TaJara Again - Chapter 2

Dear Reader: Thank you for selecting this article to read. I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to send me a critique and/or to rate the work. However, please know that this is the first draft and I will be coming back to it as I write more chapters. Feel free to offer any suggestions you might have whether formally through detailed critiques or informally through brief emails. I am always looking for ways to improve this and other items I write and your suggestions will help. Again, I hope you enjoy my effort at writing....Winds


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Chapter 2: TaJara Again

Chapter 2: TaJara Again

Jon sat on a pile of rocks wondering how long he had been there. That this was TaJara, he was certain, though he had no recollection of how he arrived, nor what area it was. The last time he was on this planet was when he was a small child. He needed a plan of action, because this was a harsh and dangerous world, not to mention a difference in the gravity field. He had to get acclimated before he had to defend himself of some danger.

The next question was what would he use as a weapon? Anyone without a sword or at least a large dirk was defenseless. All he had was the shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots he was wearing when the Bakaari transported him.

Looking about, he was sitting on a large pile of boulders on a flat plain. It could have passed for some of the vistas he had grown up with in the American west. It reminded him of the big sky country of Montana and he quickly understood why his father had chosen Montana for his home. Then on the distant horizon he saw a violent dust storm whirling up, but what it was caused by he could only guess. Maybe a violent dusts storm moving across the plains sucking up the dry soil, but there was no sound of thunder or other cataclysmic signs. He would have to wait until it was closer. He decided it probably wasn’t a storm since it seemed to be moving down the trail that passed not thirty feet in front of him. The possibility of a rider occurred, but to create that much dust would require high speed or a group of riders.

He instinctively crouched down behind the rocks on his pile as he thought about the possibility of a group of riders, but it was not a group. Peering out from his vantage point, he watched as a Groadd, the ultimate warrior class, riding a magnificent animal galloping silently by at about 45 mph. The animal was a poda. His father had spoken of this magnificent animal and he was so mesmerized by its appearance, he almost stood up to better see the animal. The poda was cruising comfortably making hardly a sound on his big padded cat-like feet. Larger than a horse, he had some of the horse’s characteristics, but was definitely a member of the cat family.

After they had passed, he came down from his vantage, and his boots, not made for walking, combined with the change in gravity, caused him to stumble. Finding a stick to use as a staff and weapon of sorts, he started off down the road in the direction of the Groadd. Not knowing which direction was best, he was at least following someone native to the planet.

There were two or three major plains on TaJara. Jon assumed this one was Jasoor, the largest. At one time, the plains were rich farmland that grew a major portion of the foodstuffs for the world. But five or six hundred years ago there was a major shift in the weather patterns, plus an over plowing of the land as had occurred on Earth during the dust bowl era. The rains became less frequent and the plains, normally arid, became even drier and whole forests died out as the big farm conglomerates tried to put new land into production. As the land became less productive the great wealth of the plains cities began to dwindle. The wealthy moved to the hill cities, and only the workers, who could not afford to relocate, were left. The once proud and great cities of the plains, that had ruled the world for a thousand years, were reduced to hovels and ghost towns. The remaining inhabitants became the Plains Outlaws who preyed on caravans and others who might have wealth or goods.

The plains were dry and hot, and dust swirled up with the wind even at Jon’s slow pace along the road. The larger sun was high, a thin shape behind the reddish-gray clouds that covered the sky and he wished for a tree, even one of the little scrubby trees on his father’s Montana ranch. But there were no trees on the plains, just miles of seemingly endless horizon. He knew though, if he continued, he would eventually find more pleasant terrain, if he were traveling in the right direction.

Having been born on TaJara, he had an emotional attachment to the land; however, he could remember virtually nothing about it since the last time he was here he was one year old. His father, TaJarean by birth and ancestry, had entered a transport program between TaJara and Earth as a young man. It is a very mysterious project, run by a group of shadowy people known as the Bakaari. No one knows where they reside, or how they do what they do. Some believe they live in the polar mountains of the far north, some think they are on another planet, while still others think they live in a spirit world of sorts.

On reaching the majority age, a male can enter the program by contacting the Bakaari through ESP. No guarantees are made as to when one will transport or how long they will stay in either place. Jon’s father, Terah, had entered the program over the objections of his father and during one such stay on Earth had met Jon’s mother, married her and returned with his new wife to TaJara where Jon was born.

Jon had known nothing of his ancestry until shortly before he reached his majority age, which is about 22 Earth years. As a TaJarean, who had been born on TaJara, he would automatically enter the program from Earth to return to TaJara. His father could no longer transport because, Jon became sick when he was a year old and, his father demanding a transport out of sequence back to Earth for treatment. By so doing, he forfeited his place in the transport program and was permanently barred from transporting again.

Because they knew Jon would be transported one day, his parents laid before him his true ancestry and the details about transporting. At first, he did not accept it but eventually believed his parents and began to learn as much about TaJara as he could. He had his father’s spirit of adventure and looked forward to returning to TaJara and the possibility of seeing his grandparents again, though he did not remember them.

Keeping his pace constant, Jon steadily pushed himself down the road until late in the evening, he saw on the horizon a dark line. As he continued to travel, the line grew larger until he could see it was a forest. As he realized what it was, he quickened his pace, almost running, anxious to get in the cool shade of the forest.

Once there, he refreshed himself with the coolness and splashed in the first stream he found. There were edible nuts and berries to give him energy to continue his journey, and soon with both the suns setting, Jon found a large tree in which he formed a bed on its limbs with smaller branches and leaves to pass the night.

Jon was six feet and 200 plus pounds of muscle, but he knew there were dangers, so he did not sleep well and awoke long before the first sun rose in the northern sky. Surveying the ground below from his high perch to be sure nothing was waiting for him; he cautiously descended to the forest floor and picking a handful of berries, began his journey again.

He had traveled for a couple of hours when he rounded a sharp curve in the road and stopped dead in his tracks. There ahead was the Groadd he had seen the day before. Obviously, the Groadd had passed the night in the forest also and had slowed his pace considerably in order for Jon to catch up with him. Quickly, he stepped back into the brush hoping he has not been seen, but his caution was too little too late. The Groadd, watering his poda, tugged slightly on the rein causing the poda to lift his head from the small stream. He flared his nostrils sniffing the air picking up Jon’s scent, and caught sight of him with his piercing eyes. Staring as if targeting him, he instinctively dropped into a crouch, moving with measured steps. His eyes locked onto the prey, his movements preparatory for a charge that would bring his rider within the correct distance to cleave him from head to toe. Jon froze in his tracks unable to move. Muscles, that were conditioned and agile, refused to obey the chemical nerve signals telling him to run. He remembered his father’ words, “If you meet a Groadd without a sword in your hand, your chance of survival is virtually nil.” It looked as if life on TaJara might be less than a full day’s duration.

The Groadd drew his sword with a sickening hiss, as metal scrapped against metal, and cocked his arm as the poda began to quicken his pace. Jon did not move and wished he had not agreed to transport to TaJara. His feet seemed leaden and though he desperately wanted to run from the Groadd, he feared it was hopeless. As the Groadd drew closer, he leaned out from the saddle to strike, and Jon suddenly found his legs. At the last moment dived out of the way into the brush. The Groadd was overbalanced, leaning far out of his saddle and the poda, going between two great trees, smashed the Groadd’s head against one of the trees. He toppled from the poda’s back and lay in a heap on the ground.

Remembering more of his father’s advice that if given a door of escape, take it, Jon quickly regained his feet and leaped onto the poda without checking to see if the Groadd was alive or dead. He had basic instructions about the poda, so was able to get going quickly. One had to have strength of will to ride them, not unlike the wild mustangs he rode on his father’s ranch. With the command of “hup-hup,” the poda began to trot down the road. The poda sensed this was not his regular rider and turning his head growled at Jon. Using the end of the heavy reigns, Jon struck him across the head and with another growl, he turned back facing the trail. Jon felt a little like the lady from Niger who took a ride on a tiger!

There was a feeling of power sitting on the broad back of the poda as he moved effortless down the dirt road through the forest. It was a little like sitting in an overstuffed rocking chair as he gave course corrections simply by pressing a knee against the side of the animal and an occasional “nah.”

The long legs and large paws of the poda were eating up the miles. Jon’ hopes of finding his native city of Aarn and his grandparents were growing that it would be accomplished within a few days at this pace. With that realization and the absence of any obvious dangers, he began to relax and take in the scenery of the forest with its colorful trees and flowers. There were colors he was not accustomed to seeing on earth, especially in the dry environment of the western United States. There were small animals, many of them winged and flitting from tree to tree in a continual search for food. Ease and the absence of obvious dangers causes a distraction and these surrounding seemed so innocuous that he was on them before he had a chance to stop.

A whole squad of Groadd, patrolling the roads and forest of the empire, were resting their podas. Jon had not known for sure he was even in the Groaddic Empire. Actually, he was not absolute sure where he was since his father’s geography lessons had been confined to maps drawn from memory. TaJareans do not regularly use maps to navigate their world, so one can imagine how accurate the memory drawn maps were.

Before he could rein in the poda, Jon was knocked from his saddle and penned to the ground by the largest broadsword he had ever seen. He dared not move as he could feel the sharp tip against his thin western shirt and noticed blood staining it as the tip cut through the top layer of his skin.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here, Truncheon?” the burley Captain demanded.

“I am Jon of Aarn,” he replied, “And I was deposited here by a wizard. I am trying to get back to Aarn.”

“Where did you get the poda?” he demanded.

“I found him grazing by a stream,” he responded hoping they did not go and find the dead Groadd.

“This is an Empire poda; there is the shield on his flank and the saddle hardware. Maybe you assassinated one of our soldiers and stole this poda,” he charged.

“No, I did not injure your fellow soldier. Do you think that I, without a weapon, would be capable of dispatching a mighty Groadd? Look, I am not dressed in the garb of a soldier. The wizard who deposited me here took away my clothing and dressed me in these strange garments,” said Jon tugging at the clothing to show them how strange it was compared to the average TaJarean.

Just then, one of the other warriors took some papers from the bags on the poda.

“Look, Captain these are official papers of the Empire. They have the official seal and no doubt are important and intended for Gravorek.”

“Give them to me!” snarled the Captain snatching them from the hand of the warrior, “I’ll decide what is important or not. You can’t even read and you think to tell me what is important. Get back over there and guard the prisoner; your job is to obey orders, not tell your superiors what to do!”

He unrolled the papers and walking a few paces away, began to scan the papers. It was doubtful that he could read very much, but he gave the impression he was studying each paper in depth.

The rebuked warrior walked back mumbling under his breath, and Jon decided to seize the opportunity to sympathize with him and possibly develop some friendship with him.

“Officers!” he spat out quietly, “It’s tough being an enlisted man, isn’t it?”

“Don’t give me an excuse, Truncheon!” he shouted at Jon. “I’ll lop your head off if you mess with me!” And shaking his shoulders, he walked a few paces away and glared at Jon.

“Groadds,” thought Jon, “They all seem to be very unhappy and the lower they are the more unhappy they seem.”

Returning to the group the Captain announced that Jon was a spy and would be taken to Gravorek to the Emperor. Trussed up, he was thrown behind one of the warriors, and with the extra poda in tow, they headed off toward Gravorek.

Riding behind the warrior, Jon got a lesson is how well the Groadd could ride their mounts. None of them held a rein, but let them hang across the saddle and guided them with knee pressure and verbal commands. There were a lot more verbal commands than his father had indicated. It is possible the Groadd had more than the Truncheons. His father had said the Groadd were not much higher than animals themselves and they though like an animal. Probably had a mental connection with lower creatures like the poda.

Despite the situation he was in, Jon continued to be fascinated by his surroundings. The topography had been rolling hills through most of the forest, but as they progressed, the hills became higher and sharper until they were in some foothills of a mountain range. Suddenly they burst from the forest and stood on a plateau overlooking a delta with the most beautiful river he had seen. It was emerald green with thick growth along both sides and was at least a mile wide. Jutting out of the river stood a vertical rock of black granite about a fourth of the river’s width from the near bank. This was Gravorek he was sure as his father had described it and assured him when he saw it he would know it, because there was none other anywhere on TaJara. The squad paused on the plateau and took in the panorama below, though Jon was not sure if they stopped for their enjoyment or to impress him with their capital city.

Gravorek was first the capital city of the Truncheon Empire when a single TuJaha ruled them. The city was built, carved from this solid piece of granite that stood 2000+ feet high with elevators rising up through the center capable of lifting a full warrior group along with their podas and equipment. The top of the city was about one by five miles in area, with buildings and houses being multiple stories high as well as deep into the rock. Its original name was Ki Tujahixar, meaning “City of the Throne” but through common usage became Ki TuJar. After they developed into a more stable and less nomadic race of people, the Groadd eventually captured the city by crawling through construction tunnels for four days to reach the top and defeat the Truncheon Army guarding the city.

As the squad paused to look over the delta and river below, Jon’s heart swelled at his homeland and the accomplishments his people had made. He also vowed that the city of Ki TuJar would be returned to the people who had created it over 5000 years ago.

At the command of the Captain, the squad started the winding trail down to the valley floor and once there, crossed the half-mile of delta to the bridge leading out to Gravorek. The gatekeeper seeing the approaching squad of Groadd lifted the barrier without a challenge, and let them pass across the massive stone and wooden bridge into the base of the rock.

It had looked huge from the plateau, but now riding into the base, it was absolutely gargantuan. Their little band of soldiers seemed tiny compared to the huge opening carved into the rock.

As they approached the elevator, men opened the gates to the massive elevator to let them enter. Once onboard, four men manned the winches that pulled the elevator to the top. A system of counter balances permitted a man on the windless to hoist them, a journey which took about 45 minutes to complete.

At the top, they were disgorged from the elevator one level below the street and walked up a zigzag ramp to the street. What greeted his eyes was almost unbelievable; broad streets and ornate buildings filled with Groaddic civilians and military interspersed with Truncheon servants.

Jon was first taken to the military command, a rather small office that was non-descript like all military facilities. There he was handed off to a ranking officer and after a short conversation with the captain, he and the papers were escorted to an ornate building Jon assumed was either the residence or the offices of the TuJaha.

Ushered into a large room, the TuJaha sat on an ornate chair with several others standing around him. The room had changed little since the Groadd had taken over the city, and had large gold gilded panels alternately spaced with rich tapestries sewn with gold, silver, and colored threads forming beautifully rich colorful designs. They still had statues sculpted by Truncheon artisans of Truncheon warriors and dignitaries. Groadds were not much on the arts, being a more coarse and cold natured people group. To them, everything was a nail and they tended to use brute force as solutions.

“Sire,” the officer began, “We have captured this Truncheon along with these important papers and have brought them to you for your disposition.”

“Papers, huh,” he responded taking the documents and looking them over. “A coup! What of this Truncheon with these papers? No one should see these except high imperial officials. Who entrusted these to a Truncheon to bring! I’ll have that man’s head!”

“Oh, no, sire,” the officer stated, “He was captured riding the poda in which the papers were found.”

“Riding the poda? He was given not only important papers but an imperial poda, too?” he asked shocked that this could happen.

“No sir,” the officer said.

“Well then, what was he doing riding an Imperial poda? And with official Imperial papers, no less?”

“I was,” Jon started to say.

“Silence, Truncheon!” shouted the TuJaha, “I’m not speaking to you! Now Commander, what about this business?”

“We do not know, Your Highness. He says he found the poda and took it without knowing it was an official poda,” he declared.

“Took it without knowing? How preposterous. It has the Imperial mark on the beast, and on the rigging, not to mention this official seal of the kingdom on these papers. How could you not know it belonged to me? There is a severe punishment for someone who takes what belongs to me and my empire,” he warned, wagging his finger in the air. “What do you now say, Truncheon?”

“Sire,” Jon began not wanting to antagonize the head of the Groaddic Empire, “When I found the poda, I had been bewitched by a wizard and deposited on the Plain of Jasoor and was attempting to return to my grandfather’s house in the north. I did not look at the markings nor did I look in the saddlebags to see what was there. I am just a young boy wanting to return to my grandfather’s house. I have no mother or father, brother or sister on this world. Only my ancient grandfather who lives in the north.”

“A young boy, hup!” the TuJaha exclaimed, “More like a young warrior! Are you a spy trying to learn about our weaknesses?”

“Oh, no, sire. I do not even own a sword or knife. I have nothing. I am but a poor peasant and I beg of you to permit me to continue my journey so my grandfather is not left without a strong back to help him in his old age,” pleaded Jon.

Turning back to the officer, the TuJaha instructed, “Commander, instruct your commanding officer to meet with the war council within the hour. Now hurry, we have urgent business to conduct!”

“Sire, what are we to do with this Truncheon?” he asked.

“Oh…throw him in the dungeon. We need more labor,” he said gesturing.

And with a wave of the TuJaha’s hand Jon was cast into the dungeon. The city in which he was incarcerated was the gem of all the cities on the planet, and at the same time the dungeons are probably the worst and harshest on the entire planet. By in large, dungeons were all the same, a large hole dug into the ground with bars over the top in which prisoners were cast. Usually there were several levels one on top of the others so the lower you were, the worst the conditions because human waste from the upper dropped into the next level and the next until the bottom, usually 4 or 5 levels down became a cesspool. Likewise, food was dropped into the top and those on top usually got most of it. What was missed dropped to the second and so on so that the bottom got very little. Jon was on the third level, not the worst, but certainly not the best.

The next day, guards came to get men from the dungeon to work in the city. That usually meant in the sewers or other dangerous work. The sewers meant opening drainpipes that had been plugged by whatever had fallen into the sewers, such as wood, vegetation or other material. Sometimes it was a dead animal or on occasion a dead person since the Groadd seldom buried their dead. Whatever it was it always involved wading through filthy water that contained human waste and rotting material. Jon did not know all this, still he volunteered and found that after completing the work, he was allowed to wash off in cleaner water and if the work was on or near a private residence, the lady of the house often gave him food. Albeit food that was often beginning to spoil, it was better than what was dropped into the dungeon.

Many of the other prisoners thought he was crazy working for the Groadd and some even though him to be a traitor for aiding them, but after a month or two, he was much stronger than they because he got sunlight, fresh air, exercise and often better food, not to mention the baths. Still the daily grind of being in the dungeon was burdensome, but on the third month, he was moved to the top level. There, he met BaRak, teacher of history and culture.

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It happened that BaRak was from the city of Euodar in the Aarn Confederation. He had first been a teacher at the university in that city and later moved to the city of Aarn as the teacher of history and culture in the War College. Because he was a teacher in the War College, he was also an officer in the army, and knew who Beyra, Jon’s grandfather, was. BaRak was captured when he had gone with a squad warriors on a mission. He had gone because he thought it would be fun and after capture, was thrown in prison and eventually was brought to Gravorek. He had been in the dungeons for three years.

Jon took an immediate liking to BaRak. He was a big guy with size and musculature that belied the fact that he was also a brilliant scholar. In him was also the opportunity to improve his knowledge of his home world and spent lots of time discussing the history and culture of TaJara. In return, Jon convinced BaRak to volunteer for work each day to keep his body strong and healthy, and together they slogged through sewers and such that were far from pleasant.

But these discussions were not a one way street. BaRak was also interested in life on earth and often would ask questions like, “What is life like on Earth? Are there duels and sword fighting? Are there great walled cities like here on TaJara?”

That would prime the pump for long discussions of how Jon had lived on earth, his father’s ranch, athletics and warfare on earth. So different from life on TaJara, but with all the greater scientific and technological advanced on earth, BaRak would always concluded that he did not want to live on Earth because it was far too dangerous.

When someone volunteered for a prison work detail they did not know what the task was to be and one day for their assignment, Jon and BaRak were taken to a wall of the city, given a hundred-fifty feet of rope and told to repair the wall. Jon had spent some time climbing rocks, usually looking for animals, and while 2000 feet was far higher than he had ever climbed, not to mentions the sheerness of the wall, he had at least some experience. BaRak, on the other hand, was petrified at the very thought of swinging out over the side of the rock.

“Jon,” BaRak whispered, “This is crazy! We’re over 2000 feet up! I can’t do this!”

“Look, BaRak,” Jon answered quietly trying to calm him, “It’s not as bad as you think. Once you get over the initial fear, you’ll be OK. I’ve done this and it’s always the same, huge fear when I first step out, but once I have acted and see the ropes are going to hold me, then it’s OK and even becomes fun. BaRak, action is the cure for your fears. If you stand here and dread it, you will become more fearful and will be unable to get out there. To refuse will bring severe punishment. But, if you go ahead and do it, the fear will fade. Besides, I’m going to rig a saddle swing for you and me. It will hold us in the rope more securely.”

“I don’t know, Jon,” he started, but was cut off by the guard.

“What’s taking you so long?” he said gruffly pulling his sword from his scabbard as if to intimidate them.

“Just finishing our rigging,” Jon shouted back.

“Well, be quick about it! I don’t have all day to sit around and wait on you two Truncheons! Get a move so I can get back to the barracks.”

Get back to the barracks, yeah, Jon thought, so he could lie around and gamble.

“BaRak,” Jon said sternly in a quiet voice, “You do not have a choice now. If we don’t get a move, that guard is gonna club you upside the head and you will be thrown into the bottom level to starve.”

BaRak knew Jon was right. He didn’t have a choice, but still he was dreading it. In the meantime, Jon had been tying a rigging for them in which a rope ran around the waist; a second loop was lower under the butt, then a third between the legs that cinched up the whole saddle tightly. Once Jon had completed his knots, BaRak felt a little better.

Their assignment was to go down about sixty feet, drill holes in the rock face where cracks had developed and install huge lag bolts and metal straps across the cracks.

Finally they were ready to go over the edge and though BaRak was still extremely fearful, Jon asked the guard where to tie off.

“See that metal plate? Under it is a metal ring,” he grunted.

Jon tied their ropes to the same ring and put double knots to give BaRak a little more confidence.

Over the edge, Jon said, “BaRak, it’s going to be OK. On Earth, we called this device a ‘butterfly.’ Release it and you go down. Squeeze it to stop. When you get where you want to be, you can lock it off and it will hold you.”

“You better be right, cause if this thing let’s me fall, I’m gonna kill you,” he laughed with mock humor.

Before they started down, Jon took the tail of BaRak’s rope and tied it to his saddle rigging.

“This is the fail-safe just in case you should fall,” said Jon.

“First, you tell me this rope is fool proof; now you’re giving me crash instructions,” he said. “I’m getting a little edgy again.”

Once BaRak became more comfortable and trusting of his ropes and ability, they began to repel further with each jump and soon had reached the work location. After about an hour, they took a break and leaned back on their ropes. They had a beautiful view of the river and delta from their vantage. Then without warning BaRak’s rope released from the top. Instinctively Jon grabbed the end of BaRak’s rope that was tied to his rigging and passed a second loop around his rope and prepared for the inevitable jerk that would come when BaRak reached his rope’s end. His rope should be strong enough to hold both he and BaRak, but without knowing why BaRak’s rope had given way, he was concerned and silently prayed his rope did not give away, too. He watched as BaRak fell, wildly flailing arms and legs, grabbing at the air as if trying to swim.

Suddenly, BaRak hit the end and Jon felt the sudden jerk on his saddle rigging, but it held. Looking down, he saw BaRak jerked against the wall then back upward 10-15 feet, to fall again and repeat the process each time going up a lesser distance. Finally the jerking stopped and he could see BaRak hanging limp in his saddle rigging.

Jon took a spare locking device from his pouch and clamped BaRak’s rope on to his above the saddle rigging, then he cut BaRak’s rope from his rigging he climbed down to the end of his rope. Then he switched over to BaRak’s and climbed the remaining 40-50 feet to reach him.

BaRak was alive, but out cold; he needed to get him off the rope so he could determine the extent of his injuries. A cave was about fifteen feet above and five to ten feet over from their rope. Climbing back up, Jon was able swing over to the ledge, and pull BaRak up.

With BaRak on the ledge, he unhooked their saddle riggings and tucked the end of the rope in a crevice so as not to lose it. His breathing and heart rate was normal, so he pulled him into the mouth of the cave to allow him to wake up while he inspected the cave. There were tool marks on the doorway and his hopes rose that this might be an original tunnel that would lead to the base of the rock. As his eyes adjusted to the reduced light in the cave, he saw a corridor into the rock and in the walls were what appeared to be torches. They smelled of a chemical that seemed to be a kind of petroleum base. Taking BaRak’s flint rocks from his pouch, he sparked them against the wick and it ignited burning brightly. From this main corridor others branched off, some with rooms and others leading to different corridors and stairways. As he walked along, he noticed drawings and carvings on the walls much like Egyptian hieroglyphics.

When he retuned to the mouth of the cave, BaRak was sitting against a wall rubbing his head.

“How do you feel?” Jon asked.

“My head hurts and shoulder is sore. What happened? Where are we?” BaRak asked.

“We’re in a cave cut into the side of the rock. Do you remember what happened?” Jon asked.

“I remember something,” BaRak said, grimacing in pain, “I remember on…uh, a rope and something about falling, but it’s all fuzzy.”

“Your rope broke or was cut. Maybe a sharp rock cut it or maybe that guard cut it. Anyway, you fell and it’s a good thing I had tied your rope to mine. When I reached you, you were out cold and I got you to this cave. I am hoping there might be a tunnel that will get us off the rock.”

“I gotta get my head clear,” said BaRak. “I wonder what time is it?”

“Must be about mid-day. We are on the north side of the rock so the larger sun has already passed over and the clouds are too thick to see the smaller sun.”

“How long was that job suppose to take?”

“The guard said he would see us at mid-day, so…” said Jon as he stopped in mid sentence and dashed for the door.

“What’s the matter?” asked BaRak as Jon returned. “You look as if you just lost everything.”

“I have, BaRak,” he said, “The rope is gone. The rope that was our way back up to the top! The guard must have come back and seeing only one rope pulled it up! It’s gone!