Bunduki (Bunduki Series Book One) Read online

  While most flattering to her appearance, the clothing which had replaced her garments was anything but civilized. She was now wearing a very short, simple dress made from the soft hide of a cow eland. It was one-piece, sleeveless from the waist to its extremely daring décolleté, laced with leather thongs and clung to the splendid contours of her torso and hips as if molded upon them. The dress, a pair of leopard-skin briefs, an archer’s arm-guard, a pigskin bowman’s glove and the belt were her sole ensemble.

  Despite the scanty nature of her attire, armed as she was, Dawn felt sure that she could survive until she had found her adoptive cousin. If she could not, she would be unworthy of her heritage. Not only had her mother and father been espionage agents in German-occupied Europe throughout much of World War II, facing great dangers and living in the shadow of a very painful death if they had been captured, but her grandparents had survived for many years during their youth in the jungles of Africa. With a bloodline like that, she ought to be self-sufficient even in such puzzling and disturbing circumstances. What was more, she had had excellent training for whatever might lie ahead.

  Always something of a tomboy, Dawn had insisted upon duplicating the lessons in self defense and weapon handling received by her—at that time—almost inseparable companion, Bunduki. On being sent to Roedean for her education, she had thrown herself whole-heartedly into every permissible kind of sport and had excelled at them all. However, like her adoptive cousin, she had grown disenchanted by the blatantly one-sided political bias of the international sporting bodies. So, although of world class as an athlete, gymnast and swimmer, she too had refused to enter competitions. For all that, she had kept up her training and was in the peak of physical condition.

  There were, however, limits to how far her physical prowess could protect her. It would not, for instance, save her if the big, black-maned lion should attack.

  Despite the perilous nature of her predicament, Dawn did not panic. Instead, she turned her attention to thinking of how she might extract herself from it. To turn and run would almost certainly arouse the instinct which every predatory creature had to chase anything that fled from it. During a charge, a lion could attain a speed of around fifty miles per hour. So, especially while she was encumbered by the bow and arrows—which she had no desire to discard—even though a distance of slightly over thirty yards was separating them, she could not hope to outrun the lion. Nor was there a tree close enough for her to be able to seek refuge in its branches.

  Standing perfectly still, Dawn made no attempt to raise her bow into the shooting position. While she had not been so incautious that she had been carrying it without an arrow nocked to the string, she realized that it would be inadequate in the event of the lion making a charge.

  No arrow, even when loosed from a bow which drew seventy pounds and carrying a modern four bladed hunting point, had the stopping power of a medium to heavy caliber rifle. If a lion was hit by a heavy enough bullet, it would be knocked from its feet and so allow the delivery of a second round. An arrow could not do that, as the force of the powder charge behind the bullet was far greater than the propulsive effect of any practical bow.

  Of course, the killing power of an arrow’s four-bladed point was even more effective than that of a bullet under certain conditions. Cutting a path almost two inches wide as it entered the animal’s body, the arrow was almost certain to cause death by bleeding—but, unless it was placed with great accuracy and into a vital area, not quickly enough to end a charge.

  A hit in the head, providing it caught the brain, or through the chest cavity to tear apart the heart or the lungs, would cause almost instant death. However, she felt disinclined to chance aiming for such small targets when they would be approaching her at speed. Even a slight error in alignment would be fatal to her. While the wounded beast might—in fact, probably would—die, it would not do so before having reached and either seriously injured or killed her.

  Studying the great cat, Dawn began to draw conclusions based upon her past experiences and what she had been taught about the habits of Panthera Leo. As one of her instructors had been her adoptive great-grandfather—who had raised and trained Jad-Bal-Ja, the Golden Lion xvi and had had plenty to do with them in the wild—she felt sure that she could rely upon the information.

  Taking into consideration the big male’s obviously well filled stomach and the fact that the rest of the pride were being allowed to feed from the kill—which, even in the stress of the moment, she had noticed appeared to be a North American bison—she decided that it must already have eaten its fill. In which case, unless it differed greatly from those others of its kind with which she had come into contact, it was no longer hungry, and would be disinclined to exert itself without considerable provocation.

  ‘All right, numa,’ Dawn breathed, using the Mangani’s word for a lion. ‘I won’t provoke you. I’m going away and, unless you want this arrow down your throat, you won’t try to stop me.’

  Having delivered the sotto voce comment, although she knew that the beast would not have understood even if it had heard, the girl made a slow and tentative step to the rear. At her first movement, the lion tensed and its tail began to swing from side to side.

  Dawn came to an immediate halt, ready to raise and draw the bow!

  Standing like a statue, the girl kept her hazel eyes on the lions, fixing them in a stare as unblinking as its own. Almost thirty seconds dragged by on leaden feet, seeming to be much longer, before the great cat’s tail ceased its swinging and it looked away from her unremitting scrutiny.

  Dawn took another step!

  Although the lion’s eyes returned to her, there was no other response from it. So, without turning her back on it, she continued to retreat. She went unhurriedly, wanting to make sure that she did not trip and fall as much as to avoid any sudden motions that would alarm it. The lion watched her go and, as she had hoped, made no attempt to follow. Instead, even before she had passed out of sight over the top of the slope, it slumped back into the shade of the bushes. Seeing that the head of their pride was settling down, the three lionesses and their cubs resumed the interrupted meal.

  Once beyond the lion’s range of vision, Dawn stopped and sucked in a long, deep breath. Although she had extracted herself from the predicament without difficulty, she did not minimize how dangerous it had been. If the lion had been hungry, she would not have escaped so easily. Taking her right hand from the bow’s string and supporting the arrow with her left, she wiped away the film of perspiration that had formed on her brow. While she was doing it, the memory of something that she had been told as a child came to mind.

  ‘If Esmeralda xvii was right and servants sweat, gentlemen perspire, but ladies only glow,’ Dawn thought with a smile, I can’t be a lady. This is either sweat, or the wettest “glow” I’ve ever seen.’

  Having delivered that sentiment, which served to relieve the tension left by what she knew had been a narrow escape, Dawn returned her hand to the nock of the arrow and resumed her journey. However, she had taken the warning to heart, and let neither her curiosity over the strange circumstances of her rescue from the Land Rover, nor the continuing sensation of being kept under observation, interfere with her vigilance.

  After about an hour had passed without incident, other than seeing game in the same bewildering profusion, a column of smoke attracted Dawn s attention. It was some distance away, to the east, but had the appearance of rising from a camp fire.

  The sight presented Dawn with a problem. To go to the source of the smoke would take her away from the direction in which her instincts suggested she would find Bunduki. However, unless a certain theory which she had been considering just before the meeting with the lion should prove to be correct, whoever had made the fire might help her in the search. Even if her supposition was right, provided she exercised caution, she could gain some useful information. With that in mind, she turned to the east and made for the smoke.

  Long before Dawn was w
ithin sight of her destination, her way was barred by a wide chasm through which raced the waters of a river. To the south-east, about a mile away, the plains began to merge with scrub and woodland that she sensed was the outer limits of the jungle in which—if her subconscious feelings were true—she would locate Bunduki. So she paused, undecided as to whether she should go there or try to find a way across the river and make for the fire.

  While the girl was considering what to do, she became aware that three mounted figures had come into view at the top of a slope on the other side of the chasm. Watching them riding towards the edge and thinking of the theory which she had been formulating with regards to her whereabouts, she was not sorry that a gap of about fifty yards would be separating her from them. While everything about them seemed to be further evidence that she was no longer in any part of Africa as she knew it, nothing supplied a clue as to where she might be.

  The trio, a woman and two men, were mounted on horse-like animals. The ears, mane and patterning of black and white stripes on the smaller mans beast were suggestive of a Grant’s zebra. Brown in color, taller and of better quality, the other two animals had black and cream striping on the head, neck and shoulders only. The long extinct quaggas of South Africa had been colored and marked in such a fashion. In fact, they all bore the same kind of resemblance to wild zebras as a thoroughbred Arabian stallion bore to a tarpon or a Przewalski’s horse, the progenitors of the domestic breeds. Apparently the three riders’ mounts had evolved from varieties of zebra which had been bred for long enough in captivity to have developed into riding strains far superior to the original wild stock.

  Not that Dawn devoted too much of her attention to the animals. She was finding the appearances of their riders to be of even greater interest.

  Sitting her mount with the easy grace of an excellent rider, the woman was bronzed, black-haired and very beautiful. Yet, for all the sensual pout to her full lips, her dark eyes and expression suggested a cruel and imperious nature. She was about an inch taller than Dawn and would probably exceed the girl’s age, twenty-one, by six or seven years. Her shoulder long tresses were held back by a broad band of what looked like gold lame fabric. The halter which was flimsily covering the full, firm thirty-nine inches of her bosom and the brief skirt which emphasized the contours of her thirty-seven inch hips and buttocks were made from a mesh of the same material. Her legs were in keeping with the rest of her magnificent figure. Crisscrossing her calves to just below the knees, the straps of her sandals were gold in color. About her bare, twenty inch, waist was a belt comprised of gold and silver discs. It supported the scabbard of an ivory hilted sword shaped like a Roman soldier’s gladius. Apart from a wide gold bracelet on her right wrist, she had no jewelry. Her right hand was holding the reins and the left rested on the hilt of the sword as she arrogantly returned the girl’s scrutiny.

  The man on the woman’s left was tall, middle-aged and well built. Covering his skull, so that only his hard, cruel face was exposed, his metal helmet was embossed on each side with a zebra’s head. It was topped by a crest that might have come from the mane of his mount. His swarthy features had harsh lines, and a long, drooping moustache did little to soften the cruel set of his thin lips. He had on a breast-plate of polished leather carved ornately with some kind of design, over what appeared to be a white silk shirt. The kilt he was wearing looked as though it was made of leather. Greaves of that material, etched decoratively, protected his shins and he had sandals on his feet. The sword sheathed on the left side of his belt, which was formed from all gold discs, was of the same design as the woman’s, but heavier and longer. Grasped at its point of balance, the butt of a nine foot long lance was resting in the cup attached for that purpose to his right side stirrup.

  Although dressed in much the same way as the tall man, the second male rider was middle-sized, stocky and obviously of a lower social status. No crest adorned his helmet, nor was there any engraving on his breastplate and greaves. The sword he was carrying had a plain wooden hilt and was his only weapon.

  Not only the man’s dress and mount suggested that he was of a subordinate rank, his behavior proved it. Although his companions had halted and were staring across- the chasm, he directed only the briefest glance at Dawn. Then he reined his zebra—she had decided to give the animals such a title—around in a half circle and stopped it within reaching distance of the woman’s right hand.

  The girl had no need to ponder over the second man’s actions. A wooden framework was attached to the cantle of his saddle, which—like those of his companions, although theirs were of a better quality—resembled a low homed, double girthed xviii Texas range rig, extending to rest on the zebra’s rump. On the crossbar, with its head covered by a finely decorated leather hood that was designed to display its prominent crest of feathers, perched an enormous bird of prey. Its great size, body’s shape, mottled grey upper surfaces, black chest, white under-parts, shortish, powerful, very deep but comparatively narrow curved beak, thick legs and massive claws told her that it was a harpy eagle of some kind.

  Ignoring the third member of their party and the bird, the woman and the taller man were subjecting Dawn to mutually long examinations. Then they exchanged glances, each nodding as if they had reached some unspoken agreement. Having done so, the man returned his gaze to the girl, raking her from head to foot. There was lust and worse in his scrutiny. Then he stiffened slightly and swung his eyes to look north on her side of the chasm.

  Before Dawn could turn her head in that direction, more riders came into sight on the rim. Two women and four men, clad, armed and mounted in a similar manner to her examiners, but in a slightly less opulent fashion. The women, both beautiful and shapely, had on garments of silver lame. While the taller of the women, and all the men, wore greaves, the second woman copied, in silver, the gold-clad beauty’s taste in footwear. The animals they were sitting looked like the larger Grevy’s species of zebra; having numerous narrow black stripes, but no gridiron pattern of transverse bars on the hind quarters that identified the Grant’s variety.

  Studying the newcomers, Dawn was relieved to see that none of them carried bows and arrows. They all appeared to be interested in her, but did not offer to ride any closer. Instead, they began to talk quietly amongst themselves. Then the woman without the greaves rose on her stirrups. Shielding her eyes with her right hand, she stared in a more noticeable fashion than the tall man had done across the chasm and to the north.

  ‘Who are you?’ called the man, bringing his attention back to the girl.

  The words served to jolt Dawn’s thoughts away from the manner in which the shorter of the women on the rim was acting.

  They had been spoken in English!

  Or had they?

  Dawn sensed that her brain had been translating the man’s question automatically, as it did when she was using one of the foreign languages with which she was acquainted.

  ‘My name is “Dawn”,’ the girl found herself answering and guessed that, no matter what language she was using, the people across the chasm could understand her.

  That was, Dawn decided, pretty conclusive proof of her theory’s validity.

  ‘Are you alone?’ demanded the black-haired woman, in a husky contralto voice that contrived to be domineering as well as sultry, scanning the terrain around Dawn.

  ‘My cousin—and many of our warriors—are close by,’ the girl bluffed, wishing she had avoided the slight hesitation while increasing the size of hers and Bunduki’s party. ‘If I call for them, they will come quickly.’

  ‘To which nation do you belong?’ the man inquired, continuing to dart glances at the north as if expecting to see something in that direction. ‘You don’t dress like an Amazon and you’re not a Gruziak, or a Telonga.’

  Although Dawn knew that the original Amazons had been a nation of female warriors in Ancient Greece, she had never heard of peoples called the Gruziak or the Telonga.

  ‘I belong to the people of Tarzan of the
Apes,’ the girl replied, hoping to obtain some clue as to where she was.

  In the course of an exceptionally eventful life, Lord # Greystoke had travelled extensively and had been in contact with several strange, previously undiscovered races. xix Perhaps he had come across the people to whom her interrogators belonged, although she could not recollect him ever having mentioned them.

  ‘And who, or what might this Tarzan of the—Apes—be?’ the woman asked haughtily, fumbling with the word “Apes” as if it was not familiar.

  Once again, Dawn decided not to tell the exact truth. It would take too long to tell the full story and describe her exact relationship with Lord and Lady Greystoke. In fact, the latter might be beyond her audience’s comprehension. With their parents dead, Captain Hugh ‘Bulldog’ Drummond xx had not been able to raise or care for his younger brother, John, in an adequate manner. So his second cousin, Lord Greystoke, xxi had adopted the youngster as his son and given him the name Drummond-Clayton. xxii

  However, Dawn doubted whether the couple would appreciate such a relationship as an adoptive great-granddaughter. That would be particularly so if the woman was only pretending to be ignorant of Tarzan’s identity and had actually met him. Few people knew about the Kavurus’ longevity pills that had come into his possession and had been shared amongst his family. xxiii These tablets had halted the aging processes of the human body and had granted the recipients—barring accidental death, suicide or murder—what amounted to immortality. To avoid arousing unwanted interest, due to the fact that they all appeared to be in their late twenties and showed no signs of getting older, the family had resorted to make-up when receiving visits by any but very close and trusted friends or when travelling. Dawn had often thought, not without amusement, that her mother, grandmother and Lady Greystoke must be almost the only women in the world who deliberately sought to make themselves look older.