Desperately, you start to scramble up the face of the cliff, dirt and rocks crumbling under your grip. The adrenaline rushing through your veins boosts you to twenty feet above ground level before you know it. A snarling black panther bursts from the bushes and leaps at your feet, but misses you by a good three feet. Trying not to look down and ignoring the sick, dizzy feeling in the pit of your stomach, you scramble faster and soon make it to the top, not without several narrow shaves. You hoist yourself over the edge and collapse dizzily on the soft grass. Looking up, you find the assorted swords and spears of at least ten savage figures pointed threateningly at you. Someone yells in a language you can't understand. The men are all dressed in rough skins, with trinkets of stone or metal dangling from their necks and belts, and they are painted like American Indians preparing for war, with dark skin and black eyes. None of them have any hair, but weird patterns are painted onto their scalps. One of them roughly binds your wrists with leather straps and hoists you over his shoulders. Weak and confused, you make no resistance as they haul you over to their caravan of long-haired, wooly animals like llamas. Your captor seats you unceremoniously on the back of one of these beasts and with incomprehensible shouting and yelling, the whole caravan begins to move.