vs Dyaks

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.
THROWING back his head, beating his massive chest with bristling fists, Kong howled his unholy wrath. The stars in the sky seemed to shake in sympathy. The moon actually quaked, but that was a freak effect of the hot atmosphere.
“More! More!” commanded Monyet, bringing his own blowpipe to bear.
He blew a single dart into the lower spine of the monster.
A hairy hand reached back and swatted at the spot in vain.
Monyet sent a second dart into that paw. It flinched. Puzzled, Kong began sucking at the wound. A third missile struck a spot behind the beast’s right knee.
Dart after dart flew out. Men were growing winded. They scattered before the stamping feet. They cowered in trees to escape the clutching monster hands.
Still they puffed whispering death from their ironwood tubes in unremitting streams.
Three warriors, after exhausting their darts, picked up the trio of severed Triceratops horns, which they had carried with them for just this opportunity.
They rushed up behind the monster ape, began worrying its heels with the sharp javelins, which had been slathered with fresh poison. Kong howled, turned. The men rushed around, trying to evade those awful crushing feet.
Kong found one with a hand, flung the warrior screaming into the trees—and certain doom.
The second perished when Kong’s hairy right heel happened to lurch back and inadvertently crushed him. Kong never noticed.
The third ran away, dropping his clumsy tool of death.
Crouching amid the ferns, Monyet’s hoarse voice rolled out.
“Pick up those horns! Strike him again!”
And when only one brave man rushed in, Monyet burst out of concealment and picked up one of the clumsy Triceratops horns.
The sharp thing, going into the beast-god’s right ankle, lodged there.
Monyet kicked it in harder, then fled as Kong stormed about, seeking the source of this new insult to his lordship.
Kong found the base of the stinging annoyance, wrenched it out.
No sooner had he brought it up to his face to examine the thing than another Dyak slashed his other ankle with the remaining horn.
New sounds began issuing from Kong’s mouth. Odd grunts and grimaces. His amber eyes grew strange.
Sensing his vulnerability, but not understanding it, Kong turned toward Skull Mountain, then began to stamp in its direction, his immense shoulders shoulders rocking with his rolling gait.


Doc Savage: Skull Island, Chapter 46