Only huge Myron Tubal was left standing. Legs straddled wide, and whooping hoarsely, he laid about right and left. The attacking natives hit him and bounced off like drops of water from a whirling flywheel. Modeling his defense on the principle of the windmill, he backed his way against a tree.
Here he made a mistake. On the lowest branch of that tree squatted a native at once more cautious and more brainy than his fellows. Tubal had already noticed that the natives were equipped with stout, muscular tails, and had made a mental note of the fact. Of all the races in the Galaxy, only one other, Homo Gamma Cepheus, possessed tails. What he didn’t notice, however, was that these tails were
prehensile.
This he found out almost immediately, for the native in the branch above his head looped his tail downward, flashed it about Tubal’s neck and contracted it.
The Arcturian threshed wildly in agony, and the tailed attacker was jerked from his tree. Suspended head-first and whirled about in huge sweeps, the native nevertheless maintained his hold and tightened that tail-grip steadily.
The world blacked out. Tubal was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Tubal came to slowly, unpleasantly aware of the stinging stiffness of his neck. He tried vainly tb rub that stiffness, and it took a few seconds to realize that he was tied tightly. The fact startled him into alertness. He became aware, first, that he was lying on his stomach; second, of the horrible din about him; third, of Sefan and Forase bundled up next to him-and last, that he could not break his bonds.
‘Hey, Sefan, Forase! Can you hear me?’
It was Sefan that answered joyfully. ‘You old Draconian goat! We thought you were out for good.’
‘I don’t die so easy,’ grunted the Arcturian. ‘Where are we?’
There was a short pause.
‘In the native village, I imagine,’ Wri Forase said dully. ‘Did you ever hear such a noise? The drum hasn’t stopped a minute since they dumped us here.’
‘Have you seen anything of – ‘
Hands were upon Tubal, and he felt himself whirled about. He was in a sitting posture now and his neck hurt worse than ever. Ramshackle huts of thatch and green logs gleamed in the early afternoon sun. In a circle about them, watching in silence, were dark-skinned, long-tailed natives. There must have been hundreds, all wearing feathered head-dresses and carrying short, wickedly barbed spears.
Their eyes were upon the row of figures that squatted mysteriously in the foreground, and upon these Tubal turned his angry glare. It was plain that they were the leaders of the tribe. Dressed in gaudy, fringed robes of ill-tanned skins, they added further to their barbaric impressiveness by wearing tall wooden masks painted into caricatures of the human face.
With measured steps, the masked horror nearest the Humanoids approached.
‘Hello,’ it said, and the mask lifted up and off. ‘Back so soon?’
For quite a long while, Tubal and Sefan said absolutely nothing, while Wri Forase went into a protracted fit of coughing.
Finally, Tubal drew a long breath. ‘You’re one of the Earthmen, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right. I’m Al Williams. Just call me Al.’
‘They haven’t killed you yet?’
Williams smiled happily. ‘They haven’t killed any of us. Quite the contrary. Gentlemen,’ he bowed extravagantly, ‘meet the new tribal – er – gods.’
‘The new tribal what?’ gasped Forase. He was still coughing.
‘ – er – gods. Sorry, but I don’t know the Galactic word for a god.’
‘What do you ‘gods’ represent?’
‘We’re sort of supernatural entities – objects to be worshipped. Don’t you get it?’
The Humanoids stared unhappily.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Williams grinned, ‘we’re persons of great power.’
‘What are you talking about?’ exclaimed Tubal indignantly. ‘Why should they think you were of great power? You Earth people are below average physically – well below!’
‘It’s the psychology of the thing,’ explained Williams. ‘If they see us landing in a large, gleaming vehicle that travels mysteriously through the air, and then takes off in a burst of rocket-flame – they’re bound to consider us supernatural. That’s elementary barbaric psychology.’
Forase’s eyes seemed on the point of dropping out as Williams continued.
‘Incidentally, what detained you? We figure it was all a hazing of some sort, and it was, wasn’t it?’
‘Say,’ broke in Sefan, ‘I think you’re feeding us a lot of bull! If they thought you people were gods, why didn’t they think we were? We had the ship, too, and – ‘
‘That,’ said Williams, ‘is where we started to interfere. We explained – via pictures and sign language – that you people were devils. When you finally came back – and say, were we glad to see that ship coming down – they knew what to do.’
‘What,’ asked Forase, with a liberal dash of awe in his voice, ‘are ‘devils’?’
Williams sighed. ‘Don’t you Galaxy people know anything? Tubal moved his aching neck slowly. ‘How about letting us up now?’ he rumbled. ‘I’ve got a crick in my neck.’
‘What’s your hurry? After all, you were brought here to be sacrificed in our honor.’
‘Sacrificed!’
‘Sure. You’re to be carved up with knives.’
There was a horror-laden silence. ‘Don’t give us any of that comet-gas!’ Tubal managed to grind out at last. ‘We’re not Earthmen who get panicky or scared, you know.’
