Manly Wade Wellman - Hok 01 (6 page)

 
Conquest

 
          
THE
Gnorrls were up betimes the next morning, stretching, grumbling,
fighting
for drinking room at the creekside. A light frost
patched the ground, and necessitated building up of the fires that had burned
low overnight. There was considerable bad feeling here and there, because some
who had brought abundant food would not share with those who had little or
none; but three or four of the largest and oldest sternly curbed all debate,
even striking with clubs those who persisted. At length the advance began.

 
          
The
formation was simple, but it must have been arranged and commanded by the
wisest of those dark psyches the workings of which no human being can
understand or even imagine. The fighting males of the horde went first, in a
single line, close- drawn and several deep. In front walked the chiefs—perhaps
their chieftainship was one of tradition or election, perhaps physical
superiority, perhaps chance. All bore weapons—clubs, stones, or cleft sticks
with pebbles in place for casting. Some carried the rough spears they had made
in imitation of the javelins that had wrought such havoc among the
Gnorrl-people.

 
          
Behind
this wave of armed males came the females and the young, in a completely disorganized
mass. Possibly they were held in that position as a supporting body in case of
defeat, more probably they attended simply as curious watchers of the triumph
that seemed already achieved. Sometimes the half-grown cubs of this rearward
body would scamper forward as if to join the fighting males, but they were
always driven back with warning yells and sometimes with missiles.

 
          
That
the Gnorrls were able to communicate, to think ahead, and to obey their leaders
can be demonstrated by the fact that they maintained their formation and their
forward advance while the sun mounted higher and higher toward the top of the
sky.

 
          
The
morning was considerably beyond its halfway point when, pushing through a belt
of scrubby willow that marked the dry bed of an old creek, the foremost of the
Gnorrls came out upon a plain with the river to the left and a bluff beyond.

 
          
First
of all they saw a great cloud of murky vapor above the trees that grew to the
right of the bluff—smoke. Tongues of flame flickered among the branches. The
Gnorrls faltered in their advance. Through
that woods
they had intended to go, and to kill men, their foes and persecutors on the
rolling meadows
beyond. Now they must go far to the west
and so avoid the fire, or negotiate the narrow pass between bluff and river.

 
          
EVEN
as their strange minds comprehended the new factor in the campaign, and before
they could grapple with it for answer, a loud and mocking whoop sprang up from
the quiet ground before them. A tall, tawny man in leopard skin rose into view
from behind a bunch of dried thistles, so close to their ranks that several
Gnorrls marked and recognized his features—it was Hok, their foremost
tormentor. A moment later an answering yell, from several throats at once,
echoed from a point due east. Almost at the river bank four more young men
popped up from a little hollow in the earth.

 
          
The
Gnorrls
blared
their own challenge, a fearful blast of
rage and menace. Before it swelled, Hok had cast one, then the other of his
javelins. The second was in the air before the first had struck down a leader
of the Gnorrls, and it flew beyond its fellow to pierce the heavy paunch of a
warrior in the ranks. Then Hok yelled again, in derision and invitation, and
began to run —not back toward the burning trees or the face of the bluff, but
almost parallel with the front of the Gnorrl array.

 
          
As
he did so, his companions by the river threw their javelins, four in a volley
and then four more. At that close range, barely forty paces, there was little
chance of missing. Every javelin of the eight took effect, and four or perhaps
five of the stricken Gnorrls died on the spot or within moments. An
earth-shaking howl of execration went up from the army of brute-men, and the
whole left wing of it charged full at the four audacious javelin casters, who
turned, laughing, and fled. The right wing had crumpled upon itself to follow
and overtake Hok, who still raced along the front of the line. A rain of
ill-aimed missiles fell almost upon him, but the range, though short for a
javelin in good hands, was too great for accuracy with stones or clubs. As the
Gnorrls lumbered with deadly intent upon him, came almost within reach, Hok
swerved to his right and made for the pass.

 
          
For
him, at least, it was a chase that taxed him to the utmost. Zhik, Rivv and the
two younger lads ran easily away from their pursuers, but Hok, who had fled at
an angle to draw the right-hand portion of the massed Gnorrls after him, had a
near thing of it. So close did the swiftest Gnorrls win to him that they
stretched out huge, eager hands in readiness to clutch
him.
But at that point he, too, turned into the straight line toward the pass and
ran in earnest, four flying strides to three of the best Gnorrl,

 
          
Zhik
and Rivv had reached the point where the bluff rose, and a moment later Barp
and Unn caught up. There, at the head of the narrow lane between rock and
water, they came to an abrupt stop, and the Gnorrls as they ran heavily thought
that these amazing adversaries were calmly plucking reeds or saplings that grew
there in a clump. But the reeds were javelins, and Hok stooped as he ran, to
let them hiss over his back. Two of his closest pursuers fell in midleap,
somersaulting and writhing. That gave him a moment to run slower, whirl around,
shout new insults and make again a gesture of invitation to the conflict. Three
more of those nearest him collapsed before javelins thrown by the men at the
head of the pass. Then Hok had joined his companions, and they were dashing
along beyond the bluff.

 
          
That
the Gnorrls were not cowardly was plain from their headlong and unfaltering
charge against the shrewd javelin-volleys that had found more than a dozen
targets; but they could be cautious as well. The moment the leaders reached the
head of the pass, they stopped, as any sagacious wild thing should. Their
instinct demanded that they investigate before plunging blindly in.

 
          
As
they peered down the narrow strip of beach, on which the flying backs of Hok
and the others shrank and shrank with increasing distance, more Gnorrls caught
up, paused and peered, too. Then the rest arrived, in a swarm that closed in
upon itself, pushing, cramping, chattering,
eager
to
know what went on ahead.

 
          
UPON
that clot of life, that gathered ^ while the leaders studied the situation
during a dozen breaths’ spaces, fell destruction. From the crown of the bluff
overhead came javelins and more javelins, and the yells of triumphant marksmen
who take pride in seeing their casts fly home. Zorr, Nukl and nine others were
hurling shafts as swiftly as they could seize them from the great scattered
store at their feet.

 
          
The
fire took effect in the midst of the packed throng, and for a moment or so the
Gnorrls in that central position were all that experienced and comprehended
what was happening. They did considerable screaming and milling before the
outer edge of the pack, which could move in defense and retaliation, understood
and peeled away and dashed with a fine show of courage at the foot of the
bluff.

 
          
The
Gnorrls could climb, even where human hands and feet might fail at the steep
ascent; but it was foolish and vain to advance against the defenders above.
Laughing boisterously in their security, Zorr’s and Nukl’s men centered their
attention upon this scaling party. Not a javelin went wrong, and only one
Gnorrl reached the brink of the level space above. Him they allowed to mount up
and up, after the others had been picked off or had retreated. Mouthing his
inarticulate war-cry, he scrambled pluckily up among them; and every man of the
eleven stabbed home in his hairy body.

 
          
In
the meantime, Hok and his four companions had come to a halt once again, midway
down the pass. Their saucy yells and capers stung the pursuers into motion as
before. There was a great struggle to rush down the narrow way, so much of an
effort to be first that half a dozen or more of the Gnorrls were thrust by
their fellows into the rapid water, where they were whipped howling away and
under, helpless to fight to shore. Meanwhile, the fugitives waited only until
the rush was well under way before snatching more javelins from where they
seemingly sprouted and sending them singing into the face of the attack. So
narrow was the front, so close together the Gnorrls, that half a dozen casts
raised a veritable heap of bodies, damming for a moment the onset of the
others. And yet again the decoy party, not one of whom had suffered so much as
a scratch, turned and fled, distancing all pursuit.

 
          
The
Gnorrls stubbornly followed, while javelins from in front and from the height
above claimed lives and lives. A new blizzard of flint points seemed to pour
from a heaped barrier of rocks. To this they charged
panting,
and now their enemies did not run. They thrust and hacked from behind their
defense, and more poured down from the slope, striking from the flank. Women at
the rear screamed encouragement and threw javelins. When the supply was gone,
they threw firebrands and rocks.

 
          
One
who fights thus hand to hand re- members little about it afterward, nor cares
to. He is only glad when it is over. It does not make much difference even to
realize that he has won.

 
          
HOK
would not hold his head still as Oloana tried to lay a broad green leaf upon
the gash that showed the bare white bone of his chin-point.

           
“How many are killed?” he asked once
more.

 
          
“Zorr,
my father, is only stunned,” she replied. “For a time we thought that Rivv
would be our chief.”

 
          
“I
am your chief,” Hok reminded her. “Nukl is dead?”

 
          
“Yes, and Kaga.
Perhaps Zhik will lead that party after
this.”

 
          
“I
think that Zhik will limp always.” Hok’s voice was low, but Zhik, sprawling
nearby, overheard.

 
          
“I
shall not limp always,” he shouted defiantly. Then he shut his mouth and
gritted his teeth as Dwil dragged strongly upon his ankle. She, too, turned a
protesting face toward Hok.

 
          
“The
leg bone is broken,” she conceded, “but I will put sticks on each side, and
hold the break shut with clay. My people know how to cure lameness of this
sort. He will walk before winter is over.”

 
          
“Kaga
is dead,” said Oloana again, “and I think three more of those who were on the
high ground. They charged and killed many Gnorrls, but the Gnorrls were able to
get at them. They had no barrier of stones.” She smoothed down the leaf. Hok’s
blood was thickening under it and would hold it in place.

 
          
Barp,
spitting blood from broken teeth, was returning from a survey of the pass.

 
          
“How
many are dead?” asked Hok.

 
          
“I
do not know.
Very many.
Far north I could hear the
others crying, like rabbits in the snare.”

 
          
“I
am glad that some were left alive,” said Hok suddenly. “They will always be
afraid to come back here, and will tell other Gnorrls, and the young ones who
are born after them, of how terrible we are.”

 
          
Barp
did not share this approval of the situation. “I want to fight Gnorrls again
some time,” he said, rather wistfully.

 
          
Hok
put out his hand to cuff affectionately the lad’s untidy head. “Wait,” he
counseled. “You have many years. There is enough game country for all of us who
are left alive, but more men will come. When this country is crowded, you and
others can go north and capture new ground from the Gnorrls.”

 
          
“And
when the Gnorrls are all killed?”

 
          
“That
will take a very long time,” said Hok, “but when the Gnorrls are all killed,
men will own everything.”