That I then grew hot and eager for blood, I admit. I received the next
that came with a lunge which ripped him open entirely across the
abdomen. My knowledge of boxing and fencing stood me well. I attacked a
monster who was all but killing my fat, good-natured Link, and crashed
the steel fairly through the spinal column at the base of his brain. The
smell of blood and the flash of that gory knife seemed to affect the
attacking brutes with horror. Yet the next ones that came would have
killed me outright had not the fat Link beaten out the brains of one and
broken the arm of the other, which then was readily despatched.
Seeing the advantage of a club, I clutched up one which an overmastered
Link had dropped, and swung it madly. With this and the knife, I not
only defended myself but became a champion of the Links as well. The
fight, with its din of thuds and animal shrieks and screams of agony,
began to concentrate about three Links and myself. A long, hairy arm,
with an iron-like hand, was thrust across my shoulder and my throat was
in a deadly grip. I dropped the club and slashed my blade across the
wrist, severing the stiff, white cords. Then I swung in a blow that
buried the steel to the hilt. The brute fell heavily, dragging the knife
from my hand. Instantly two more great animals were upon me and over I
went, already scratched and slightly bitten. For a moment I struggled in
desperation; then a horrible black face came down toward my own, the
jaws awide for a fastening on my neck.
Down swept a gleaming streak. The rock-crystal club knocked the face,
head and all, away, as if it had been a potato on a stick. Another blow
killed my second assailant like a fly might be killed on a window. I
bounded up with a club in my hand. The giant Link was beating his way
through the foe like a doomsman. With a cry of hatred and fear, the
remaining ourang-outangs, and many of the wounded, suddenly turned and
fled. The battle had been brief and bloody; it had demonstrated a
fierceness and power incredible in the Links, a power which, if
concentrated and properly employed, would excel that of twice the number
of human savages.
I found my knife and pulled it forth from its sheath of flesh.
Collecting his following about him with a word, the giant leader touched
me on the arm and pointed toward the jungle. The wounded of “our” force
limped from the scene; our dead, who were three in number, were carried
by those who were still unhurt. With the albino mate of the chief I
walked away, surrounded by the chattering Links, whose conduct toward
me, I was sure, was that of a friendly “people.” The fat fellow was next
to idiotic in his gratitude for the stroke which had saved his life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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