* A Distributed Proofreaders Canada eBook *
This eBook is made available at no cost and with very few
restrictions. These restrictions apply only if (1) you make
a change in the eBook (other than alteration for different
display devices), or (2) you are making commercial use of
the eBook. If either of these conditions applies, please
contact a https://www.fadedpage.com administrator before proceeding.
Thousands more FREE eBooks are available at https://www.fadedpage.com.
This work is in the Canadian public domain, but may be under
copyright in some countries. If you live outside Canada, check your
country’s copyright laws. IF THE BOOK IS UNDER COPYRIGHT
IN YOUR COUNTRY, DO NOT DOWNLOAD OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS FILE.
_Title:_ The Lost Race
_Date of first publication:_ 1927
_Author:_ Robert E Howard
_Date first posted:_ 27th October, 2024
_Date last updated:_ 27th October, 2024
Faded Page eBook #20241012
This eBook was produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net
The LOST RACE
By Robert E. Howard
[Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales January 1927.]
Cororuc glanced about him and hastened his pace. He was no coward, but
he did not like the place. Tall trees rose all about, their sullen
branches shutting out the sunlight. The dim trail led in and out among
them, sometimes skirting the edge of a ravine, where Cororuc could gaze
down at the tree-tops beneath. Occasionally, through a rift in the
forest, he could see away to the forbidding hills that hinted of the
ranges much farther to the west, that were the mountains of Cornwall.
In those mountains the bandit chief, Buruc the Cruel, was supposed to
lurk, to descend upon such victims as might pass that way. Cororuc
shifted his grip on his spear and quickened his step. His haste was
due not only to the menace of the outlaws, but also to the fact that
he wished once more to be in his native land. He had been on a secret
mission to the wild Cornish tribesmen: and though he had been more
or less successful, he was impatient to be out of their inhospitable
country. It had been a long, wearisome trip, and he still had nearly
the whole of Britain to traverse. He threw a glance of aversion about
him. He longed for the pleasant woodlands, with scampering deer, and
chirping birds, to which he was used. He longed for the tall white
cliff, where the blue sea lapped merrily. The forest through which he
was passing seemed uninhabited. There were no birds, no animals; nor
had he seen a sign of a human habitation.
His comrades still lingered at the savage court of the Cornish king,
enjoying his crude hospitality, in no hurry to be away. But Cororuc was
not content. So he had left them to follow at their leisure and had set
out alone.
Rather a fine figure of a man was Cororuc. Some six feet in height,
strongly though leanly built, he was, with gray eyes, a pure Briton but
not a pure Celt, his long yellow hair revealing, in him as in all his
race, a trace of Belgæ.
He was clad in skilfully dressed deerskin, for the Celts had not yet
perfected the coarse cloth which they made, and most of the race
preferred the hides of deer.
He was armed with a long bow of yew wood, made with no especial skill
but an efficient weapon; a long bronze broadsword, with a buckskin
sheath, a long bronze dagger and a small, round shield, rimmed with
a band of bronze and covered with tough buffalo hide. A crude bronze
helmet was on his head. Faint devices were painted in woad on his arms
and cheeks.
His beardless face was of the highest type of Briton, clear,
straightforward, the shrewd, practical determination of the Nordic
mingling with the reckless courage and dreamy artistry of the Celt.
So Cororuc trod the forest path, warily, ready to flee or fight, but
preferring to do neither just then.
The trail led away from the ravine, disappearing around a great tree.
And from the other side of the tree, Cororuc heard sounds of conflict.
Gliding warily forward, and wondering whether he should see some of the
elves and dwarfs that were reputed to haunt those woodlands, he peered
around the great tree.
A few feet from him he saw a strange tableau. Backed against another
tree stood a large wolf, at bay, blood trickling from gashes about his
shoulder; while before him, crouching for a spring, the warrior saw a
great panther. Cororuc wondered at the cause of the battle. Not often
the lords of the forest met in warfare. And he was puzzled by the
snarls of the great cat. Savage, blood-lusting, yet they held a strange
note of fear; and the beast seemed hesitant to spring in.
Just why Cororuc chose to take the part of the wolf, he himself
could not have said. Doubtless it was just the reckless chivalry of
the Celt of him, an admiration for the dauntless attitude of the
wolf against his far more powerful foe. Be that as it may, Cororuc,
characteristically forgetting his bow and taking the more reckless
course, drew his sword and leaped in front of the panther. But he had
no chance to use it. The panther, whose nerve appeared to be already
somewhat shaken, uttered a startled screech and disappeared among the
trees so quickly that Cororuc wondered if he had really seen a panther.
He turned to the wolf, wondering if it would leap upon him. It was
watching him, half crouching; slowly it stepped away from the tree, and
still watching him, backed away a few yards, then turned and made off
with a strange shambling gait. As the warrior watched it vanish into
the forest, an uncanny feeling came over him: he had seen many wolves,
he had hunted them and had been hunted by them, but he had never seen
such a wolf before.
He hesitated and then walked warily after the wolf, following the
tracks that were plainly defined in the soft loam. He did not hasten,
being merely content to follow the tracks. After a short distance, he
stopped short, the hairs on his neck seeming to bristle. _Only the
tracks of the hind feet showed: the wolf was walking erect._
He glanced about him. There was no sound; the forest was silent. He
felt an impulse to turn and put as much territory between him and the
mystery as possible, but his Celtic curiosity would not allow it. He
followed the trail. And then it ceased altogether. Beneath a great
tree the tracks vanished. Cororuc felt the cold sweat on his forehead.
What kind of place was that forest? Was he being led astray and eluded
by some inhuman, supernatural monster of the woodlands, who sought to
ensnare him? And Cororuc backed away, his sword lifted, his courage
not allowing him to run, but greatly desiring to do so. And so he came
again to the tree where he had first seen the wolf. The trail he had
followed led away from it in another direction and Cororuc took it up,
almost running in his haste to get out of the vicinity of a wolf who
walked on two legs and then vanished in the air.
* * * * *
Reader notes
Loading reader notes…