Bride of the Serpent God | Page 8

place their spears and bows against a small tree, and then sit down close together near the burned out fire. His eyes studied with interest the long heavy knives carried by the men, deadly blades which they did not discard even now when they were resting.
Although all three of the black men were exceptionally fine physical specimens, Ki-Gor's eyes were drawn especially to the largest and most superbly proportioned of the natives. This man was a massive warrior, graceful as a panther. There was an air of quiet assurance about him. He wore no gaudy tribal markings nor any of the usual native decorations, but there was a definite air of command about him, a clear indication that he was a chieftain.
The three men sat for a long time, staring moodily at the ground, seldom conversing. Though every stranger in the jungle is potentially an enemy until proved otherwise, Ki-Gor oddly enough felt no threat resting in these men. For reasons he could not explain, a sudden urge came over him to make known his presence. He was armed with only a knife, however, and even though he felt there was no danger to be feared from these warriors, he was cautious enough to advantageously place himself as close to their discarded spears as possible.
He worked his way silently out along a broad overhanging limb. Then Ki-Gor dropped to the ground on cushioned feet, and moved so swiftly and quietly that he stood before the three sitting natives almost before they sensed his presence. The startled natives looked up in unison, and for a moment their hands hesitated at the hilts of the heavy knives. Ki-Gor's face betrayed no sign of emotion, but inwardly he enjoyed the bewilderment of the natives immensely. It was a tribute to his wisdom, however, that his right hand hovered ever close to the shaft of one man's spear.
The expressions of alarm on the warrior's faces quickly changed to bewildered surprise. They seemed unable to believe their eyes. They stared speechless at Ki-Gor. The massive warrior was the first to regain his tongue.
"Ki-Gor!" he boomed out in a surprised, unbelieving voice. "But how can it be you?"
The now friendly eyes of the huge Negro looked expectantly past the Jungle Lord searching for another person. He seemed disappointed to find the white man alone.
"But where is Helene?" the warrior asked, his voice reflecting deep concern. "Is she hurt? Where is she?"
Ki-Gor listened gravely to the man's words. The tongue he spoke was familiar; it was the language of the Masai. Ki-Gor understood the words, but he did not understand what the native spoke about. His face showed clearly how puzzled he was.
"I come as a friend," the Jungle Lord said slowly, "but I do not understand your questions. Perhaps you mistake me for some other one you know."
The mouth of the natives' spokesman dropped open at this odd statement from the great Ki-Gor, the firm friend of many years, the beloved companion and leader in many exciting and dangerous adventures.
"I-I'm Tembu George! What's wrong with you? Surely you can't be joking."
The Jungle Lord studied the native's face a moment and then repeated, half to himself, "Tembu George." After a pause, he again addressed Tembu George, saying, "I have no reason to joke, Tembu George, I don't recall seeing you before, and I have no knowledge of the person you call Helene."
Tembu George stood up now, and came closer to the white man. The concern he felt at Ki-Gor's strange tone was apparent. His grave eyes, as he came closer, noted the ugly gash on Ki-Gor's head.
"You have suffered a bad hurt recently," Tembu George stated, noting every action of his friend. "How did you get that cut?"
Ki-Gor's hand raised to the gash and his brows knit in thought. "Somehow I can't seem to remember" he replied.
"Hmmm. And what did you say your name was," Tembu George asked, snapping the question quickly.
In normal fashion and with every evidence of assurance, the Jungle Lord started to reply, "Why, I am ... I am." He halted and passed his hand over his brow.
"It is a ridiculous thing," Ki-Gor said in a sheepish, yet worried tone, "But I can't for the life of me tell you my name."
Tembu George stood looking directly into his eyes now. "You are Ki- Gor, my friend of many years," he said. "Somehow you have been injured and are suffering from a loss of memory. It was over four days ago that I was to meet you and your mate, Helene, here at this spot."
The warrior turned and glanced at his two gaping men. He looked then down the slope to the riverbank for a few moments before turning back to his friend.
"When we arrived there were clear signs that a boat had brought men