The Golden Claws of Raa by John Peter Drummond

Book Details

Ki-Gor, blond-haired jungle lord and his friends, Masai chief Tembu George and pygmy chief N’Geeso, as well as his flame-haired wife Helene, face some of the most feared beasts of the jungle – an army of gorillas in the service of slave traders!

Sam Slaker, cobra-eyed merchant in warrior-flesh; Mog, the gorilla with human blood on his dagger-like teeth; Raa, golden queen of the ape legions —these were Ki-Gor’s enemies in a battle that only the voodoo of Destiny could decide.

The Golden Claws of Raa  is a twelve chapter novel from 1948.

John Peter Drummond was a “house name” for the Jungle Stories magazine.

The Golden Claws of Raa has 23 illustrations.

Files:

1. goldenClawsRaa.epub

The Golden Claws of Raa is also available on Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com.

Excerpt: The Golden Claws of Raa

Chapter I

THE woman was dead.

Her small, coffee-colored body lay crumpled in an attitude of prayer, her forehead pressed against the base of a tree, her hands gripping the bark.

Across the pygmy woman’s naked back a whip had torn deep, ugly gashes. But the gaping wound between her shoulder blades told that a sudden, vicious spear thrust had ended her torture.

Ki-Gor, White Lord of the Jungle, leaned over the dead pygmy, traced a slow, accusing finger over the inch-wide circle of flesh rubbed raw about the woman’s neck.

No spoken word was needed for the Masai warriors clustered about the body to understand Ki-Gor’s meaning. That raw circle was the grim mark of a slaver’s iron neckband. Chained neck to neck in single file, slaves can be driven like helpless cattle.

The huge, bull-chested Masai chieftain, Tembu George, drew a slow, deep breath, looked from the woman to the warriors about him. He spoke to his men, but his words were a promise to Ki-Gor.

“This small one will be avenged,” he rumbled. “This evil done to the people of my blood-brother, N’Geeso, is an evil done to the Masai.”

Ki-Gor stood up, his face grown harsh.

Even among the tall, powerfully-built Masai, the great-thewed White Lord was a commanding figure. He wore only a leopard-skin breech-clout caught tight about his lean, hard loins. With a toss of his head, he threw his blonde mane of hair back out of smouldering grey eyes. His right hand twisted with restless strength along the shaft of his war spear.

“Aye!” he said with ominous softness. “She will be avenged!” But though a thousand die, this small one will never know her father’s hut again.” His lips twisted with swift bitterness. “Will the jungle never be rid of these human jackals ?”

Tembu George motioned to two of his men. They quietly lifted the corpse, carried it off into the jungle to be covered with stones.

Ten yards away, the White Lord’s mate, Helene, watched with troubled eyes as the two Masai carried their pitiful burden from view. After an absence of two moons arbitrating differences between the Kamizuli and the Bambala, the looked-for happiness of their return to their home in the pygmy lands immediately was shattered.

The fact that the woman was being buried instead of taken to the pygmy kraal told Helene Ki-Gor judged he could overtake the killers.

She ran to the White Lord, saying anxiously, ”With only twenty-five Masai, it would be suicide to attack armed slave-traders!”

Her slim fingers caught pleadingly at Ki-Gor’s arm. The sun reached through the ceiling of branches above to strike glints of fire from her long, red hair. The lithe, curved beauty of this woman was a legend endlessly related wherever men gathered in the jungle.

Ki-Gor’s grey eyes softened. “There are chances one must sometimes take,” he said gravely. “It would take a sun to reach the pygmy kraal, another sun to return here with N’Geeso and his warriors.”

“And if we give those aasvoels two suns lead, we’ll never find them,” added the deep-voiced Tembu George. “For all we know, N’Geeso may be one of those taken by the raiders!”

“But what if . . .?” began Helene, thinking of what could happen to her mate. Then abruptly she stopped, biting her soft, full underlip. Her fingers tightened on Ki-Gor’s muscled forearm. “Of course!” she said. “It’s the only thing to do.” And her voice was steady, utterly sincere.

WHAT other way could there be for a man such as her mate? That was the thought that stopped her even as the sick gnaw of worry caught her heart. He was the “jungle protector” to the black men, regarded almost as a god by half-a-hundred tribes, beloved and trusted by those who walked the paths of peace and justice, fanatically feared and hated by those who followed the ways of evil and injustice.

“Their spoor is fresh,” said Ki-Gor. “Perhaps we can overtake them by nightfall.”

Tembu George grinned savagely. “They knew you were busy elsewhere. This raid is some coward’s cruel way of getting back at you. No slaver really wants pygmy slaves.”

“Wah!” rasped Ki-Gor in agreement. “It’s like caging wild birds. They quickly die, and the most brutal master can’t make them submit.”

The two warriors returned from the bush. Sweat gleamed on their stern faces. They recovered their spears, stood staring down the path. There was no doubting their desire to come to grips as soon as possible with the slavers.

“I’ll go ahead by the tree-paths,” Ki-Gor told Tembu George, “learn their strength and work out a plan of attack. Their spoor will be easy for you to follow.”

He handed the Masai chieftain his spear. His bow and quiver of arrows he could carry on his back without difficulty, but the spear would hamper his movements in the trees.

Excerpt From: John Peter Drummond. “The Golden Claws of Raa.”