"As good dead as another," muttered h.e.l.lo.

The second encounter was a hugging-match; wherein two warriors, masked in Grisly-bear skins, hugged each other to death.

The third encounter was a b.u.mping-match between a fat warrior and a dwarf. Standing erect, his paunch like a ba.s.s-drum before a drummer, the fat man was run at, head-a-tilt by the dwarf, and sent spinning round on his axis.

The fourth encounter was a tussle between two-score warriors, who all in a ma.s.s, writhed like the limbs in Sebastioni's painting of Hades.

After obscuring themselves in a cloud of dust, these combatants, uninjured, but hugely blowing, drew off; and separately going among the spectators, rehea.r.s.ed their experience of the fray.

"Braggarts!" mumbled Piko.

"Poltroons!" growled h.e.l.lo.

While the crowd were applauding, a sober-sided observer, trying to rub the dust out of his eyes, inquired of an enthusiastic neighbor, "Pray, what was all that about?"

"Fool! saw you not the dust?"

"That I did," said Sober-Sides, again rubbing his eyes, "But I can raise a dust myself."

The fifth encounter was a fight of single sticks between one hundred warriors, fifty on a side.

In a line, the first fifty emerged from the sumachs, their weapons interlocked in a sort of wicker-work. In advance marched a priest, bearing an idol with a cracked cocoanut for a head,--Krako, the G.o.d of Trepans. Preceded by damsels flinging flowers, now came on the second fifty, gayly appareled, weapons poised, and their feet nimbly moving in a martial measure.

Midway meeting, both parties touched poles, then retreated. Very courteous, this; but tantamount to bowing each other out of Mardi; for upon Pike's tossing a javelin, they rushed in, and each striking his man, all fell to the ground.

"Well done!" cried Piko.

"Brave fellows!" cried h.e.l.lo.

"But up and at it again, my heroes!" joined both. "Lo! we kings look on, and there stand the bards!"

These bards were a row of lean, sallow, old men, in thread-bare robes, and chaplets of dead leaves.

"Strike up!" cried Piko.

"A stave!" cried h.e.l.lo.

Whereupon, the old croakers, each with a quinsy, sang thus in cracked strains:--

Quack! Quack! Quack!

With a toorooloo whack; Hack away, merry men, hack away.

Who would not die brave, His ear smote by a stave?

Thwack away, merry men, thwack away!

'Tis glory that calls, To each hero that falls, Hack away, merry men, hack away!

Quack! Quack! Quack!

Quack! Quack!

Quack!

Thus it tapered away.

"Ha, ha!" cried Piko, "how they p.r.i.c.k their ears at that!"

"Hark ye, my invincibles!" cried h.e.l.lo. "That pean is for the slain.

So all ye who have lives left, spring to it! Die and be glorified!

Now's the time!--Strike up again, my ducklings!"

Thus incited, the survivors staggered to their feet; and hammering away at each others' sconces, till they rung like a chime of bells going off with a triple-bob-major, they finally succeeded in immortalizing themselves by quenching their mortalities all round; the bards still singing.

"Never mind your music now," cried Piko.

"It's all over," said h.e.l.lo.

"What valiant fellows we have for subjects," cried Piko.

"Ho! grave-diggers, clear the field," cried h.e.l.lo.

"Who else is for glory?" cried Piko.

"There stand the bards!" cried h.e.l.lo.

But now there rushed among the crowd a haggard figure, trickling with blood, and wearing a robe, whose edges were burned and blacked by fire. Wielding a club, it ran to and fro, with loud yells menacing all.

A noted warrior this; who, distracted at the death of five sons slain in recent games, wandered from valley to valley, wrestling and fighting.

With wild cries of "The Despairer! The Despairer!" the appalled mult.i.tude fled; leaving the two kings frozen on their throne, quaking and quailing, their teeth rattling like dice.

The Despairer strode toward them; when, recovering their senses, they ran; for a time pursued through the woods by the phantom.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII Taji Still Hunted, And Beckoned

Previous to the kings' flight, we had plunged into the neighboring woods; and from thence emerging, entered brakes of cane, sprouting from mora.s.ses. Soon we heard a whirring, as if three startled partridges had taken wing; it proved three feathered arrows, from three unseen hands.

Gracing us, two buried in the ground, but from Taji's arm, the third drew blood.

On all sides round we turned; but none were seen. "Still the avengers follow," said Babbalanja.

"Lo! the damsels three!" cried Yoomy. "Look where they come!"

We joined them by the sumach-wood's red skirts; and there, they waved their cherry stalks, and heavy bloated cactus leaves, their crimson blossoms armed with nettles; and before us flung shining, yellow, tiger-flowers spotted red.

"Blood!" cried Yoomy, starting, "and leopards on your track!"

And now the syrens blew through long reeds, ta.s.seled with their panicles, and waving verdant scarfs of vines, came dancing toward us, proffering cl.u.s.tering grapes.

"For all now yours, Taji; and all that yet may come," cried Yoomy, "fly to me! I will dance away your gloom, and drown it in inebriation."

"Away! woe is its own wine. What may be mine, that will I endure, in its own essence to the quick. Let me feel the poniard if it stabs."