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Authors: Allan Richard Shickman

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BOOK: Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure
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Gripping his newly fashioned weapon, he stepped into the opening of the cave where several families lay asleep. They were all huddled together almost upon one another for warmth, still clinging to their spears and weapons. Their long-drawn breath froze as they exhaled. He lay down next to his mother and felt the warmth of her body. She jerked to feel the iciness of his, grunted, and went back to sleep. In time he too was asleep, breathing heavily.

 

The youth's name was Zan, which in his tongue meant Hunter. He and his people had a language, but we no longer know it. It was spoken in an era so remote in time that there were as yet no nations upon the earth, no cities, nor written words. Humans lived in caves and hollows or in the crudest man-made shelters—wherever they could establish cover from wind and rain, from wild animals, and from each other. Zan and his kindred lived in that dim period when there was no safety but that supplied by strength and cunning, when there were no laws but those imposed by nature and by humankind's own fierce desire to survive. People faced constant danger, and not many lived to be old.

They were frequently hungry and thirsty. They ate only what they could hunt down or gather in their hands, and had to eat immediately what they could not store. Game was perhaps more plentiful in the summer, but meat kept better during the cold months, and the quarry was easier to see in the winter when there were no sheltering leaves on the trees and tracks could be followed in the snow. Animals also might be weakened by hunger during that season of scarcity, and weakness made them easier to kill. So on the whole, people ate better in the winter, but game was difficult to bring down at any time, and many days could be spent in frozen, fruitless chases. Animals were swifter and often stronger than the men who hunted them, could hear or smell their pursuers from a mile away, and seemed gifted with a special intelligence that humans neither had nor understood. Given these difficulties and rarity of success, it was possible to starve in the midst of relative abundance. When the men did manage to bring down an animal the clan had meat to eat, skins to wear, and horns and bones to fashion into tools—truly a cause for celebration.

Homes and shelters were established where there was a source of water—a lake, river, stream, or spring. Zan's family was lucky, for there was a spring safely within their cave which trickled from its deep, mysterious interior (where only the women were allowed) to the exit and beyond. There also was a river nearby, but the rains had failed for many weeks and it had begun to dry up, so that even the trees flanking it looked parched and sickly.

Zan's people were cold most of the year, but they were as used to it as the animals whose skins they wore. At
night Zan slept beneath, and wore each day, the pelt of a goat which his father, Thal, had killed and which his mother, Wumna, had prepared by beating and chewing it until it was soft. Zan was fortunate to have it. Luxury was unknown, and strangers could be envious of a scrap of fur or a bit of food. Tools and weapons, crude as they were, were valued and guarded. A stone blade, which took a week's labor to make, might induce an uncouth ruffian to take a life in order to possess it. It is hard to imagine how much simple things were prized and coveted in that frightful time. Darkness was indeed darker to them then, coldness colder, and the cruelest passions somehow crueler and more deeply passionate.

 

Winter was approaching, the nights were long, and Zan had a deep if comfortless sleep. The family awoke, first one then another, to the sound of each other's snorts and the chill of the morning air. Zan was the last to stir. Upon rising they saw that their world was gray with mist—a good sign because the tribes had lately been oppressed by drought. For the coming hunt it might be helpful or dangerous. They would not be able to see their fierce quarry, but the lion would not see them either at first. It would only hear the approach and fearful din of many men. By the time the hunters drew near, the fog would have burned away and all would happen as planned—
unless it happened some other way, some unforeseen way
.

Zan's father, Thal, would have been happy to have let him sleep. He had little desire to see a boy so young participate in the hazardous business before them. Zan,
eager to assume a manhood not yet his, had raged and demanded the right to join, to carry a spear and raise his cry against the great cat. At last his father had yielded (to the horror of his mother), but warned him to stay close—closer by far than the men would be to each other. He impressed on his son the great peril, thinking in his troubled heart that the boy had to learn to deal with the difficulties of manhood sooner or later. But Zan was not a man, and when he rose that dismal morning the fears of the previous night returned to him and had to be conquered anew. In truth, every man among them shared his feelings to some extent and swallowed them down as he did, none allowing himself to ask whether this dangerous labor might prove to be his last. They made jokes at the beast's expense and at their own, clapping each other on the back or shoulder and uttering gruff words of encouragement. No one spoke of fear.

 

The appointed time had come. Each hunter grasped a spear, and many took a drum or hollowed log to beat with the end of his weapon. The sun, vaguely visible, was rising over the misty terrain, signaling the first stage of their design. As the males of Zan's clan spread out to form a great arc perhaps three miles long, strong legs carried them toward the great rock, Gah, where they would join the second arc of men. When the five clans finally connected, their circle would be nearly fifteen miles around. Speed was required. Zan struggled to keep up with his father, a powerful runner who urged him on, exhaling heavily as he spoke—with each stride a word or two: “Have courage…boy…courage….The…first…rule…
is…to…always…face…your…enemy.” His voice was deep and sure despite his breathlessness, and as he panted his words out, they seemed to freeze as vapor on the morning air. “Better…to…die…than…to…flee…in…the… presence…of…danger….And…more…likely…to…die…if…you…show…your…back….Be brave…be brave…and live!”

The region that the hunters wished to surround was rocky and uneven. Tall grasses grew wherever there was soil to receive them, and there were many places where a crouching lion might hide. Indeed, there was always the possibility that the great cat would escape in between the men who were encircling it, for they were hundreds of paces apart in the beginning. To prevent this, noise would be the first weapon they would use. The hunters would make a great, unaccustomed racket that the beast would avoid; so instead of breaking through their scattered ranks it would head right toward the center of the tightening ring of men. In one way lions were like people. They were frightened by what was unfamiliar. That was what the hunters were counting on as they raised their cries.

All of the five segments came together at about the same time, so it was as if a circle of men had appeared from nowhere. Only Zan stood close to his father, otherwise the distance between each hunter was considerable. It would gradually lessen as they progressed. The mist still obscured their vision but it was beginning to fade. If only the monster would stay away for a short while! If only it would refrain from springing suddenly out of the white vapor to kill before it was even sighted! Something like that had actually occurred a few seasons earlier during
a similar hunt, Thal recalled to his son. They had not been looking for a lion but they had found one! On that occasion a man had been badly mauled before the animal could be speared. Zan did not remove his eyes from the direction of danger, and in fact everyone had placed his senses on alert.

Having formed a boundary, they turned toward the center of the great area it encompassed, where the killer lion was believed to lie hidden. Then they started their advance with grim faces and firm, deliberate steps that were at once cautious and determined. Zan followed the footsteps of Thal, wading through dried grass that was up to the waist of the grown men but reached almost to his shoulders. A few men carried torches of pitch or fat. Animals would fear the smell as much as the fire itself, and run from it. Some set the dry grass on fire as well and used it as their ally, carefully noting the direction of the wind.

The beating of logs and drums began. First, a single drum echoed across the plain, answered by another far off, and joined by a great tribal yell that shook the region. A third drum beat, while other men hammered their shields with their spears, each establishing a distinct, powerful rhythm. Another and another entered in, each with his own sound, creating a dense texture of rhythms which charged every man with needed strength and purpose. The drums boomed a vibrant, manly thunder that filled Zan with courage and resolve. It helped him to feel part of a single force, huge and alive. Now, strong men with fiery, determined eyes roared out a cry of battle. A deep-throated chant was hallooed forth, a mixture of
songs and cries that would surely appall the lion while encouraging themselves:
Kika kika kak, kika kika kak! Tona hai, tona hai!
Run, monster, run! And their voices, combining with the percussion of their rude instruments, wrought a pitch of noise so fearful that it reached into Zan's very entrails and bewitched the hairs on his head.
Kika kika kak! Kika kak! Tona hai! Tona hai!

So they proceeded, and before very long someone not far from Zan shrilly cried out:
O ah ah, O ah ah!
The cat had been spotted leaping above the smokey grass and then disappearing into one of the numberless nooks or hiding places. Again from another quarter as the men strode ahead came the eagle cry:
O ah ah, O ah ah!
The hunters did not increase their speed but redoubled their thunderous beats. In unison now they hurled out their songs of courage and attack, and now and again the shriller cry of
O ah ah
informed the hunters of the beast's movements.

Now it was seen by all of the men in Zan's vicinity, running in the opposite direction, and soon turning back again or to the right or left as the hunters closed in. The circle was still very large, making a charge impossible, so the elder gave no signal. Meanwhile, the lion was looking for refuge, not only from the men but from the appalling noise. It was so loud that every hollow of the earth resounded in its ears. The enormous, unaccustomed din pulsed out from all directions was working its potent magic, and might have put a whole herd of savage animals to confusion and flight. This was a creature whose sensitive ears could hear from some distance the smallest movement in the grass. It could not endure the amazing man-made thunder.

The hunters, whose dark bodies were now visible opposite against the rising mist, converged toward a clearing paved with rough stones; and there the beast paced and growled, with little natural cover to hide itself. It was a lioness, a female, and doubly to be feared. She began to move warily in a circle as the men tightened the trap, and as they got closer the lioness began to stride and prowl in a circle so small that she almost seemed to be chasing her tail. But she was watching, watching while she turned and snarled, for a weakness in the ever-tightening ring of her pursuers. Then, at the moment the attack finally was sounded—when the men, putting down their drums and torches, charged on the run with their spears—the lioness saw what she was looking for. One of her enemies was smaller, weaker than the rest. There was a point in the strengthening line that could be broken! Thought merged with furious action and the beast, with a mighty bound of astonishing swiftness, darted toward Zan. Five hundred pounds of snarling fury sprang directly at him with claws bared and fanged mouth open!

In the last instant Zan could see the now bright sun shining into the lion's crimson mouth, and he saw as well his mother, his lost brother, his toys, and his entire childhood race before his eyes. It all happened so suddenly that there was nothing anyone could do. Even his father, who was a little in front but several paces away, could give him no aid. Zan would have to protect himself.

He held his sharp spear, almost twice his height, rigidly before him, pointing it straight at the lion's dreadful face. The beast leapt directly at him, razor claws
extended. Quick as fire Zan thrust the point into the oncoming jaws. The weapon never left his hand until it was deep in the animal's throat and coming out the back of its muscular neck.

The lion's own great power and weight were Zan's friends. Possibly the beast, concentrating on the boy rather than what he held in his hand, did not even see the spear. She saw only a weak youth whom she would rend like a rabbit. But in leaping upon him the monster ran into the firmly held weapon. Zan had not even thrown it; all he did was hold it steadily before him. But that was a great deal indeed! Few among the clans, child or man, could have faced a moment of such terrible danger so steadfastly.

The lioness was not dead. She rolled and twisted in anguish, roaring, clawing at the spear in her maw, and wounding the ground with her great paws as she writhed. The warriors of the clans felt no touch of pity. They stood around her, silent and awed, watching the death-agony. None raised another spear to her for they saw that it would not be necessary, and would even be impious—disrespectful to the animal's noble spirit. Nor did they wish to further damage the beautiful and valuable pelt. Then the famous elder of the northern clan took a great rock and threw it onto the dying lion's head. The others followed his example, each throwing a stone (though not such a large one) at the creature that had caused them so much trouble and fear. If you had asked them why one and all bothered to do so, they might have said that it was for luck, but deep in their hearts they wanted to reassure themselves that they, not she, had conquered.

Zan was wounded. The lioness had marked his arms and shoulders with her claws, and dark streaks of blood showed like stripes upon them. They would be seen long after as honorable scars, reminders of the heroic action of this day. People were accustomed to accepting injuries worse than these. One at work might almost cut off a finger by accident and just go on working, muttering to himself. Zan's father was not overly concerned and neither was Zan. These hurts would heal.

BOOK: Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure
7.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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