The creature rose again, made a horrible sound, then fell sideways; its enormous head fell off at the neck, and there was Zartan’s comrade, covered with blood, flashing his blade and laughing.
“Past that first fangled row of gnashing teeth, there’s not much to a sithic,” he said, for that was what the animal was called that he had just dispatched. “The way to battle one is to hurdle its weapons and take it from the inside. Remember that, Zartan, for I’m sure we’ll see more sithics before our adventure is done.”
Zartan nodded, wondering if he would be up the task.
“If you don’t mind helping, the teeth are worth harvesting,” Bo added, “though the meat is practically inedible.”
The two men set about the task of freeing the creature of its daggers, any one of which would have been enough to impale a man. While they worked, Bo related several hair-raising stories of his past encounters with sithics, the first of which had occurred when he was a child.
“My father picked me up and hurled me into its gullet,” he said with an uproarious laugh. “It took me nearly an hour to carve my way out of its underbelly.”
Meanwhile Bob flitted back and forth between the carcass and the tops of trees, muttering to himself that it was a bad place, that no good could come of this expedition, and that he was hungry. Bob, as mystified by the vegetation as Zartan, didn’t know what to eat and was afraid to taste anything.
“If you can follow this one to the top, you’ll find a delicious fruit,” Bo told him, pointing out a tree. “It’s safe for humans, and I reckon no less for fowl. If you don’t mind, sir, bring down three!”
Bob disappeared into the top branches, and a while later a green pod the size of a pumpkin squash plummeted to the ground and burst open. It was joined by two more, and soon all three friends were feasting upon its whitish interior, which was meaty and sweet and unlike anything Zartan had ever eaten.
“So how do you like my homeland?” Bo asked with a grin.
“I’ve been here an hour, and already I’ve narrowly escaped being devoured by an ungodly creature,” said Zartan. “I guess it’s all right.”
Bo laughed. “It’s a rare day when you don’t encounter a sithic, or much worse!” he promised.
Zartan laughed to prevent Bo from seeing his true feelings of dread and wonder: there were things much worse than sithics?
The two men headed back for the encampment, Bob now riding on Zartan’s shoulder. He had stopped maligning the land of Pellucidar outright, somewhat sated by lunch, though he still made whimpering sounds of disapproval.
Zartan was surprised when they emerged from the woods into blazing sunlight, for it had been the same when they’d first arrived, and he expected longer shadows and the relief of evening.
“It’s always noon here,” Bo reminded him. “The sun doesn’t rise or set, but floats in the middle of our world at every moment. It becomes a trick to measure time, but most of Pellucidar has no reason to do so. It is always noon, and thus it is always time for lunch, from the lowest toad to the largest tandor.”
Though the day had not changed, there was still evidence that time had passed, and more than either of the men had reckoned, for their party had moved on.