Anjani the Mighty. John Russell Fearn
some amazement.
“If he keeps his promise—and only death would stop him—yes.”
Despite the distance already covered and the flogging heat, Rita began to move more swiftly and in another thirty minutes the rock had been gained. Beyond it stretched desert, and beyond that again the wilderness of the mighty jungle.
“Apparently,” Crespin said dryly, looking around him, “your white friend has forgotten his date, Mrs. Perrivale—”
He broke off, his hand flying to his gun. The men around him also whipped out their weapons and stood tensed and ready. Rita put her hand on the revolver strapped to her waist and then smiled.
Emerging from the cover of the rocks near the dominant ‘Y’ spur there came a party of ebon-skinned warriors, spears in their hands. But they carried them in an entirely unwarlike fashion, some of them even laid across one shoulder in rifle-style. There were perhaps twenty of them, magnificently muscled, but even so they fell short by several inches of the stature of the white man who came up behind them.
Blankly the members of the yacht’s crew stared at him, then mechanically put their guns back in their holsters. He stood a good six-feet-four, with muscle-packed chest and shoulders. Physical strength radiated from every movement he made—yet it was not strength at the expense of looks or intelligence. He was ruggedly handsome, thick blond hair tied back from his powerful features with a thong. Except for a leopard skin loincloth, in which a knife was thrust, he was naked and unarmed, his skin burned to the colour of a Barcelona nut from constant exposure to the African outdoors.
“Anjani!” Rita whispered, scarcely believing. “Anjani, you kept your promise!”
She hurried forward and the sailors watched in grave interest as the giant swept her from her feet in his great hands, kissed her gently, then set her down again.
“Rita,” he murmured, smiling, his blue eyes bright, “it has been many moons—too many. I have waited, and waited, but do you not think I speak English well now?”
Rita looked at him in amazement. “Well? Why, it’s—it’s uncanny! I gave you the rudiments, I know, but those alone couldn’t account for the way you speak now.”
“I found a white man,” he explained simply. “He was ill—near death. He had sought solitude in the jungle and I came on him by accident. He taught me—all day. Every day.… Now he is dead.”
“Which makes it so much easier for us to talk,” Rita said. Then she returned to the business on hand, and pointed. “Those two ships in the distance are mine, the big one to carry the Akada treasure. These men belong to your tribe, I suppose?”
“Yes. All we have to do now is trek to Akada.”
“But not tonight! I have done a lot of walking and I’m tired. The men here have all the equipment for a camp.”
“Of course,” Anjani smiled. “I never shall remember that you have not my strength and endurance.”
“Well, I should think not!” First Mate Crespin exclaimed. Then be held out his hand, “Glad to know you, Anjani. Mrs. Perrivale has told all of us a good deal about you.”
Anjani returned the handshake, and then turned to the black warriors of the Untani gathered around him.
“Help these men prepare camp,” he ordered, in their own tongue, and without hesitation they obeyed.
They were in the midst of it when the last rays of the sun vanished and the quick tropical night descended. Whilst the camp preparations were going ahead, Rita took Anjani on one side in the misty starlight,
“Have you thought any more about my suggestion that you should come to civilization and establish your real identity?” she asked.
“Yes.” Anjani was silent for a while, a massive silhouette against the stars as he sat beside the girl. “For the sake of being near you, Rita, I would willingly come to civilization—but it is not as simple as that. My twin, Tocoto, is still abroad somewhere, and with the jewel of Akada in his possession he can gain mastery over everyone in the jungle. He can do that because the natives are naturally superstitious, and Tocoto is wily enough to know it.”
“But what does it matter if he does gain the mastery of the tribes? It won’t concern you if you are in civilization, will it?”
“All the tribes include my own, the Untani,” Anjani answered. “I cannot allow them to be ruled by Tocoto. I must stay until he is vanquished. I have tried to locate him, but it would have taken too long to do it properly, so I returned here with the Untani warriors to await your return.”
After a brief silence Rita said, “In a matter of a month, at the longest, I shall be on my way back to England with the tramp steamer loaded. It will seem a pretty empty accomplishment without you beside me. You have no way of dealing with Tocoto in that time and making yourself free to come back with me? It won’t be for all time, of course. We’ll often come back to Africa to collect more treasure. I don’t expect to be able to remove everything at one journey.”
Anjani did not reply. Apparently he was thinking out the matter.
“I think I have a clue as to your identity,” Rita continued. “When I returned to England I had a detective agency at work tracing an expedition to Africa some twenty years ago. Without going into the details they finally unearthed the fact that a Mark Hardnell and his wife, Ruth, left Zanzibar for the interior about twenty years ago. The woman had been warned by a doctor in Zanzibar not to make the trip, as she was due shortly to have a child. There the story ends—but my guess is that twins were born, and that you and Tocoto are those twins. Since that expedition was the only one about that time, it seems to tie up.”
“Mmmm,” Anjani responded, apparently not very interested. “I have made my own life, Rita. How it began does not signify—though possibly you are right. Maybe the parents of Tocoto and myself were overtaken by savage tribes and killed, whilst we survived. What does—?”
Anjani broke off, his animal senses suddenly alert. He turned his head sharply and looked into the waste of darkness that was the desert. His hand dropped to his knife.
“What’s the matter?” Rita asked in surprise, looking about her.
“I heard sounds, not of the night.”
Anjani rose to his feet and stood tensed, like a gigantic statue, Rita still lounging at his feet. Then she gasped in surprise as the—to her—inaudible noise Anjani had detected abruptly took shape in a chorus of war-like yells. Out of the darkness from amidst the scattered rocks at the edge of the desert black figures came hurtling, spears upraised.
“We’re being attacked!” Rita shouted hoarsely, clutching hold of Anjani’s arm. “A savage tribe from somewhere.…”
Anjani hardly needed telling. He flung her down quickly on her face so that the suddenly hurtling spears were not likely to strike her. Chaos hit the camp as, completely outnumbered, the Untani warriors and the yacht’s crew fought frantically with the oncoming hordes. It seemed pretty obvious they had been concealed behind the rocks, watching their chance.
Anjani crouched, swaying his body from side to side to dodge the spears that hurtled towards him, and so perfectly coordinated were his actions, and so keen his night-sight, he escaped harm. Then he leapt into action as the Untani and ship’s crew battled savagely, guns exploding and spears whizzing through the darkness.
Leaping suddenly, Anjani brought down the nearest black and drove his knife clean through the warrior’s jugular. In an instant he was up again, slamming a steel-hard fist straight into the face of the tribesman bearing down on the recumbent Rita. The native staggered backwards, his neck broken with the terrific impact of the blow.
So far Anjani got, then he realised he had been seized from behind, a forearm under his chin and vice-like fingers striving to tear the knife from his grip. It only took Anjani a moment to discover that his attacker was white, and about the same size as himself.
“Tocoto!”