while I fought with Sadu," Tharn said. "Had he killed me, he would have slain you as well."

"Even Sadu cannot kill a god," the boy said simply.

Tharn blinked. "A god? I am no god. I am Tharn, a man of the caves, like you."

Trakor, while tremendously flattered at being compared with the stranger, was far from convinced that Tharn was telling the truth.

"A caveman could not slay Sadu thus," he declared, pushing a bare toe gingerly against the dead beast's back. "No, you are a god, for gods have been described to me many times by old Wokard, who knows all about such things."

The giant Cro-Magnard shrugged, smiling, and sought to change the subject. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Trakor, of the tribe of Gerdak."

"The caves of your people are nearby?"

"An hour's march in that direction," Trakor said, pointing.

Tharn's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So far? Do you often go alone this deep into the jungle?"

Whereupon Trakor found himself telling the forest god the whole story: how the raven-haired Lanoa had shown, by her admiration for the young hunters of the tribe, that she would never become the mate of a man who did not excel in the hunt; how he was determined to prove to her and to the others of Gerdak's tribe that he too was a great hunter.

Tharn listened with grave attention, and while there were times when he was tempted to smile at some unconscious revelation of the boy's character, he resisted the impulse. It required courage to venture alone into the forest armed only with a spear. The soul of an artist, as revealed by Trakor's love of painting, had clashed with the hot blood of youth and a desire to appear to advantage in the eyes of a lovely woman. Older and more conservative men than Tharn would have named Trakor's act sheer lunacy; but Tharn was neither old nor conservative. Under the circumstances he would have done exactly the same thing.

When Trakor was finished, Tharn said, "There will be other days for hunting. Unless you are willing to travel the jungle at night, you had best start for the caves of Gerdak."

Trakor sought to hide his apprehension as he looked about the dusk-filled glade and back to the dark hole which marked the game trail entrance.

"You are right," he said, turning to the cave lord. "I am grateful to you for saving me from Sadu, mighty Tharn. Who knows but that someday I may be of help to you."

"Who knows?" Tharn repeated gravely.

He remained standing there as Trakor turned and walked briskly toward the wall of foliage to the south. The boy's shoulders were squared and his brown-thatched head erect as he moved away, and Tharn felt a warm glow of admiration at the fierce pride that would not let its owner ask for further protection. For he knew that secretly Trakor dreaded the thought of traversing the final stretch of night-shrouded jungle.

Purposely he waited until the youth was nearly out of sight, to learn if, at the last moment, Trakor's step might falter or his head turn for one last appealing glance. But the boy forged steadily ahead....

"Wait, Trakor," Tharn called.

The youth turned quickly and watched as Tharn gathered up his bow, quiver of arrows and grass rope from where they had fallen when he leaped to do battle with Sadu. With his weapons restored to their usual places, the caveman rejoined Trakor at the forest's edge.

"Since my way lies in the same direction," Tharn said, "I will go with you for a time."

"Good," Trakor said laconically. He might have said more, but he doubted the steadiness of his own voice, so great his relief.

Side by side they moved briskly along the winding trail, while the gloom of early night grew amidst the semi-tropical depths of forest and its inextricably tangled maze of branches, vines and creepers.

In some way these two members of the first race of true men to trod the globe were much alike; in others, as different as day from night. In age Tharn was no more than four years beyond his companion; in height perhaps an inch taller. Both were darkly tanned and each was clothed only by a loin-cloth of panther skin.

But there the similarity ended. Where Trakor was slender and with muscles not yet fully developed, Tharn's bronzed body was sheathed in supple sinews that rippled like steel cables beneath smooth skin. There was an undefinable surety, a boundless confidence, reflected in the graceful majesty of his expression and bearing. Unconsciously Trakor sought to carry himself in a like manner, for he was deep in the throes of hero worship.

"Tell me, Tharn," Trakor said diffidently, at last, "are you not truly a god?"

"It might be," Tharn said lightly. "Since I have never met a god, I would not know."

Trakor thought over the answer for a while. It did not seem that a real god such as old Wokard described would speak so of himself. Could it be that his new found friend, for all his superhuman abilities, was actually an ordinary man, just as he had claimed from the first?

Well, man he might be, but never an ordinary one!

"I am glad you are a man, Tharn," he said finally. "I do not think I would like to know a god."

"Nor would I," Tharn agreed soberly.

They moved rapidly ahead for a time, neither speaking. Suddenly the thunderous challenge of a lion rose from the depths of jungle not far to their right. Trakor shivered slightly and shot a quick glance at his companion. It was too dark for him to make out Tharn's expression but he seemed entirely unmoved by the sound of Sadu's voice.

A moment later Trakor heard the rustle of something moving in the undergrowth beside the trail, and a prickly sensation crawled along his spine. Sadu was hunting again! He would have liked to call Tharn's attention to the faint sound but hesitated to do so lest he appear overly nervous. Again came the slight rustle.

"It is Gubo, the hyena," Tharn said unexpectedly.

Trakor gasped. "How do you know that?" he demanded, both relieved and bewildered.

"He is upwind from us."

"Upwind? You mean you can scent him?"

"Yes."

The young man from the tribe of Gerdak nearly betrayed his skepticism. Never before had he heard of a man whose nose could receive and interpret a scent spoor. It smacked of a kinship with the animals themselves.

"Are you sure?" he asked uneasily.

Tharn's quick ear caught the undercurrent of incredulity in the boy's voice, and he smiled under the cover of darkness. It was not the first time his unique ability had been doubted. He drew Trakor to a halt.

"Watch," he said.

Lifting his head the cave lord gave voice to the hunting squall of a leopard. So perfect was his imitation of Tarlok's cry, so fearsome the sound, that Trakor shrank back in quick alarm.

As the harsh scream rose on the night air, there was a sudden flurry of motion among the tangled foliage to their right, a blurred figure skidded into the trail ahead of where they stood and disappeared around a bend of the path. In the brief moment in which it was visible, Trakor recognized the animal as Gubo.

Crestfallen, Trakor could think of nothing to say. Never again, he resolved, would he doubt any statement made by this god-like stranger. There were many questions he burned to ask, but an aura of reserve seemed to surround the man—an aura he hesitated to intrude upon. At last he could contain his curiosity no longer.

"Where lie the caves of your people, Tharn?"

"Nearly two moons' march to the north," the cave lord replied readily enough.

"You came so great a distance alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tharn did not at once reply. During the moon since he had set out from Sephar in search of Dylara this was his first opportunity for a friendly word with a fellow man. On the several