THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (20 page)

The baboons were moving single file, occasionally grunting commands among themselves. There were about six of them, Ramagar saw, although it was hard to get an accurate count because of the whirling dust.

The leader of the baboons began to climb down the slope, hand over hand, grasping expertly onto minute steps embedded into the rock. One by one his companions followed. Ramagar drew back and took out his knife. The crags were growing dark as the sun faded and the thief of thieves swore softly under his breath. The patrol, either by coincidence or design, was heading perilously close to the undefended cave.

Several meters ahead was a slight elevation leading to a low mound of broken rock. Wanting to get a better view of the enemy, Ramagar crawled from his place and slithered silently up to the natural rampart. He saw, boldly outlined in the light of the moon, the features of the Prince. The young man whirled, dagger in hand, at the movement from behind. Then, upon realizing that it was only Ramagar and not a baboon soldier, he heaved a sigh of relief and slipped back to his concealed position.

Ramagar wriggled his way to the Prince’s side. “So you’ve seen them, too,” he whispered.

The Prince nodded. “Before you did, I’m sure. I was climbing to the top to reach an old stump when I heard their grim chatter carried on the wind. Smelled them, too. By the Seven Hells, these monkeys stink.”

Ramagar frowned. “I wager they’d say the same about us …”

From their lower position on the hill the two men watched the hairy menace jump from ledge to ledge and finally land upright on the flat crest opposite. They were ugly creatures, these fighting baboons. Their heads were large, grotesquely swollen in size compared to their bodies. They had long, sharp teeth that glittered in the waning light. Their muzzles protruded hideously, mouths twisted like rabid dogs. Long arms dangled to their knees. Each had a cap of thick gray hair on its head and over its shoulders. In all other places their fur was either orange or rust brown, nearly blending with the color of the rocks and dunes.

For some time the baboons held their places while they carried on what seemed to be a heated discussion. At times one of the monkeys seemed to be insistent that they follow the path toward the cave. The baboon gestured in that direction with his arms, jumped up and down, stamped his feet. His leader, though, clearly had opinions of his own. Grunting and carrying on savagely, he bullied his adversary into submission, and the patrol docilely followed his lead as he moved away in the direction of distant slopes. Soon they were out of sight.

The Prince stood and mopped his brow. “That was close,” he said nervously. “For a while I was positive they’d seen us.”

“Me, too,” Ramagar agreed. “But we’d better not press our luck. These monkeys may be back with more friends.”

Sliding, stumbling, sometimes even limping in pain when thorns or thistles dug at their legs, they made their hurried way back to camp. When the haj heard the tale he sighed and shook his head. “One of their patrols must have found mule tracks in the canyon,” he told them all. “Which means they know for certain that a band of men is somewhere about. If I know anything about baboons, they will spare no effort in catching us and hauling us before their king.”

Ramagar beat a fist into his palm. “Then we’re trapped,” he seethed. “Like flies caught in a web—only this time it’s an army of monkeys doing the spinning.”

“Maybe not,” counseled the haj. “Baboons aren’t particularly adept at fighting at night. From now on we’ll travel only while the sun is down. We’ll use daylight for sleep, making certain to have someone constantly standing watch.”

“It’s sure we can’t stay here, now,” added Mariana thoughtfully. “Sooner or later those apes will double back this way. My vote is to get moving right away.”

There was no argument; the ragtag army lost no time in packing up, loading the grumbling mules, and clearing out as quickly as possible. The going at night would be considerably slower, they knew, perhaps causing them to spend an extra day in the baboons’ kingdom. But it also had its advantages. They could more easily elude any approaching patrols, make full use of the stars to guide them as mariners do, and they would be out of the blazing sun.

The desert at night was amazingly beautiful. Placid and still, the sands sparkled in moonlight, and the surrounding hills took on a glow and radiance they concealed during the day. But night was also a more deadly time. It was then that the lizards dug out from beneath their rocks and crooks, then that sleeping snakes and spiders slithered and crawled from dark holes to prowl for supper under the soft glow of starlight.

It was less than an hour until dawn when Burlu deemed them a safe enough distance away from the cave to slow down. Mariana gritted her teeth and tried not to think about the sting of her leather saddle burning against her thighs. As the mare winded down to an easy pace she lifted herself in the stirrups and gazed at the open stretch of sand beyond. Off to the side stood another grim range of hills, easily as high and as treacherous as those she had seen in the canyon.

She shifted her weight, at last settling back in the saddle, and looked back over her shoulder. Somewhere behind, she was positive, the danger was lurking, growing ever closer no matter how fast or hard they rode. Then she shook off her goose bumps and looked again ahead, this time at the reassuring figures of Ramagar and the haj. Both men sat impassive and unspeaking, their right hands fondling the hilts of their weapons.

At the base of a steeply inclined mound the haj called the band to a halt. He worked his way alone up the tricky slope and dismounted when he reached the crest. There he wet a finger, put it to the wind, and nodded with satisfaction. Then he called his companions to join him at the top.

The crest was far wider than it seemed from below, and to Mariana’s surprise she saw that a few scrubs and trees stood well concealed by boulders. There was even some weedy, yellow grass.

“This will be a perfect lookout for us,” said the haj, stretching out his arms and moving them in a broad circle to indicate the vast field of vision the mound afforded. “From here we’ll be able to see anything moving at us for leagues in every direction. We can sleep peacefully knowing the baboons won’t be able to sneak up and kill us in our beds.”

Saddles were hastily untied, and the mules began to buck joyously with their new freedom. Burlu began the task of watering them down and preparing to stand the first watch. Everyone else groaned, rubbed at sore muscles, and, spreading out blankets, fell thankfully to the ground. They curled up in a semicircle close beside the trees, too tired to speak or even eat, and there they went to sleep.

The sun came up, hot and sultry. All the day they dozed and rested, tended to their various aches and pains. By the evening they were all wide awake again, fully refreshed and ready to continue. Spirits markedly lifted while they ate their cold breakfast/supper of salted beef and biscuits, and then in what had become humdrum routine, they rolled up the blankets, resaddled the mules, and eagerly looked forward to putting more distance between themselves and the searching baboons.

It was a mild desert evening, pleasant for riding, with only the softest of breezes stirring. The moon was full and bright, and to Mariana it seemed larger and more luminous than ever. A thin layer of cloud dulled the dazzle of the stars into a pale bluish glow. Mariana found herself feeling calmed and relaxed after yesterday’s adventures.

Pulling aside the veil from her face, she reached for the goatskin water bag, popped the cork, and took a long swallow. Ramagar reined in and pulled up close. He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. The girl blushed. “What was that for?” she asked.

“For being so brave and so valiant,” he replied teasingly. “Next time you—”

His thought remained unfinished. Mariana stared dumbly up at the cliffs overlooking the hills and concealed her gasp. Ramagar fixed his gaze steadily higher and gripped tighter at the reins. The cliffs were crawling with them, dark, shadowy creatures, scrambling in endless procession to the ledges and boulders below.

The haj whirled his mule around, his face masked to hide his fear. “Ride back!” he shouted. “They’ve seen us! It’s an ambush!”

The mules dashed back for the dunes, but it was too late. Ahead came racing a phalanx of baboons, screaming at the top of their lungs, sinewy arms flailing in the air, teeth bared like poison fangs. Again the riders turned, but again they came to abrupt desperate halts. The crazed screaming was growing louder and louder, coming at them from every direction. And there was no safety to be found.

Ramagar slapped his mule and pushed her forward toward the hills. “Take cover at the rocks!” he cried. “It’s our only chance!” And in reckless abandon the others followed.

Thundering along the gorge between the hills they ran headlong into a small group of concealed warrior baboons waiting to pounce. As Mariana and Ramagar wheeled to turn, the haj and the Prince drew their blades and began to deliver shattering blows. Dark blood spouted, and the baboons started to wail and leap high into the air like frogs hopping from lily pad to lily pad. Homer cried out in terror. A large hairy arm squeezed at his throat and he felt a rush of putrid breath zip up his nostrils as the baboon’s teeth made ready to bear down.

The Prince’s dagger flashed, slashing and slashing again, cutting the monkey’s belly. The fierce beast let loose his hold of the urchin and, leaping to his feet on the mule’s back, dived straight for the stunned Prince. It was Burlu’s blade that caught him mid-flight. The knife dug up from the stomach, deep and straight into the black heart. The baboon shrieked so horribly that even its unharmed comrades shuddered.

It fell in a heap to the ground, knocking over three other charging baboons as it did. Madness took over. As a well-schooled group of warriors tore up from behind the rocks, Ramagar let loose. He heaved his long knife this way and that, thrashing faces, dismembering limbs. Baboons slammed into his mule, reeling, staggering, clawing and clutching at the matted mane. For a moment it seemed as though the thief would fall. Mariana saw the tumult and screamed, her own knife bearing down as she fought to wade through the crowd and reach her lover.

Suddenly the haj was at Ramagar’s side. Then the Prince as well. But the baboons were forming into a solid wall of monkey flesh and escape became impossible. The three men continued their relentless barrage of blows. The mules felt the sting of monkey nails digging and ripping into their flanks. Ramagar knew they would soon fall. With a mighty leap he bounded from the saddle and onto the top of a high boulder. Two monkeys lurched; his fist slammed out, catching one in the jaw and sending it sprawling, the other squarely on its squatted nose and beating its soft flesh to pulp.

Finding courage where none had been before, faithful Homer dodged his own assailants and somehow managed to clear a path for Mariana. The girl lost no time in reaching the others and then doing as Ramagar had, jumping for better safety among the rocks.

Next it was the Prince who made it away from the fray. While Homer struggled to complete the jump, the haj boldly charged into the baboon midsts and dealt a series of shattering blows. If there had been any question of the old man’s prowess, it was soon dispelled. Even Ramagar, surely no slouch when it came to a fight, had to marvel at the way the aging haj twisted his blade this way and that and made chattering idiots of the baboon army.

Then just as Burlu’s mule buckled, the haj kicked from the saddle, landed on the ground, knocked a baboon out cold, and successfully scrambled up the steep slope to the cheers of his companions.

But the fight was not yet over—not by a long shot. Seeing their forces in disarray in the gorge, the baboon generals screeched commands and brought forth the charging phalanx. From the cliffs opposite the hill another brigade appeared, some racing down the incline at top speed, others flinging rocks, pebbles, sticks, and anything else they could get their devilish hands on.

Mariana and Ramagar hit the dirt, the barrage flying above their heads. The haj took a blow from a sharp stone and angrily shook a fearsome fist. Baboons were climbing now, inching their way to higher ground on the hill and causing the travelers to hastily retreat up toward the crest.

A group of monkeys grasped for Burlu’s legs; up went the haj’s boot, striking a powerful blow in the grabber’s face and heaving it backward into the arms of its confused friends. Another baboon sprang from the side. The haj ducked a blow, grasped the monkey by the arm, twisted it, and spun it around, then banged his fist evenly on the top of its head. The baboon sank in a daze to its knees. Then Burlu picked it up, lifted it over his head, and tossed it clumsily into the fast-approaching crowd.

The dazed ape screamed as it went flying through the air. Other baboons looked up in horror and dove helter-skelter to avoid the soaring weight. For many of them, though, it made little difference. When the hapless baboon crashed you could hear the crunching of bone, the snapping of limbs like twigs. A half-dozen warriors lost their footing on the precarious sand, tumbled backward, and created a small landslide of monkey flesh, gathering the oncoming baboons and rolling them down back into the gorge.

Taking a cue from the monkey army, Ramagar and the others quickly picked up the largest rocks they could lift. The thief hurled his with all the strength he could muster; the heavy rock crashed, crumpling some staggering baboons and splitting skulls like logs. The next rock hit a split second later. The haj had found one as heavy as he was. It smashed with such furied force against the boulders that it broke into a hundred whizzing missiles which cut and slashed through the ranks of the reeling enemy, rendering deep, ugly gashes across a dozen hairy faces.

The Prince, meanwhile, was up to tricks of his own. At the top of the hill he found a large stick; he wrapped it with dried weed and moss, struck his flints, and smiled grimly as the tinder caught. The dried shrub burst into blazes, weed catching like sulphur.