They blinked their eyes,
shouldered one another about for more advantageous positions,
scratched in the rotting vegetation upon the chance of unearthing
a toothsome worm, or sat listlessly eyeing their king and the strange
Mangani, who called himself thus but who more closely resembled
the hated Tarmangani. The king looked at some of the older of his
subjects, as though inviting suggestion.
"We are too few," grunted one.
"There are the baboons of the hill country," suggested another.
"They are as many as the leaves of the forest. They, too, hate
the Gomangani. They love to fight. They are very savage. Let us
ask them to accompany us. Then can we kill all the Gomangani in
the jungle." He rose and growled horribly, bristling his stiff
hair.
"That is the way to talk," cried The Killer, "but we do not need the
baboons of the hill country. We are enough. It will take a long
time to fetch them. Meriem may be dead and eaten before we could
free her. Let us set out at once for the village of the Gomangani.
If we travel very fast it will not take long to reach it.
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