Free Into the Thinking Kingdoms by Alan Dean Foster

the tiny bottle, however, must have been somewhat stronger than attar of roses or essence of myrrh.
    As bin Grue’s disciples poured in, Ahlitah’s nostrils flared wide enough to accommodate a pair of ripened mangoes. Startlingly yellow eyes burst open, a snort louder and higher than that of a breaching whale rolled through the storeroom, and the big cat leaped straight up until its black-maned head banged against the top of the cage. Startled by this sight, the first men into the chamber were brought up short.
    The trader harried them onward. “It’s only a cat safely secured in a cage. Where is your manhood? Get them!” He thrust an accusing hand at the pair of intruders.
    With an invigorated roar that must have been heard aboard sailing ships well out to sea, the black litah whirled within the trap, parted its mighty jaws, and bit down on both latch and attached padlock. Caught within that single massive bite, the lock exploded, sending bits of tumbler and spring and pin flying in multiple directions. As Simna warded off blows from two assailants simultaneously and Ehomba blocked a lance thrust with his spear, the litah pressed its huge skull against the door of its cage and snapped it open.
    “Get them, quickly—kill them both!” bin Grue was shouting with mounting concern.
    His servitors were no longer listening. No amount of guaranteed remuneration or personal loyalty could compel any man to face the raging quarter-ton Ahlitah. Freed from its stoned slumber, the cat was not only ablaze with a desire for revenge, he was hungry.
    Bin Grue was courageous and even fearless, but he was not stupid. Beating a retreat back through the doorway, he vowed to regain possession of the emancipated feline and extract a measure of retribution from its liberators. Between the energized roars of the litah and the screams of men trying to get out of its way, the merchant’s audacious affiances went unheard.
    The storeroom emptied in less than a minute. The litah would have settled down to eat, but Ehomba was at its side, fingers tugging on the thick mane. “We need to leave. The man who abducted you is no coward. He will try again.”
    “Let him,” snapped Ahlitah, one massive forepaw resting on the back of an unfortunate fighter who had been too slow in fleeing. “I’ll deal with any humans who come back.”
    “We don’t want trouble with the city authorities.” Breathing hard and still watching the back door, Simna stood on the cat’s other side. “If I were bin Grue, that would be my next step. Try to inveigle the local law into helping by telling them that there’s a dangerous, crazed animal on the loose in a populated area. A threat to the general citizenry.”
    “I’m no threat to anyone but that muck master.”
    “You know that, and I know that, and Etjole knows it too, but it’s been my experience that nervous humans tend to throw arrows and other sharp objects at large carnivores long before they’ll sit down to discuss events calmly and rationally with them.”
    “Simna is right.” Straightening, Ehomba prepared to depart, spear in hand. He had restoppered the diminutive phial and replaced it in his pack. “We need to go.”
    Still the furious predator hesitated. Then it turned and, with a parting snarl, followed the two men toward the front doorway. But not before pausing several times along the way to spray the interior of the storeroom with essence of large male cat, thereby ruining for good a succession of exceptionally rare and valuable commodities.
    No one was waiting for them out in the street and there was no confrontation as they raced not back toward the waterfront, but in the general direction of the rolling, heavily forested hills that marked the landlocked side of the city.
    “Bin Grue’s people probably haven’t stopped running.” Simna jogged effortlessly alongside his taller friend.
    Ehomba ran with the supple, relaxed lope of one used to covering long, lonely distances by himself.