dart piercing

Below, Monyet was screaming orders.“Darts! Darts! Feather him with darts!”
Dropping their useless swords and spears, a dozen Dyaks began loading their blowpipes with the lethal darts that were long needles of bamboo.
The first volley shot up, peppering Kong’s massive lower legs. It was as if the hairy calves had suddenly sprouted quills.
Swiping down, Kong brushed at the source of the scorpion-like stings. Knocking some loose caused momentary pain.
Plucking a splinter out between two fingers, Kong looked at the pathetic feathered thing. If he expected the feathers to twitch or flutter with life, he was mistaken. Dropping the dart, Kong rotated his brutish head toward the source of the stinging wave.
Another wave whispered upward. More pinpricks stabbed his legs—in the back this time.
Kong roared. The throaty howl was one of annoyance.
Dyaks were sneaking up from behind, blowpipes balanced in cupped hands, mouthpieces pressed to their lips. They let fly. Quills sprouted amid bristling fur. Turning at the waist, Kong gave out a sharp bark of surprise.
More Dyaks began climbing trees, endeavoring to obtain the advantage of height.
Once up in the sheltering boughs, they began raining darts upon his hair-tangled chest. Others aimed at his broad face.
A giant hand groped out, found a blowpipe tube, and pulled it out of the owner’s hands. The latter toppled from the trees, breaking his spine on the gnarled roots of its base.
Bending, Kong brought his furry fist down upon the tiny helpless human. Bones crunched. The fist lifted. Kong noticed something sticking to his hand. He peeled off the flat thing that had been a man, flung it away disdainfully.
More darts came. Dozens of them. Snarling, Kong batted at the climbing waves, like a man beset by a cloud of stinging hornets.
His forearm became quivered with the tiny things. Kong smacked at forearms, breaking the splinters, inadvertently driving the dart-points deeper into his flesh.
Their poison, although invariably fatal, was insufficiently powerful to fell the black behemoth.
But as wave after wave arrived to replace the plucked thorns, the accumulation of poisoned points began to seep into his raging system.


Doc Savage: Skull Island, Chapter 46