide and pilot, had been recommended to me by a colleague from the University of Nairobi. A professor’s funds are quite limited, of course, especially one who has not attained significant academic stature as yet, and the air fares ate into my already meager budget to the point where all I could afford was three days in Milford, four in Aspen, three in Needles, five in Eureka, and a final three at Cape Kennedy on the way home. Aside from the Cape Kennedy National Shrine, none of these modern American towns actually contained Space-Age ruins of significance. Since it is virtually impossible, and, at any rate, prohibitively dangerous, to visit major Space-Age ruins without a helicopter and a native guide, and since a private copter and guide would be far beyond my means, my only alternative was to take a day-tour like everyone else. My Kenyan friend had told me that Ryan was the best guide to Old New York that he had had in his three visits. Unlike most of the other guides, he actually took his tours into a subway station to see live subway dwellers. There are reportedly only a thousand or two subway dwellers left; they are nearing extinction. It seemed like an opportunity I should not miss. At any rate, Ryan’s charge was only about five hundred dollars above the average guide’s. Ryan stood outside the helicopter in goggles, helping us aboard. His appearance gave me something of a surprise. My Kenyan informant had told me that Ryan had been in the tour business for ten years; most guides who had been around that long were in terrible shape. No filters could entirely protect a man from that kind of prolonged exposure to saturation smog; by the time they’re thirty, most guides already have chronic emphysema, and their lung-cancer rate at age thirty-five is over fifty percent. But Ryan, who could not be under thirty, had the general appearance of a forty-year-old Boer; physiologically, he should have looked a good deal older. Instead, he was short, squat, had only slightly graying black hair, and looked quite alert, even powerful. But, of course, he had the typical American grayish-white pimply pallor. There were eight other people taking the tour, a full copter. A prosperous-looking Kenyan who quickly introduced himself as Roger Koyinka, traveling with his wife; a rather strange-looking Ghanaian in very rich-looking old-fashioned robes and his similarly clad wife and young son; two rather willowy and modishly dressed young men who appeared to be Luthuliville dandies, and the only other person in the tour who was traveling alone, an intense young man whose great bush of hair, stylized dashiki, and gold earring proclaimed that he was an Amero-African. I drew a seat next to the Amero-African, who identified himself as Michael Lumumba rather diffidently when I introduced myself. Ryan gave us a few moments to get acquainted, I learned that the Ghanaian was named Kulongo, that Koyinka was a department store executive from Nairobi, that the two young men were named Ojubu and Ruala, while he checked out the helicopter, and then seated himself in the pilot’s seat, back toward us, goggles still in place, and addressed us without looking back through an internal public address system. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to your Little Old New York Tour. I’m Mike Ryan, your guide to the wonders of Old New York, Space-Age America’s greatest city. Today you’re going to see such sights as the Fuller Dome, the Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, and, as a grand finale, a subway station still inhabited by the direct descendants of the Space-Age inhabitants of the city. So don’t just think of this as a guided tour, ladies and gentlemen. You are about to take part in the experience of a lifetime, an exploration of the ruins of the greatest city built by the greatest civilization ever to stand on the face of the earth.” “Stupid arrogant honkie!” the young man beside me snarled aloud. There was a terrible moment of shocked, shamed embarrassment in the cabin, as all of us squirmed in our seats. Of course, the Amero-Africans are famous for this sort of tastelessness, but to be actually confronted with this sort of blatant racism made one for a moment ashamed to be black. Ryan swiveled very slowly in his seat. His face displayed the characteristic red flush of the angered Caucasian, but his voice was strangely cold, almost polite: “You’re in the United States now, Mister Lumumba, not in Africa. I’d watch what I said if I were you. If you don’t like me or my country, you can have your lousy money back. There’s a plane leaving for Conakry in the morning.” “You’re not getting off that easy, honkie,” Lumumba said. “I paid my money, and you’re not getting me off this helicopter. You try, and I go straight to the tourist board, and there goes your licence. ” Ryan stared at Lumumba for a moment. Then the flush began to fade from his face, and be turned his back on us again, muttering, “Suit yourself, pal. I promise you an interesting ride.” A muscle twitched in Lumumba’s temple; he seemed about to speak again. “Look here, Mister Lumumba,” I whispered at him sharply, “we’re guests in this country, and you’re making us look like boorish louts in front of the natives. If you have no respect for your own dignity, have some respect for ours.” “You stick to your pleasures, and I’ll stick to mine,” he told me, speaking more calmly, but obviously savoring his own bitterness. “I’m here for the pleasure of seeing the descendants of the stinking honkies who kicked my ancestors out grovel in the putrid mess they made for themselves. And I intend to get my money’s worth.” I started to reply, but then restrained myself. I would have to remain on civil terms with this horrid young man for hours. I don’t think I’ll ever understand these Amero-Africans and their pointless blood-feud. I doubt if I want to. I started the engines, lifted her off the pad, and headed east into the smog bank trying hard not to think of that black brother Lumumba. No wonder so many of his ancestors were lynched by the Space-Agers! Sometime during the next few hours, that crud was going to get his. Through by cabin monitor (this Air Force Iron was just loaded with real Space-Age stuff) I watched the stupid looks on their flat faces as we headed for what looked like a solid wall of smoke at about one hundred miles per hour. From the fringes, a major smog bank looks like that, solid as a steel slab, but once you’re inside there’s nothing but a blue haze that anyone with a halfway decent set of goggles can see right through. “We are now entering the East Coast smog bank, ladies and gentlemen,” I told them. “This smog bank extends roughly from Bangor, Maine, in the north to Jacksonville, Florida in the south, and from the Atlantic coastline in the east to the slopes of the Alleghenies in the west. It is the third largest smog bank in the United States.” Getting used to the way things look inside the smog always holds ’em for a while. Inside a smog bank, the color of everything is kind of washed-out, grayed, and blued. The air is something you can see, a mist that doesn’t move; it almost sparkles at you. For some reason, these Africans always seem to be knocked out by it. Imagine thinking stuff like that is beautiful, crap that would kill you horribly and slowly in a couple of days if you were stupid or unlucky enough to breathe it without filters. Yeah, they sure were a bunch of brothers! Some executive from Nairobi who acted like just being in the same copter with an American might give him and his wife lung cancer. Two rich young fruits from Luthuliville who seemed to be traveling together so they could congratulate themselves on how smart they both were for picking such rich parents. Some professor named Balewa who had never been to the States before, but probably was sure he knew what it was all about. A backwoods jungle-bunny named Kulongo who had struck it rich off uranium or something, taking his wife and kid on the grand tour. And, of course, that creep, Lumumba. The usual load of African tourists. Man, in the good old days, these niggers wouldn’t have been good enough to shine our shoes! Now we were flying over the old state of New Jersey. The Space-Agers did things in New Jersey that not even the African professors have figured out. It was weird country we were crossing: endless patterns of box-houses, all of them the same, all bleached blue-gray by two centuries of smog; big old freeways jammed with the wreckage of cars from the Panic of the Century; a few twisted gray trees and a patch of dry grass here and there that somehow managed to survive in the smog. And this was western Jersey; this was nothing. Further east, it was like an alien planet or something. The view from the Jersey Turnpike was a sure tourist-pleaser. It really told them just where they were. It let them know that the Space-Agers could do things they couldn’t hope to do. Or want to. Yeah, the Jersey lowlands are spectacular, all right, but why in hell, did our ancestors want to do a thing like that? It really makes you think. You look at the Jersey lowlands and you know that the Space-Agers could do about anything they wanted to. But why in hell did they want to do some of the things they did? There was something about actually standing in the open American atmosphere that seemed to act directly on the consciousness, like kit. Perhaps it was the visual effect. Ryan had landed the helicopter on a shattered arch of six-lane freeway that soared like the frozen contrail of an ascending jet over a surreal metallic jungle of amorphous Space-Age rubble on a giant’s scale, all crumbling rusted storage tanks, ruined factories, fantastic mazes of decayed valving and piping, filling the world from horizon to horizon. As we stepped out onto the cracked and pitted concrete, the spectrum of reality changed, as if we were suddenly on the surface of a planet circling a bluer and grayer sun. The entire grotesque panorama appeared as if through a blue-gray filter. But we were inside the filter; the filter was the open American smog and it shone in drab sparkles all around us. Strangest of all, the air seemed to remain completely transparent while possessing tangible visible substance. Yes, the visual effects of the American atmosphere alone are enough to affect you like some hallucinogenic drug: distorting your consciousness by warping your visual perception of your environment. Of course, the exact biochemical effects of breathing saturation smog through filters are still unknown. We know that the American atmosphere is loaded with hydrocarbons and nitrous oxides that would kill a man in a matter of days if he breathed them directly. We know that the atmosphere filters developed toward the end by the Space-Agers enable a man to breathe the American atmosphere for up to three months without permanent damage to his health and enable the modern Americans, who have to breathe variations of this filtered poison every moment of their lives, to often live to be fifty. We know how to duplicate the Space-Age atmosphere filters, and we more or less know how their complex catalytic fibers work, but the reactions that the filters must put the American atmosphere through to make it breathable are so complex that the only thing we can say for sure of what comes out the other side is that it usually takes about four decades to kill you. Perhaps that strange feeling that came over me was a combination of both effects. But, for whatever reasons, I saw that weird landscape as if in a dream or a state of intoxication: everything faded and misty and somehow unreal, vaguely supernatural. Beside me, staring silently and with a strange dignity at the totally artificial vista of monstrous rusted ruins, stood the Ghanaian, Kulongo. When he finally spoke, his wife and son seemed to hang on his words, as if he were one of the old chiefs dispensing tribal wisdom. “I have never seen such a place as this,” Kulongo said. “In this place, there once lived a race of demons or witchdoctors or gods. There are those who would call me an ignorant savage for saying this thing, but only a fool doubts what he sees with his eyes or his heart. The men who made these things were not human beings like us. Their souls were not as our souls.” Although he was putting it in naive and primitive terms, there was the weight of essential truth in Kulongo’s words. The broken arch of freeway on which we stood reared like the head of a snake whose body was a six-lane road clogged with the rusted corpses of what had been a region wide traffic-jam during the Panic of the Century. The freeway led south, off into the fuzzy horizon of the smog bank, through a ruined landscape in which nothing could be seen that was not the decayed work of man; that was not metal or concrete or asphalt or plastic or Space-Age synthetic. It was like being perched above some vast rained machine the size of a city, a city never meant for man. The scale of the machinery and the way it encompassed the visual universe made it very clear to me that the reality of America was something that no one could put into a book or a film. I was in America with a vengeance. I was overwhelmed by the totality with, which the Space-Agers had transformed their environment, and by the essential incomprehensibility, despite our sophisticated sociological and psycho-historical explanations, of why they had done such a thing and of how they themselves had seen it. “Their souls were not as our souls” was as good a way to put it as any. “Well, it’s certainly spectacular enough,” Ruala said to his friend, the rapt look on his face making a mockery of his sarcastic tone. “So it is,” Ojubu said softly. Then, more harshly: “It’s probably the largest junk heap in the world.” The two of them made a halfhearted attempt at laughter, which withered almost immediately under the contemptuous look that the Kulongos gave them; the timeless look that the people of the bush have given the people of the towns for centuries, the look that said only cowardly fools attempt to hide their fears behind a false curtain of contempt, that only those who truly fear magic need to openly mock it. And again, in their naive way, the Kulongos were right. Ojubu and Ruala were just a shade too shrill, and, even while they played at diffidence, their eyes remained fixed on that totally surreal metal landscape. One would have to be a lot worse than a mere fool not to feel the essential strangeness of that place. Even Lumumba, standing a few yards from the rest of us, could not tear his eyes away. Just behind us, Ryan stood leaning against the helicopter. There was a strange power, perhaps a sarcasm as well, in his words as he delivered what surely must have been his routine guide’s speech about this place. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now standing on the New Jersey Turnpike, one of the great highways that linked some of the mighty cities of Space-Age America. Below you are the Jersey lowlands, which served as a great manufacturing, storage, power-producing, and petroleum refining and distribution center for the greatest and largest of the Space-Age cities, Old New York. As you look across these incredible ruins, larger than most modern African cities, think of this: all of this was nothing to the Space-Age Americans but a minor industrial area to be driven through at a hundred miles an hour without even noticing. You’re not looking at one of the famous wonders of Old New York, but merely at an unimportant fringe of the greatest city ever built by man. Ladies and gentlemen, you’re looking at a very minor work of Space-Age man!” “Crazy damned honkies.” Lumumba muttered. But there was little vehemence or real meaning in his voice, and, like the rest of us, he could not tear his eyes away. It was not hard to understand what was going through his mind. Here was a man raised in the Amero-African enclaves on an irrational mixture of hate for the fallen Space-Agers, contempt for their vanished culture, fear of their former power, and perhaps a kind of twisted blend of envy and identification that only an Amero-African could fully understand. He had come to revel in the sight of the ruins of the civilization that had banished his ancestors, and now he was confronted with the inescapable reality that the “honkies” whose memory he both hated and feared had indeed possessed power and knowledge not only beyond his comprehension, but applied to ends which his mind was not equipped to understand. It must have been a humbling moment for Michael Lumumba. He had come to sneer and had been forced instead to gape. I tore my gaze away from that awesome vista to look at Ryan; there was a grim smile on his pale, unhealthy face as he drank in our reactions. Clearly, he had meant this sight to humble us, and, just as clearly, it had. Ryan stared back at me through his goggles as he noticed me watching him. I couldn’t read the expression in his watery eyes through the distortion of the goggle lenses. All I understood was that somehow some subtle change had occurred in the pattern of the group’s interrelationships. No longer was Ryan merely a native guide, a functionary, a man without dignity. He had proved that he could show us sights beyond the limits of the modern world. He had reminded us of just where we were, and who and what his ancestors had been. He had suddenly gained secondhand stature from the incredible ruins around him, because, in a very real way, they were his ruins. Certainly they were not ours. “I’ve got to admit they were great engineers,” Koyinka, the Kenyan executive, said. “So were the ancient Egyptians,” Lumumba said, recovering some of his bitterness. “And what did it get them? A fancy collection of old junk over their graves, exactly what it got these honkies.” “If you keep it up, pal,” Ryan said coldly, “you may get a chance to see something that’ll impress you a bit more than these ruins.” “Is that a threat or a promise, Ryan?” “Depends on whether you’re a man, or a boy, Mister Lumumba.” Lumumba had nothing to say to that, whatever it all had meant. Ryan appeared to have won a round in some contest between them. And when we followed Ryan back into the helicopter, I think we were all aware that for the next few hours, this pale, unhealthy American would be something more than a mere convenient functionary. We were the tourists; he was the guide. But as we looked over our shoulders at the vast and overwhelming heritage that had been created and then squandered by his ancestors, the relationship that those words described took on a new meaning. The ancestral ruins off which he lived, were a greater thing in some absolute sense than the totality of our entire living civilization. He had convinced us of that, and he knew it. That view across the Jersey lowlands always seems to shut them up for a while. Even that crud, Lumumba. God knows why. Sure it’s spectacular, bigger than anything these Africans could ever have seen where they come from, but when you come right down to it, you gotta admit that Ojubu was right, the Jersey lowlands are nothing but a giant pile of junk. Crap. Space-Age garbage. Sometimes looking at a place like that can piss me off. I mean, we had some ancestors. They built the greatest civilization the world ever saw, but what did they leave for us? The most spectacular junk piles in the world, air that does you in sooner or later even through filters, and a continent where seeing something alive that people didn’t put there is a big deal. Our ancestors went to the moon, they were a great people, the greatest in history, but sometimes I get the feeling they were maybe just a little out of their minds. Like that crazy “Merge with the Cosmic All” thing I found that time in Grand Central, still working after two centuries or so; it must do something besides kill people, but what? I dunno, maybe our ancestors went a little over the edge, sometimes. Not that I’d ever admit a thing like that to any black brothers! The Space-Agers may have been a little bit nuts, but who are these Africans to say so, who are they to decide whether a civilization that had them beat up and down the line was sane or not? Sane according to whom? Them, or the Space-Agers? For that matter, who am I to think a thing like that? An ant or a rat living off their garbage. Who are nobodies like us and the Africans to judge people who could go to the moon? Like I keep telling Karen, this damned tourist business is getting to me. I’m around these Africans too much. Sometimes, if I don’t watch myself, I catch myself thinking like them. Maybe it’s the lousy smog this far into the smog bank, but hell, that’s another crazy African idea! That’s what being around these Africans does to me, and looking at subway dwellers five times a week sure doesn’t help, either. Let’s face it, stuff like the subways and the lowlands is really depressing. It tells a man he’s a nothing. Worse, it tells him that people who were better than he is still managed to screw things up. It’s just not good for your mind. But as the copter crested the lip of the Palisades ridge and we looked out across that wide Hudson River at Manhattan, I was reminded again that this crummy job had its compensations. If you haven’t seen Manhattan from a copter crossing the Hudson from the Jersey side, you haven’t seen nothing, pal. That Fuller Dome socks you right in the eye. It’s ten miles in diameter. It has facets that make it glitter like a giant blue diamond floating over the middle of the island. Yeah, that’s right, it floats. It’s made of some Space-Age plastic that’s been turned blue and hazy by a couple of centuries of smog, it’s ten miles wide at the base, and the goddamned thing floats over the middle of Manhattan a few hundred feet off the ground at its rim like a cloud or a hover or something. No motors, no nothing. It’s just a hemisphere made of plastic panels and alloy tubing and it floats over the middle of Manhattan like half a giant diamond all by itself. Now, that’s what I call a real piece of Space-Age hardware! I could hear them suck in their breath behind me. Yeah, it really does it to you. I almost forgot to give them the spiel. I mean, who wants to? What can you really say to someone while he’s looking at the Fuller Dome for the first time? “Ladies and gentlemen, you are now looking at the world-famous Fuller Dome, the largest architectural structure ever built by the human race. It is ten miles in diameter. It encloses the center of Manhattan Island, the heart of Old New York. It has no motors, no power source, and no moving parts. But it floats in the air like a cloud. It is considered the First Wonder of the World.” What else is there to say? We came in low across the river toward that incredible floating blue diamond, the Fuller Dome, parallel to the ruins of a great suspension bridge which had collapsed and now hung in fantastic rusted tatters half in and half out of the water. Aside from Ryan’s short guidebook speech, no one said a word as we crossed the water to Manhattan. Like the moon landing, the Fuller Dome was one of the peak achievements of the Space Age, a feat beyond the power of modern African civilization. As I understood it, the Dome held itself aloft by convection currents created by its own greenhouse effect, though this has always seemed to me the logical equivalent of a man lifting himself by his own shoulders. No one quite knows exactly how a dome this size was built, but the records show that it required a fleet of two hundred helicopters. It took six weeks to complete. It was named after Buckminster Fuller, one of the architectural geniuses of the early Space Age, but it was not built till after his death, though it is considered his monument. But it was more than that; it was staggeringly, overwhelmingly beautiful. We crossed the river and headed toward the rim of the Fuller Dome at about two hundred feet, over a shoreline of crumbling docks and the half-sunken hulks of rusted-out ships; then over a wide strip of elevated highway filled with the usual wrecked cars; and finally we slipped under the rim of the Dome itself, an incredibly thin metal hoop floating in the air from which the Dome seemed to blossom like a soap bubble from a child’s bubble pipe. And we were flying inside the Fuller Dome. It was an incredible sensation, the world inside the Dome existed in blue crystal. Our helicopter seemed like a buzzing fly that had intruded into an enormous room. The room was a mile high and ten miles wide. The facets of the Fuller Dome had been designed to admit natural sunlight and thus preserve the sense of being outdoors, but they had been weathered to a bluish hue by the saturation smog. As a result, the interior of the Dome was a room on a superhuman scale, a room filled with a pale blue light, and a room containing a major portion of a giant city. Towering before us were the famous skyscrapers of Old New York, a forest of rectangular monoliths hundreds of feet high, in some cases well over a thousand feet tall. Some of them stood almost intact, empty concrete boxes transformed into giant somber tombstones by the eerie blue light that permeated everything. Others had been ripped apart by explosions and were jagged piles of girders and concrete. Some had bad walls almost entirely of glass; most of these were now airy mazes of framework and concrete platforms, where the blue light here and there flashed off intact patches of glass. And far above the tops of the tallest buildings was the blue stained-glass faceted sky of the Fuller Dome. Ryan took the helicopter up to the five-hundred-foot level and headed for the giant necropolis, a city of monuments built on a scale that would have caused the pharaohs to whimper, packed casually together like family houses in an African residential village. And all of it was bathed in a sparkly blue-gray light which seemed to enclose a universe, here in the very core of the East Coast smog bank, where everything seemed to twinkle and shimmer. We all gasped as Ryan headed at one hundred miles per hour for a thin canyon that was the gap between two rows of buildings which faced each other across a not-very-wide street hundreds of feet below. For a moment, we seemed to be a stone dropping toward a narrow shaft between two immense cliffs—then, suddenly, the copter’s engines screamed, and the copter seemed to somehow skid and slide through the air to a dead hover no more than a hundred feet from the sheer face of a huge gray skyscraper. Ryan’s laugh sounded unreal, partially drowned out by the descending whine of the copter’s relaxing engines. “Don’t worry, folks,” he said over the public address system, “I’m in control of this aircraft at all times. I just thought I’d give you a little thrill. Kind of wake up those of you who might be sleeping, because you wouldn’t want to’ miss what comes next: a helicopter tour of what the Space-Agers called ‘The Sidewalks of New York.’ ” And we inched forward at the pace of a running man; we seemed to drift into a canyon between two parallel lines of huge buildings that went on for miles. Man, no matter how many times I come here, I still feel weird inside the Fuller Dome. It’s another world in there. New York seems like it’s built for people fifty feet tall; it makes you feel so small, like you’re inside a giant’s room. But when you look up at the inside of the Dome, the buildings that seemed so big seem so small; you can’t get a grasp on the scale of anything. And everything is all blue. And the smog is so heavy you think you could eat it with a fork. And you know that the whole thing is completely dead. Nothing lives in New York between the Fuller Dome and the subways, where several thousand subway dwellers stew in their own muck. Nothing can. The air inside the Fuller Dome is some of the worst in the country, almost as bad as that stuff they say you can barely see through that fills the Los Angeles basin. The Space-Agers didn’t put up the Dome to atmosphere-seal a piece of the city; they did it to make the city warmer and keep the snow off the ground. The smog was still breathable then. So the inside of the Dome is open to the naked atmosphere, and it actually seems to suck in the worst of the smog, maybe because it’s about twenty degrees hotter inside the Dome than it is outside; something about convection currents, the Africans say, but I dunno. It’s creepy, that’s what it is. Flying slowly between two lines of skyscrapers, I had the feeling I was tiptoeing very carefully around some giant graveyard in the middle of the night. Not any of that crap about ghosts that I’ll bet some of these Africans still believe deep down; this whole city really was a graveyard. During the Space Age, millions of people lived in New York; now there was nothing alive here but a couple thousand stinking subway dwellers slowly strangling themselves in their stinking sealed subways. So I kind of drifted the copter in among the skyscrapers for a while, at about a hundred feet, real slow, almost on hover, and just let the customers suck in the feel of the place, keeping my mouth shut. After a while, we came to a really wide street, jammed to overflowing with wrecked and rusted cars that even filled the sidewalks, as if the Space-Agers had built one of their crazy car pyramids right here in the middle of Manhattan, and it had just sort of run like hot wax. I hovered the copter over it for a while. “Folks,” I told the customers, “below you, you see some of the wreckage from the Panic of the Century which fills the sidewalks of New York. The Panic of the Century started right here in New York. Imagine, ladies and gentlemen, at the height of the Space Age, there were more than one hundred million cars, trucks, buses, and other motor vehicles operating on the freeways and streets of the United States. A car for every two adults! Look below you and try to imagine the magnificence of the sight of all of them on the road all at once!” Yeah, that would’ve been something to see, all right! From a helicopter, that is. Man, those Space-Age is sure had guts, driving around down there jammed together on the freeways at copter speeds with only a few feet between them. They must’ve had fantastic reflexes to be able to handle it. Not for me, pal, I couldn’t do it, and I wouldn’t want to. But, God, what this place must’ve been like, all lit up at night in bright colored lights, millions of people tearing around in their cars all at once! Hell, what’s the population of the United States today, thirty, forty million, not a city with five hundred thousand people, and nothing in all the world on the scale of this. Damn it, those were the days for a man to have lived! Now look at it! The power all gone except for whatever keeps the subway electricity going, so the only light above ground is that blue stuff that makes everything seem so still and quiet and weird, like the city’s embalmed or something. The buildings are all empty crumbling wrecks, burned out, smashed up by explosions, and the cars are all rusted garbage, and the people are dead, dead, dead. It’s enough to make you cry, if you let it get to you. We drifted among the ruins of Old New York like some secretive night insect. By now it was afternoon, and the canyons formed by the skyscrapers were filled with deep purple shadows and intermittent avenues of pale blue light. The world under the Fuller Dome was composed of relative darknesses of blue, much as the world under the canopy of a heavy rain forest is a world of varying greens. We dipped low and drifted for a few moments over a large square where the top of a low building had been removed by an explosion to reveal a series of huge cuts and canyons extending deep into the bowels of the earth, perhaps some kind of underground train terminal, perhaps even a ruined part of the famous New York subways. “This is a burial ground of magics,” Kulongo said. “The air is very heavy here.” “They sure knew how to build,” Koyinka said. Beside me, Michael Lumumba seemed subdued, perhaps even nervous. “You know, I never knew it was all so big,” he muttered to me. “So big, and so strange, and so, so.” “Space Age, Mister Lumumba?” Ryan suggested over the intercom. Lumumba’s jaw twitched. He was obviously furious at having Ryan supply the precise words he was looking for. “Inhuman, honkie, inhuman was what I was going to say,” he lied transparently. “Wasn’t there an ancient saying, ‘New York is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there?’ ” “Never heard that one, pal,” Ryan said. “But I can see how your ancestors might’ve felt that way. New York was always too much for anyone but a real Space-Ager.” There was considerable truth in what they both said, though of course neither was interested in true insight. Here in the blue crystal world under the Fuller Dome, in a helicopter buzzing about noisily in the graveyard silence, reduced by the scale of the buildings to the relative size of an insect, I felt the immensity of what had been Space-Age America all around me. I felt as if I were trespassing in the mansions of my betters. I felt like a bug, an insect. I remembered from history, not from instinct, how totally America had dominated the world during the Space Age, not by armed conquest, but by the sheer overwhelming weight of its very existence. I had never before been quite able to grasp that concept. I understood it perfectly now. I gave them the standard helicopter tour of the sidewalks of New York. We floated up Broadway, the street that had been called The Great White Way, at about fifty feet, past crazy rotten networks of light steel girders, crumbled signs, and wiring on a monstrous scale. At a thousand feet, we circled the Empire State Building, one of the oldest of the great skyscrapers, and now one of (ho best-preserved, a thousand-foot slab of solid concrete, probably just the kind of tombstone the Space-Agers would’ve put up for themselves if they had thought about it. Yeah, I gave them all the usual stuff. The ruins of Rockefeller Center. The U N Plaza Crater. Of course, they were all sucking it up, even Lumumba, though of course the slime wouldn’t admit it. After this, they’d be ripe for a nasty peek at the subway dwellers, and after they got through gaping at the animals, they’d be ready for dinner back in Milford, feeling they had got their money’s worth. Yeah, I can get the same money for a five-hour tour that most guides get for six, because I’ve got the stomach to take them into a subway station. As usual, it had just the right effect when I told them we were going to end the tour with a visit on foot to an inhabited subway station. Instead of bitching and moaning that the tour was too short, that they weren’t getting their money’s worth, they were all eager, and maybe a little scared, at actually walking among the really primitive natives. Once they’d had their fill of the subway dwellers, a ride home across the Hudson into the sunset would be enough to convince them they’d had a great day. So we were going to see the subway dwellers! Most of the native guides avoided the subways, and the American government for some reason seemed to discourage research by foreigners. A subtle discouragement, perhaps, but discouragement nevertheless. In a paper he published a few years ago, Omgazi had theorized that the modern Americans in the vicinity of New York had a loathing of the subway dwellers that amounted to virtually a superstitious dread. According to him, the subway dwellers, because they were direct descendants of diehard Space-Agers who had atmosphere-sealed the subways and set up a closed ecology inside rather than abandon New York, were identified with their ancestors in the minds of the modern Americans. Hence, the modern Americans shunned the subway dwellers because they considered them shamans on a deep subconscious level. It had always seemed to me that Omgazi was being rather ethnocentric. He was dealing, after all, with modern Americans, not nineteenth-century Africans. Now I would have a chance to observe some subway dwellers myself. The prospect was most exciting. For, although the subway dwellers were apparently degenerating toward extinction at a rapid rate, in one respect they were unique in all the world—they still lived in an artificial environment that had been constructed during the Space Age. True, it had been a hurried, makeshift environment in the first place, and it and its inhabitants had deteriorated tremendously in two centuries, but, whatever else they were or weren’t, the subway dwellers were the only enclave of Space-Age Americans left on the face of the earth. If it were possible at all for a modern African to truly come to understand the reality of Space-Age America, surely confrontation with the lineal descendants of the Space Age would provide the key. Ryan set the helicopter down in what seemed to be some kind of large open terrace behind a massive, low, concrete building. The terrace was a patchwork of cracked concrete walkways and expanses of bare gray earth. Once, apparently, it had been a small park, before the smog had become lethal to vegetation. As a denuded ruin in the pale blue light, it seemed like some strange cold corpse as the helicopter kicked up dry clouds of dust from the surface of the dead parkland. As I stepped out with the others into the blue world of the Fuller Dome, I gasped: I had a momentary impression that I had stepped back to Africa, to Accra or Brazzaville. The air was rich and warm and humid on my skin. An instant later, the visual effect, everything a cool pale blue, jarred me with its arctic-vista contrast. Then I noticed the air itself and I shuddered, and was suddenly hyperconscious of the filters up my nostrils and the goggles over my eyes, for here the air was so heavy With smog that it seemed to sparkle electrically in the crazy blue light. What incredible, beautiful, foul poison! Except for Ryan, all of us were clearly overcome, each in his own way. Kulongo blinked and stared solemnly for a moment like a great bear; his wife and son seemed to lean into the security of his calm aura. Koyinka seemed to fear that he might strangle; his wife twittered about excitedly, tugging at his hand. The two young men from Luthuliville seemed to be self-consciously making an effort to avoid clutching at each other. Michael Lumumba mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. “What was that you said, Mister Lumumba?” Ryan said a shade gratingly as he led us out of the park down a crumbling set of stone-and-concrete stairs. Something seemed to snap inside Lumumba; he broke stride for a moment, frozen by some inner event while Ryan led the rest of us onto a walkway between a line of huge silent buildings and a street choked with the rusted wreckage of ancient cars, timelessly locked in their death-agony in the sparkly blue light. “What do you want from me, you damned honkie?” Lumumba shouted shrilly. “Haven’t you done enough to us?” Ryan broke stride for a moment, smiled back at Lumumba rather cruelly, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, pal. I’ve got your money already. What the hell else could I want from you?” He began to move off down the walkway again, threading his way past and over bits of wrecked cars, fallen masonry, and amorphous rubble. Over his shoulder, he noticed that Lumumba was following along haltingly, staring up at the buildings, nibbling at his lower lip. “What’s the matter, Lumumba?” Ryan shouted back at him. “Aren’t these ruins good enough for you to gloat over? You wouldn’t be just a little bit afraid, would you?” “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?” Ryan continued on for a few more meters; then he stopped and leaned up against the wall of one of the more badly damaged skyscrapers, near a jagged cavelike opening that led into the dark interior. He looked directly at Lumumba. “Don’t get me wrong, pal,” he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you were a little scared of the subway dwellers. After all, they’re the direct descendants of the people that kicked your ancestors out of this country. Maybe you got a right to be nervous.” “Don’t be an idiot, Ryan, Why should a civilized African be afraid of a pack of degenerate savages?” Koyinka said as we all caught up to Ryan. Ryan shrugged. “How should I know?” he said. “Maybe you ought to ask Mister Lumumba.” And with that, he turned his back on us and stepped through the jagged opening into the ruined skyscraper. Somewhat uneasily, we followed him into what proved to be a large antechamber that seemed to lead back into some even larger cavernous space that could be sensed rather than seen looming in the darkness. But Ryan did not lead us toward this large, open space; instead, he stopped before he had gone more than a dozen steps and waited for us near a crumbling metal-pipe fence that guarded two edges of what looked like a deep pit. One long edge of the pit was flush with the right wall of the antechamber; at the far short edge, a flight of stone stairs began which seemed to go all the way to the shadow-obscured bottom. Ryan led us along the railing to the top of the stairs, and from this angle I could see that the pit had once been the entrance to the mouth of a large tunnel whose floor had been the floor of the pit at the foot of the stairs. Now an immense and ancient solid slab of steel blocked the tunnel mouth and formed the fourth wall of the pit. But in the center of this rusted steel slab was a relatively new airlock that seemed of modern design. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ryan said, “we’re standing by a sealed entrance to the subways of Old New York, During the Space Age, the subways were the major transportation system of the city and there were hundreds of entrances like this one. Below the ground was a giant network of stations and tunnels through which the Space-Agers could go from any point in the city to any other point. Many of the stations were huge and contained shops and restaurants. Every station had automatic vending machines which sold food and drinks and a lot of other things, too. Even during the Space Age, the subways were a kind of little world.” He started down the stairs, still talking. “During the Panic of the Century, some of the New Yorkers chose not to leave the city. Instead, they retreated to the subways, sealed all the entrances, installed space-station life-support machinery, everything from a fusion reactor to hydroponics, and cut themselves off from the outside world. Today, the subway dwellers, direct descendants of those Space-Agers, still inhabit several of the subway stations. And most of the Space-Age life-support machinery is still running. There are probably Space-Age artifacts down here that no modern man has ever seen.” At the bottom of the pit, Ryan led us to the airlock and opened the outer door. The airlock proved to be surprisingly large. “This airlock was installed by the government about fifty years ago, soon after the subway dwellers were discovered,” he told us as he jammed us inside and began the cycle. “It was part of a program to recivilize the subway dwellers. The idea was to let scientists get inside without contaminating the subway atmosphere with smog. Of course, the whole program was a flop. Nobody’s ever going to get through to the subway dwellers, and there are less of ’em every year. They don’t breed much, and in a generation or so they’ll be extinct. So you’re all in for a really unique experience. Not everyone will be able to tell their grandchildren that they actually saw a live subway dweller!” The inner airlock door opened into an ancient square cross- sectioned tunnel made of rotting gray concrete. The air, even through filters, tasted horrible: very thin, somehow crisp without being at all bracing, with a chemical undertone, yet reeking with organic decay odors. Breathing was very difficult; it felt like we were at the fifteen-thousand-foot level. “I’m not telling you all this for my health,” Ryan said as he moved us out of the airlock. “I’m telling it to you for your health: don’t mess with these people. Look and don’t touch. Listen, but keep your mouths shut. They may seem harmless, they may be harmless, but no one can he sure. That’s why not many guides will take people down here. I hope you all have that straight. ” The last remark had obviously been meant for Lumumba, but he didn’t seem to react to it; he seemed subdued, drawn up inside himself. Perhaps Ryan was right, perhaps in some un-guessable way, Lumumba was afraid. It’s impossible to really understand these Amero-Africans. We moved off down the corridor. The overhead lights, at least in this area, were clearly modern, probably installed when the airlock had been installed, but it was possible that the power was actually provided by the fusion reactor that had been installed centuries ago by the Space-Agers themselves. The air we were breathing was produced by a Space-Age atmosphere plant that had been designed for actual space stations! It was a frightening, and at the same time, a thrilling feeling: our lives were dependent on actual functioning Space-Age equipment. It was almost like stepping back in time. The corridor made a right-angle turn and became a downward-sloping ramp. The ramp leveled off after a few dozen feet, passed some crumbling rums, inset into one of the walls, apparently a ruined shop of some strange sort with massive chairs bolted to the floor and pieces of mirror still clinging to patches of its walls, and suddenly opened out into a wide, low, cavelike space lit dimly and erratically by ancient Space-Age perma-bulbs which still functioned in many places along the grime-encrusted ceiling. It was the strangest room, if you could call it that, that I had ever been in. The ceiling seemed horribly low, lower even than it actually was, because the room seemed to go on under it indefinitely, in all sorts of seemingly random directions. Its boundaries faded off into shadows and dim lights and gloom; I couldn’t see any of the far walls. It was impossible to feel exactly claustrophobic in a place like that, but it gave me an analogous sensation without a name, as if the ceiling and the floor might somehow come together and squash me. Strange figures shuffled around in the gloom, moving, about slowly and aimlessly. Other figures sat singly or in small groups on the bare filthy floor. Most of the subway dwellers were well under five feet tall. Their shoulders were deeply hunched, making them seem even shorter, and their bodies were thin, rickety, and emaciated under the tattered and filthy scraps of multicolored rags which they wore. I was deeply shocked. I don’t really know what I had expected, but I certainly had not been prepared for the unmistakable aura of diminished humanity which these pitiful creatures exuded even at a distant first glance. Immediately before us was a kind of concrete hut. It was pitted with what looked like bullet scars, and parts of it were burned black. It had tiny windows, one of which still held some rotten metal grillwork. Apparently it had been a kind of sentry-box, perhaps during the Panic of the Century itself. A complex barrier cut off the section where we stood from the main area of the subway station. It consisted of a ceiling-to-floor metal grillwork fence on either side of a line of turnstiles. On either side of the line of turnstiles, gates in the fence clearly marked exit in peeling white-and-black enamel had been crudely welded shut; by the look of the weld, perhaps more than a century ago. On the other side of the barrier stood a male subway dweller wearing a kind of long shirt patched together out of every conceivable type and color of cloth and rotting away at the edges and in random patches. He stood staring at us, or at least with his deeply squinted expressionless eyes turned in our direction, rocking back and forth slightly from the waist, but otherwise not moving. His face was unusually pallid even for an American, and every inch of his skin and clothing was caked with an incredible layer of filth. Ignoring the subway dweller as thoroughly as that stooped figure was ignoring us, Ryan led us to the line of turnstiles and extracted a handful of small greenish yellow coins from a pocket. “These are subway tokens,” he told us, dropping ten of the coins into a small slot atop one of the turnstiles. “Space-Age money that was only used down here. It’s good in all the vending machines, and in these turnstiles. The subway dwellers still use the tokens to get food and water from the machines. When I want more of these things, all I have to do is break open a vending machine, so don’t worry, admission isn’t costing us anything. Just push your way through the turnstiles like this.” He demonstrated by walking straight through the turnstile. The turnstile barrier rotated a notch to let him through when he applied his body against it. One by one we passed through the turnstile. Michael Lumumba passed through immediately ahead of me, then paused at the other side to study the subway dweller, who had drifted up to the barrier, Lumumba looked down at the subway dweller’s face for a long moment; then a sardonic smile grew slowly on his face, and he said, “Hello, honkie, how are things in the subway?” The subway dweller turned his eyes in Lumumba’s direction. He did nothing else. “Hey, just what are you, some kind of cretin?” Lumumba said as Ryan, his face flushed red behind his pallor, turned in his tracks and started back toward Lumumba. The subway dweller’s face did not change expression; in fact, it could hardly have been said to have had an expression in the first place. “I think you’re a brain-damage case, honkie.” “I told you not to talk to the subway dwellers!” Ryan said, shoving his way between Lumumba and the subway dweller. “So you did,” Lumumba said coolly. “And I’m beginning to wonder why.” “They can be dangerous.” “Dangerous? These little moronic slugs? The only thing these brainless white worms can be dangerous to is your pride. Isn’t that it, Ryan? Behold the remnants of the great Space-Age honkies! See how they haven’t tile brains left to wipe the drool off their chins.” “Be silent!” Kulongo suddenly bellowed with the authority of a chief in his voice. Lumumba was indeed silenced, and even Ryan backed off as Kulongo moved near them. But the self-satisfied look that Lumumba continued to give Ryan was a weapon that he was wielding, a weapon that the American obviously felt keenly. Through it all, the subway dweller continued to rock back and forth, gently and silently, without a sign of human sentience. Goddamn that black brother Lumumba and goddamn the stinking subway dwellers! Oh, how I hate taking these Africans down there. Sometimes I wonder why the hell I do it. Sometimes I feel there’s something unclean about it all, something rotten. Not just the subway dwellers, though those horrible animals are rotten enough, but taking a bunch of stinking African tourists in there to look at them, and me making money off of it. It’s a great selling point for the day-tour. Those black brothers eat it up, especially the cruds like Lumumba, but if I didn’t need the money so bad, I wouldn’t do it. Call it patriotism, maybe. I’m not patriotic enough not to take my tours to see the subway dwellers, but I’m patriotic enough not to feel too happy with myself about it. Of course, I know what it is that gets to me. The subway dwellers are the last direct descendants of the Space-Agers, in a way the only piece of the Space Age still alive, and what they are is what Lumumba said they are: slugs, morons, and cretins. And physical wrecks on top of it. Lousy eyesight, rubbery bones, rotten teeth, and if you find one more than five feet tall, it’s a giant. They’re lucky to live to thirty. There’s no

Rahan. Episode Twenty-Three. The People of the Trees. Story by Roger Lecureux. Drawing by Andre Cheret. Rahan does not want to die as his family died. The volcanic eruption suddenly set the sky ablaze and Rahan thought he was transported back fifty seasons, to that tragic night when the blue mountain had buried his horde under its fiery entrails. A torrent of lava, glowing redder than the setting sun, rushed down towards the great forest. Rahan knows that the river of fire always stops before the river of water! He knows how to discover this river! Page Two: Blazing hailstones crackled over the jungle, setting fire here and there to the parched bushes. A flaming barrier suddenly rose in front of the son of Crao. Another rose up behind him. But Rahan had discovered a way to overcome these obstacles. He rose above the curtain of fire. And came face to face with another! All the copses are burning! All that remains for Rahan is the path of the tall trees! As he climbed an enormous trunk, fires multiplied on all sides. And the volcano in the distance was still thundering, spewing its lava. Page Three: Flocks of birds, mingling with their deafening cries, fled into the branches. Tribes of maddened monkeys flitted from vine to vine. "Those-who-live-in-the-trees" are very lucky! Rahan envies their agility! The son of Crao now towered over the burning forest. He distinguished in the distance, very far, the slender serpent of a river. If Rahan can reach it, he will be safe! Fleeing the fire, beasts of all species rushed into the jungle. The same panic pushed them all in the same direction. There were boars and buffaloes, lions and panthers, tigers and mammoths. These animals, which yesterday would have killed each other, shared in front of the fire, the same fear. Page Four: Rahan will fly from branch to branch like those of the Tree People! Hanging from a solid vine, he swung above the flames. To another refuge. He settled on this one when. What are you still doing here? Has yours forgotten you? The very young monkey, paralyzed by fear, clung to a branch. The crackling of the fires smothered his plaintive cries. Come with Rahan! You will find your brothers at the edge of the river! Too panicked to escape, the young monkey let himself be seized by the man. A moment later, with the monkey in his protection tucked under one arm, the son of fierce ages was swinging toward another tree. Page Five: This flight into the foliage lasted a long time. The ground was no more than an immense carpet of fire with, here and there, a few light spots still spared. Oh! What are you doing? Intrigued by the knife of Rahan, the young monkey had drawn it. And his fingers suddenly let fall the ivory weapon. Ah! Rahan should have abandoned you to your fate! Rahan, furious, put the monkey on a branch. And slid down the vine to the place where the precious knife had fallen. He caught a glimpse of it stuck in the ground beyond a nascent fire. He leapt into the midst of the flames. Page Six: He retrieved his weapon when terrifying cracks sounded. Rahan will no longer be able to follow the path of branches. Indeed, the fire was devouring the vines that hung from the foliage. The fire devoured the bark of the trees! The son of Crao could make out high up in the smoke the young monkey who had managed to flee his refuge. Your curiosity has Rahan lost, "Four-Hands"! Rahan can no longer climb trees. He will therefore no longer find the river! Which side is the river on!? Surrounded by a barrier of fire, Rahan wondered, when a fantastic herd arose. Page Seven: These beasts know where the river is! Their instinct guides them! Rahan must follow them!! The son of Crao joined with the disparate herd which had just made a breakthrough in the rampart of fire! Long-horned antelope leaped by his side. Growling lions leapt near him. A rhinoceros surged a few steps away. Panthers and pumas made gigantic leaps without paying the slightest attention to the man. From the smallest to the largest, these beasts passed in the same wind of terror. All had only one goal, with the forest on fire, to reach the river. Page Eight: As this mad race exhausted him, Rahan threw himself on the woolly spine of a large rhinoceros. Rahan begs you "Long Nose"! Don't worry about him! Flee! Flee! Flee! The pachyderm must have been too scared, because not for a moment did he care about this burden! When the river finally appeared, wide and sparkling, the son of fierce ages launched his shout of victory. Ra-ha-ha! On all sides, around him, animals were throwing themselves into the water. Some resolutely, others after some hesitation. Page Nine: Abandoning his "Mount", Rahan dived. He observed the gigantic flames which were devouring the forest, and had approached the bank, when. You again, little "Four-hands!" Ah! Rahan understands. You are afraid of the river! Greek! Greek! The son of Crao could have been carried away by the current, worrying about his own fate. But he had always felt a friendship for the "People of the Trees" An instant later. Do not gesticulate so much "Four Hands”! Rahan will lead you to the other shore. You will be safe there. The big cats, having crossed the river, were fighting precisely at this bank. And Rahan had not put the young monkey on the bank. Page Ten: Then a panther threw itself on him. The beast, unleashed, seemed to want revenge for all his emotions. Ra-ha-ha! The ivory knife dealt the fatal blow when. Greek! Greek! Other beasts appeared! Rahan cannot face all these enemies at once! Rahan is going to die for trying to save the little "Four Hands"! Rahan retreated into the thickets. Greek! Greek! The young monkey howled, and howled. And suddenly, as if answering his calls, a cluster of chimpanzees let themselves fall from the foliage. Falling between Rahan and the beasts, they attract the wrath of the beasts against them! Page Eleven: The "Tree People" thank Rahan for saving the little "Four-Hands"! Rahan can return to the river! The monkeys were in effect scattered on all sides, chased by wild animals. The son of fierce ages bounded towards the shore when branches gave way beneath him. Ah! A trap! The trap was shallow. Rahan clearly perceived the tumult of the battles between the beasts, not far away. If a beast falls into this trap Rahan will have to fight it. Or he will be crushed! Page Twelve: Clinging to the roots, the son of Crao risked a look out of the trap, and. Oh! A rhinoceros was rushing towards the trap! He had not seen the man but he was charging straight ahead, stupidly. Rahan, who no longer had time to climb out of the pit, clung to the wall, his heart beating. He heard the ground shake. The huge pachyderm could only be ten steps from the trap. Sticking to the wall, Rahan saw the sky darken when the rhinoceros fell into the pit. The monster's woolly side scratched his body. Page Thirteen: The trap was tight and the pachyderm had a hard time getting up. At this moment Rahan could have killed him. But he recovered the beast that had served as his "Mount". Rahan will not steal your life "Long-Nose"! But he will leave with you! When he emerged from the trap, the big cats were still killing each other all along the shore. Rahan will have to wait for them to disperse to reach the river! The son of Crao hoisted himself into a tree where he would only have to fear cougars and panthers. Soon after, he towered over the wild fight of those beasts that the fire had excited. This fire which now surrounded the whole opposite bank. Page Fourteen: He was thus squatting on a branch when he was struck by a familiar “Greek-Greek”. He didn't have time to raise his head when the "Young Four-Hands" fell on his shoulders! And what was just a game for the chimpanzee, became drama. Argh! And although he hit a thick carpet of creepers, the son of Crao lost consciousness. Greek? Greek? "Four-Hands" suddenly cried out in apprehension. Over there, fleeing the fighting, a big mammoth was charging!!! Greek! Greek! Page Fifteen: Like the rhinoceros a moment earlier, this mammoth rushed towards the man without having seen him. Greek! Greek! But Rahan was lifeless this time and could not escape the danger. Had the time come for the son of Crao to join the "Territory of Shadows"? Greek!! The monster was only thirty paces away when a cluster of adult chimpanzees tumbled from the branches. Imitating the young "Four-hands", they clung to the carpet of vines on which lay "He-who-walks-upright"! Greek! Page Sixteen: The mammoth was only a few feet away when they pulled this carpet of vines. Sneaking away the man just as the monstrous paws were about to crush him! The pachyderm, continuing its mad race, was already far away when Rahan regained consciousness. Seeing that the creepers had been moved, he understood. The "Tree People" saved Rahan! Rahan will not forget "Those-who-live-in-the-trees", his brothers with "Four hands"! Page Seventeen: The wild animals along the river were still fighting fiercely. The fire has pushed all the beasts of the forest back to this territory! And Rahan must flee them as soon as possible, if he wants to see the sunrise again! Abandoning this too dangerous shore, the son of Crao rushed straight ahead of him, into the jungle. He ran like that for a long time. Escorted by the "People of the trees" whose piercing cries resounded under the high foliage. When a wide chasm opened before him Rahan knew salvation lay on the other side. No beast can make such a leap! Since he had discovered the slipknot, the son of the fierce ages knew how to make a lasso in a few moments. Page Eighteen: And then. Only Rahan and the "Tree People" can cross this precipice! The vine stretched over the void constituted a very fragile "Bridge"! Let it come to break. And. It would be a mortal fall into this vertiginous gorge! But the line resisted. So, as Rahan reached the other side of the defile. Ra-ha-ha! You "Four-hands"! Imitate Rahan! In the forest, the roars rose, closer and closer. The wild animals, too, had fled the river bank. Page Nineteen: When the first ones appeared the monkeys were already crossing the precipice! Even more agile than was the son of Crao, they joined him. Rahan has paid his debt to the "Tree People"! Greek! Greek! Your clan will go its way, and Rahan will go his way! Panthers, pumas and lions were now massed on the other side of the ravine. Greek! Greek! But this one was too wide, and was impassable for them! And the monkeys, mocked and taunted these beasts with their cries. Page Twenty: So Rahan, had esteem for the "Tree People". He did not always appreciate their noisy company. So he slipped away discreetly. When the young “Four-hands” saw him! The son of Crao Sighed. Greek! Greek! Rahan knows what they are like! They will cling to his footsteps, until the day their capricious mood draws them elsewhere! The son of Crao knew how to take his troubles patiently. For days and days the bawling clan of monkeys escorted him. But one morning, Rahan woke up in the greatest silence. The "Tree People" had left him to fly towards their destiny! The son of fierce ages, knife at the hip, went towards his.