Om-at, after dispatching his first antagonist, glanced at Jar-don.
"He fights with the ferocity of jato," mused the chief. "Powerful
indeed must be the tribe from which he and Tarzan-jad-guru come,"
and then his whole attention was occupied by a new assailant.
The fighters surged to and fro through the forest until those
who survived were spent with exhaustion. All but the stranger who
seemed not to know the sense of fatigue. He fought on when each
new antagonist would have gladly quit, and when there were no more
Kor-ul-lul who were not engaged, he leaped upon those who stood
pantingly facing the exhausted Kor-ul-ja.
And always he carried upon his back the peculiar thing which Om-at
had thought was some manner of strange weapon but the purpose of
which he could not now account for in view of the fact that Jar-don
never used it, and that for the most part it seemed but a nuisance
and needless encumbrance since it banged and smashed against its
owner as he leaped, catlike, hither and thither in the course of
his victorious duels. The bow and arrows he had tossed aside at
the beginning of the fight but the Enfield he would not discard,
for where he went he meant that it should go until its mission had
been fulfilled.
Presently the Kor-ul-ja, seemingly shamed by the example of Jar-don
closed once more with the enemy, but the latter, moved no doubt
to terror by the presence of the stranger, a tireless demon who
appeared invulnerable to their attacks, lost heart and sought to
flee.
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