Like shadows the Kor-ul-ja melted into the concealment of the foliage
upon either side of the trail. Ignorant of impending danger, safe
in the knowledge that they trod their own domain where each rock
and stone was as familiar as the features of their mates, the
Kor-ul-lul walked innocently into the ambush. Suddenly the quiet
of that seeming peace was shattered by a savage cry and a hurled
club felled a Kor-ul-lul.
The cry was a signal for a savage chorus from a hundred Kor-ul-ja
throats with which were soon mingled the war cries of their enemies.
The air was filled with flying clubs and then as the two forces
mingled, the battle resolved itself into a number of individual
encounters as each warrior singled out a foe and closed upon him.
Knives gleamed and flashed in the mottling sunlight that filtered
through the foliage of the trees above. Sleek black coats were
streaked with crimson stains.
In the thick of the fight the smooth brown skin of the stranger
mingled with the black bodies of friend and foe. Only his keen
eyes and his quick wit had shown him how to differentiate between
Kor-ul-lul and Kor-ul-ja since with the single exception of apparel
they were identical, but at the first rush of the enemy he had
noticed that their loin cloths were not of the leopard-matted hides
such as were worn by his allies.
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