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Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar
by
Edgar Rice Burroughs
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
1 Belgian and Arab
2 On the Road to Opar
3 The Call of the Jungle
4 Prophecy and Fulfillment
5 The Altar of the Flaming God
6 The Arab Raid
7 The Jewel-Room of Opar
8 The Escape from Opar
9 The Theft of the Jewels
10 Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels
11 Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again
12 La Seeks Vengeance
13 Condemned to Torture and Death
14 A Priestess But Yet a Woman
15 The Flight of Werper
16 Tarzan Again Leads the Mangani
17 The Deadly Peril of Jane Clayton
18 The Fight For the Treasure
19 Jane Clayton and The Beasts of the Jungle
20 Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner
21 The Flight to the Jungle
22 Tarzan Recovers His Reason
23 A Night of Terror
24 Home
Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar
by Edgar Rice Burroughs
1
Belgian and Arab
Lieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the name
he had dishonored to thank for his narrow escape from
being cashiered. At first he had been humbly thankful,
too, that they had sent him to this Godforsaken Congo post
instead of court-martialing him, as he had so justly deserved;
but now six months of the monotony, the frightful isolation and
the loneliness had wrought a change. The young man brooded
continually over his fate. His days were filled with morbid
self-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and
vacillating mind a hatred for those who had sent him here--
for the very men he had at first inwardly thanked for saving him
from the ignominy of degradation.
He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never had
regretted the sins which had snatched him from that
gayest of capitals, and as the days passed he came to
center his resentment upon the representative in Congo
land of the authority which had exiled him--his captain
and immediate superior.
This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring little
love in those directly beneath him, yet respected and
feared by the black soldiers of his little command.
Werper was accustomed to sit for hours glaring at his
superior as the two sat upon the veranda of their
common quarters, smoking their evening cigarets in a
silence which neither seemed desirous of breaking.
The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into a
form of mania. The captain's natural taciturnity he
distorted into a studied attempt to insult him because
of his past shortcomings. He imagined that his
superior held him in contempt, and so he chafed and
fumed inwardly until one evening his madness became
suddenly homicidal. He fingered the butt of the
revolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed and his brows
contracted. At last he spoke.
"You have insulted me for the last time!" he cried,
springing to his feet. "I am an officer and a
gentleman, and I shall put up with it no longer without
an accounting from you, you pig."
The captain, an expression of surprise upon his
features, turned toward his junior. He had seen men
before with the jungle madness upon them--the madness
of solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps a
touch of fever.
He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the
other's shoulder. Quiet words of counsel were upon his
lips; but they were never spoken. Werper construed his
superior's action into an attempt to close with him.
His revolver was on a level with the captain's heart,
and the latter had taken but a step when Werper pulled
the trigger. Without a moan the man sank to the rough
planking of the veranda, and as he fell the mists that
had clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he saw
himself and the deed that he had done in the same light
that those who must judge him would see them.
He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of the
soldiers and he heard men running in his direction.
They would seize him, and if they didn't kill him they
would take him down the Congo to a point where a
properly ordered military tribunal would do so just as
effectively, though in a more regular manner.
Werper had no desire to die. Never before had he so
yearned for life as in this moment that he had so
effectively forfeited his right to live. The men were
nearing him. What was he to do? He glanced about as
though searching for the tangible form of a legitimate
excuse for his crime; but he could find only the body
of the man he had so causelessly shot down.
In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming
soldiery. Across the compound he ran, his revolver
still clutched tightly in his hand. At the gates a
sentry halted him. Werper did not pause to parley or
to exert the influence of his commission--he merely
raised his weapon and shot down the innocent black. A
moment later the fugitive had torn open the gates and
vanished into the blackness of the jungle, but not
before he had transferred the rifle and ammunition
belts of the dead sentry to his own person.
All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the
heart of the wilderness. Now and again the voice of a
lion brought him to a listening halt; but with cocked
and ready rifle he pushed ahead again, more fearful of
the human huntsmen in his rear than of the wild
carnivora ahead.
Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on.
All sense of hunger and fatigue were lost in the terrors
of contemplated capture. He could think only of escape.
He dared not pause to rest or eat until there was no
further danger from pursuit, and so he staggered on
until at last he fell and could rise no more. How long
he had fled he did not know, or try to know. When he
could flee no longer the knowledge that he had reached
his limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousness of
utter exhaustion.
And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him.
Achmet's followers were for running a spear through the
body of their hereditary enemy; but Achmet would have
it otherwise. First he would question the Belgian.
It were easier to question a man first and kill him
afterward, than kill him first and then question him.
So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own
tent, and there slaves administered wine and food in
small quantities until at last the prisoner regained
consciousness. As he opened his eyes he saw the faces
of strange black men about him, and just outside the
tent the figure of an Arab. Nowhere was the uniform of
his soldiers to be seen.
The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the
prisoner upon him, entered the tent.
"I am Achmet Zek," he announced. "Who are you, and
what were you doing in my country? Where are your
soldiers?"
Achmet Zek! Werper's eyes went wide, and his heart
sank. He was in the clutches of the most notorious of
cut-throats--a hater of all Europeans, especially those
who wore the uniform of Belgium. For years the
military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitless
war upon this man and his followers--a war in which
quarter had never been asked nor expected by either
side.
But presently in the very hatred of the man for
Belgians, Werper saw a faint ray of hope for himself.
He, too, was an outcast and an outlaw. So far, at
least, they possessed a common interest, and Werper
decided to play upon it for all that it might yield.
"I have heard of you," he replied, "and was searching
for you. My people have turned against me. I hate
them. Even now their soldiers are searching for me,
to kill me. I knew that you would protect me from them,
for you, too, hate them. In return I will take service
with you. I am a trained soldier. I can fight, and
your enemies are my enemies."
Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence. In his mind
he revolved many thoughts, chief among which was that
the unbeliever lied. Of course there was the chance
that he did not lie, and if he told the truth then his
proposition was one well worthy of consideration, since
fighting men were never over plentiful--especially
white men with the training and knowledge of military
matters that a European officer must possess.
Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werper
did not know Achmet Zek, who was quite apt to scowl
where another would smile, and smile where another
would scowl.
"And if you have lied to me," said Achmet Zek, "I will
kill you at any time. What return, other than your
life, do you expect for your services?"
"My keep only, at first," replied Werper. "Later, if I
am worth more, we can easily reach an understanding."
Werper's only desire at the moment was to preserve his
life. And so the agreement was reached and Lieutenant
Albert Werper became a member of the ivory and slave
raiding band of the notorious Achmet Zek.
For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savage
raider. He fought with a savage abandon, and a vicious
cruelty fully equal to that of his fellow desperadoes.
Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, and with
a growing satisfaction which finally found expression
in a greater confidence in the man, and resulted in an
increased independence of action for Werper.
Achmet Zek took the Belgian into his confidence to a
great extent, and at last unfolded to him a pet scheme
which the Arab had long fostered, but which he never
had found an opportunity to effect. With the aid of a
European, however, the thing might be easily
accomplished. He sounded Werper.
"You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?" he asked.
Werper nodded. "I have heard of him; but I do not know
him."
"But for him we might carry on our 'trading' in safety
and with great profit," continued the Arab. "For years
he has fought us, driving us from the richest part of
the country, harassing us, and arming the natives that
they may repel us when we come to 'trade.' He is very
rich. If we could find some way to make him pay us
many pieces of gold we should not only be avenged upon
him; but repaid for much that he has prevented us from
winning from the natives under his protection."
Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and
lighted it.
"And you have a plan to make him pay?" he asked.
"He has a wife," replied Achmet Zek, "whom men say is
very beautiful. She would bring a great price farther
north, if we found it too difficult to collect ransom
money from this Tarzan."
Werper bent his head in thought. Achmet Zek stood
awaiting his reply. What good remained in Albert
Werper revolted at the thought of selling a white woman
into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem.
He looked up at Achmet Zek. He saw the Arab's eyes
narrow, and he guessed that the other had sensed his
antagonism to the plan. What would it mean to Werper to
refuse? His life lay in the hands of this semi-barbarian,
who esteemed the life of an unbeliever less
highly than that of a dog. Werper loved life. What
was this woman to him, anyway? She was a European,
doubtless, a member of organized society. He was an
outcast. The hand of every white man was against him.
She was his natural enemy, and if he refused to lend
himself to her undoing, Achmet Zek would have him
killed.
"You hesitate," murmured the Arab.
"I was but weighing the chances of success," lied
Werper, "and my reward. As a European I can gain
admittance to their home and table. You have no other
with you who could do so much. The risk will be great.
I should be well paid, Achmet Zek."
A smile of relief passed over the raider's face.
"Well said, Werper," and Achmet Zek slapped his
lieutenant upon the shoulder. "You should be well paid
and you shall. Now let us sit together and plan how
best the thing may be done," and the two men squatted
upon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet's
once gorgeous tent, and talked together in low voices
well into the night. Both were tall and bearded, and
the exposure to sun and wind had given an almost Arab
hue to the European's complexion. In every detail of
dress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, so
that outwardly he was as much an Arab as the other.
It was late when he arose and retired to his own tent.
The following day Werper spent in overhauling his
Belgian uniform, removing from it every vestige of
evidence that might indicate its military purposes.
From a heterogeneous collection of loot, Achmet Zek
procured a pith helmet and a European saddle, and from
his black slaves and followers a party of porters,
askaris and tent boys to make up a modest safari for a
big game hunter. At the head of this party Werper set
out from camp.
2
On the Road To Opar
It was two weeks later that John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, riding in from a tour of inspection of his
vast African estate, glimpsed the head of a column of
men crossing the plain that lay between his bungalow
and the forest to the north and west.
He reined in his horse and watched the little party as
it emerged from a concealing swale. His keen eyes
caught the reflection of the sun upon the white helmet
of a mounted man, and with the conviction that a
wandering European hunter was seeking his hospitality,
he wheeled his mount and rode slowly forward to meet
the newcomer.
A half hour later he was mounting the steps leading to
the veranda of his bungalow, and introducing M. Jules
Frecoult to Lady Greystoke.
"I was completely lost," M. Frecoult was explaining.
"My head man had never before been in this part of the
country and the guides who were to have accompanied me
from the last village we passed knew even less of the
country than we. They finally deserted us two days
since. I am very fortunate indeed to have stumbled so
providentially upon succor. I do not know what I
should have done, had I not found you."
It was decided that Frecoult and his party should
remain several days, or until they were thoroughly
rested, when Lord Greystoke would furnish guides to
lead them safely back into country with which
Frecoult's head man was supposedly familiar.
In his guise of a French gentleman of leisure, Werper
found little difficulty in deceiving his host and in
ingratiating himself with both Tarzan and Jane Clayton;
but the longer he remained the less hopeful he became
of an easy accomplishment of his designs.
Lady Greystoke never rode alone at any great distance
from the bungalow, and the savage loyalty of the
ferocious Waziri warriors who formed a great part of
Tarzan's followers seemed to preclude the possibility
of a successful attempt at forcible abduction, or of
the bribery of the Waziri themselves.
A week passed, and Werper was no nearer the fulfillment
of his plan, in so far as he could judge, than upon the
day of his arrival, but at that very moment something
occurred which gave him renewed hope and set his mind
upon an even greater reward than a woman's ransom.
A runner had arrived at the bungalow with the weekly
mail, and Lord Greystoke had spent the afternoon in his
study reading and answering letters. At dinner he
seemed distraught, and early in the evening he excused
himself and retired, Lady Greystoke following him very
soon after. Werper, sitting upon the veranda, could
hear their voices in earnest discussion, and having
realized that something of unusual moment was afoot,
he quietly rose from his chair, and keeping well in the
shadow of the shrubbery growing profusely about the
bungalow, made his silent way to a point beneath the
window of the room in which his host and hostess slept.
Here he listened, and not without result, for almost
the first words he overheard filled him with
excitement. Lady Greystoke was speaking as Werper came
within hearing.
"I always feared for the stability of the company," she
was saying; "but it seems incredible that they should
have failed for so enormous a sum--unless there has
been some dishonest manipulation."
"That is what I suspect," replied Tarzan; "but whatever
the cause, the fact remains that I have lost
everything, and there is nothing for it but to return
to Opar and get more."
"Oh, John," cried Lady Greystoke, and Werper could feel
the shudder through her voice, "is there no other way?
I cannot bear to think of you returning to that
frightful city. I would rather live in poverty always
than to have you risk the hideous dangers of Opar."
"You need have no fear," replied Tarzan, laughing.
"I am pretty well able to take care of myself, and were
I not, the Waziri who will accompany me will see that no
harm befalls me."
"They ran away from Opar once, and left you to your
fate," she reminded him.
"They will not do it again," he answered. "They were
very much ashamed of themselves, and were coming back
when I met them."
"But there must be some other way," insisted the woman.
"There is no other way half so easy to obtain another
fortune, as to go to the treasure vaults of Opar and
bring it away," he replied. "I shall be very careful,
Jane, and the chances are that the inhabitants of Opar
will never know that I have been there again and
despoiled them of another portion of the treasure, the
very existence of which they are as ignorant of as they
would be of its value."
The finality in his tone seemed to assure Lady
Greystoke that further argument was futile, and so she
abandoned the subject.
Werper remained, listening, for a short time, and then,
confident that he had overheard all that was necessary
and fearing discovery, returned to the veranda, where
he smoked numerous cigarets in rapid succession before
retiring.
The following morning at breakfast, Werper announced
his intention of making an early departure, and asked
Tarzan's permission to hunt big game in the Waziri
country on his way out--permission which Lord Greystoke
readily granted.
The Belgian consumed two days in completing his
preparations, but finally got away with his safari,
accompanied by a single Waziri guide whom Lord
Greystoke had loaned him. The party made but a single
short march when Werper simulated illness, and
announced his intention of remaining where he was until
he had fully recovered. As they had gone but a short
distance from the Greystoke bungalow, Werper dismissed
the Waziri guide, telling the warrior that he would
send for him when he was able to proceed. The Waziri
gone, the Belgian summoned one of Achmet Zek's trusted
blacks to his tent, and dispatched him to watch for the
departure of Tarzan, returning immediately to advise
Werper of the event and the direction taken by the
Englishman.
The Belgian did not have long to wait, for the
following day his emissary returned with word that
Tarzan and a party of fifty Waziri warriors had set out
toward the southeast early in the morning.
Werper called his head man to him, after writing a long
letter to Achmet Zek. This letter he handed to the
head man.
"Send a runner at once to Achmet Zek with this," he
instructed the head man. "Remain here in camp awaiting
further instructions from him or from me. If any come
from the bungalow of the Englishman, tell them that I
am very ill within my tent and can see no one. Now,
give me six porters and six askaris--the strongest and
bravest of the safari--and I will march after the
Englishman and discover where his gold is hidden."
And so it was that as Tarzan, stripped to the loin
cloth and armed after the primitive fashion he best
loved, led his loyal Waziri toward the dead city of
Opar, Werper, the renegade, haunted his trail through
the long, hot days, and camped close behind him by
night.
And as they marched, Achmet Zek rode with his entire
following southward toward the Greystoke farm.
To Tarzan of the Apes the expedition was in the nature
of a holiday outing. His civilization was at best but
an outward veneer which he gladly peeled off with his
uncomfortable European clothes whenever any reasonable
pretext presented itself. It was a woman's love which
kept Tarzan even to the semblance of civilization--a
condition for which familiarity had bred contempt. He
hated the shams and the hypocrisies of it and with the
clear vision of an unspoiled mind he had penetrated to
the rotten core of the heart of the thing--the cowardly
greed for peace and ease and the safe-guarding of
property rights. That the fine things of life--art,
music and literature--had thriven upon such enervating
ideals he strenuously denied, insisting, rather, that
they had endured in spite of civilization.
"Show me the fat, opulent coward," he was wont to say,
"who ever originated a beautiful ideal. In the clash
of arms, in the battle for survival, amid hunger and
death and danger, in the face of God as manifested in
the display of Nature's most terrific forces, is born
all that is finest and best in the human heart and
mind."
And so Tarzan always came back to Nature in the spirit
of a lover keeping a long deferred tryst after a period
behind prison walls. His Waziri, at marrow, were more
civilized than he. They cooked their meat before they
ate it and they shunned many articles of food as
unclean that Tarzan had eaten with gusto all his life
and so insidious is the virus of hypocrisy that even
the stalwart ape-man hesitated to give rein to his
natural longings before them. He ate burnt flesh when
he would have preferred it raw and unspoiled, and he
brought down game with arrow or spear when he would far
rather have leaped upon it from ambush and sunk his
strong teeth in its jugular; but at last the call of
the milk of the savage mother that had suckled him in
infancy rose to an insistent demand--he craved the hot
blood of a fresh kill and his muscles yearned to pit
themselves against the savage jungle in the battle for
existence that had been his sole birthright for the
first twenty years of his life.
3
The Call of the Jungle
Moved by these vague yet all-powerful urgings the
ape-man lay awake one night in the little thorn boma
that protected, in a way, his party from the depredations
of the great carnivora of the jungle. A single warrior
stood sleepy guard beside the fire that yellow eyes
out of the darkness beyond the camp made imperative.
The moans and the coughing of the big cats mingled with
the myriad noises of the lesser denizens of the jungle
to fan the savage flame in the breast of this savage
English lord. He tossed upon his bed of grasses,
sleepless, for an hour and then he rose, noiseless as a
wraith, and while the Waziri's back was turned, vaulted
the boma wall in the face of the flaming eyes, swung
silently into a great tree and was gone.
For a time in sheer exuberance of animal spirit he
raced swiftly through the middle terrace, swinging
perilously across wide spans from one jungle giant to
the next, and then he clambered upward to the swaying,
lesser boughs of the upper terrace where the moon shone
full upon him and the air was stirred by little breezes
and death lurked ready in each frail branch. Here he
paused and raised his face to Goro, the moon.
With uplifted arm he stood, the cry of the bull ape
quivering upon his lips, yet he remained silent lest he
arouse his faithful Waziri who were all too familiar
with the hideous challenge of their master.
And then he went on more slowly and with greater
stealth and caution, for now Tarzan of the Apes was
seeking a kill. Down to the ground he came in the
utter blackness of the close-set boles and the
overhanging verdure of the jungle. He stooped from time
to time and put his nose close to earth. He sought and
found a wide game trail and at last his nostrils were
rewarded with the scent of the fresh spoor of Bara, the
deer. Tarzan's mouth watered and a low growl escaped
his patrician lips. Sloughed from him was the last
vestige of artificial caste--once again he was the
primeval hunter--the first man--the highest caste type
of the human race. Up wind he followed the elusive
spoor with a sense of perception so transcending that
of ordinary man as to be inconceivable to us. Through
counter currents of the heavy stench of meat eaters he
traced the trail of Bara; the sweet and cloying stink
of Horta, the boar, could not drown his quarry's scent--
the permeating, mellow musk of the deer's foot.
Presently the body scent of the deer told Tarzan that
his prey was close at hand. It sent him into the trees
again--into the lower terrace where he could watch the
ground below and catch with ears and nose the first
intimation of actual contact with his quarry. Nor was
it long before the ape-man came upon Bara standing
alert at the edge of a moon-bathed clearing.
Noiselessly Tarzan crept through the trees until he was
directly over the deer. In the ape-man's right hand
was the long hunting knife of his father and in his
heart the blood lust of the carnivore. Just for an
instant he poised above the unsuspecting Bara and then
he launched himself downward upon the sleek back. The
impact of his weight carried the deer to its knees and
before the animal could regain its feet the knife had
found its heart. As Tarzan rose upon the body of his
kill to scream forth his hideous victory cry into the
face of the moon the wind carried to his nostrils
something which froze him to statuesque immobility and
silence. His savage eyes blazed into the direction
from which the wind had borne down the warning to him
and a moment later the grasses at one side of the
clearing parted and Numa, the lion, strode majestically
into view. His yellow-green eyes were fastened upon
Tarzan as he halted just within the clearing and glared
enviously at the successful hunter, for Numa had had no
luck this night.
From the lips of the ape-man broke a rumbling growl of
warning. Numa answered but he did not advance.
Instead he stood waving his tail gently to and fro,
and presently Tarzan squatted upon his kill and cut a
generous portion from a hind quarter. Numa eyed him
with growing resentment and rage as, between mouthfuls,
the ape-man growled out his savage warnings. Now this
particular lion had never before come in contact with
Tarzan of the Apes and he was much mystified. Here was
the appearance and the scent of a man-thing and Numa
had tasted of human flesh and learned that though not
the most palatable it was certainly by far the easiest
to secure, yet there was that in the bestial growls of
the strange creature which reminded him of formidable
antagonists and gave him pause, while his hunger and
the odor of the hot flesh of Bara goaded him almost to
madness. Always Tarzan watched him, guessing what was
passing in the little brain of the carnivore and well
it was that he did watch him, for at last Numa could
stand it no longer. His tail shot suddenly erect and
at the same instant the wary ape-man, knowing all too
well what the signal portended, grasped the remainder
of the deer's hind quarter between his teeth and leaped
into a nearby tree as Numa charged him with all the
speed and a sufficient semblance of the weight of an
express train.
Tarzan's retreat was no indication that he felt fear.
Jungle life is ordered along different lines than ours
and different standards prevail. Had Tarzan been
famished he would, doubtless, have stood his ground and
met the lion's charge. He had done the thing before
upon more than one occasion, just as in the past he had
charged lions himself; but tonight he was far from
famished and in the hind quarter he had carried off
with him was more raw flesh than he could eat; yet it
was with no equanimity that he looked down upon Numa
rending the flesh of Tarzan's kill. The presumption of
this strange Numa must be punished! And forthwith
Tarzan set out to make life miserable for the big cat.
Close by were many trees bearing large, hard fruits and
to one of these the ape-man swung with the agility of a
squirrel. Then commenced a bombardment which brought
forth earthshaking roars from Numa. One after another
as rapidly as he could gather and hurl them, Tarzan
pelted the hard fruit down upon the lion. It was
impossible for the tawny cat to eat under that hail of
missiles--he could but roar and growl and dodge and
eventually he was driven away entirely from the carcass
of Bara, the deer. He went roaring and resentful; but
in the very center of the clearing his voice was
suddenly hushed and Tarzan saw the great head lower and
flatten out, the body crouch and the long tail quiver,
as the beast slunk cautiously toward the trees upon the
opposite side.
Immediately Tarzan was alert. He lifted his head and
sniffed the slow, jungle breeze. What was it that had
attracted Numa's attention and taken him soft-footed
and silent away from the scene of his discomfiture?
Just as the lion disappeared among the trees beyond the
clearing Tarzan caught upon the down-coming wind the
explanation of his new interest--the scent spoor of man
was wafted strongly to the sensitive nostrils. Caching
the remainder of the deer's hind quarter in the crotch
of a tree the ape-man wiped his greasy palms upon his
naked thighs and swung off in pursuit of Numa. A
broad, well-beaten elephant path led into the forest
from the clearing. Parallel to this slunk Numa, while
above him Tarzan moved through the trees, the shadow of
a wraith. The savage cat and the savage man saw Numa's
quarry almost simultaneously, though both had known
before it came within the vision of their eyes that it
was a black man. Their sensitive nostrils had told
them this much and Tarzan's had told him that the scent
spoor was that of a stranger--old and a male, for race
and sex and age each has its own distinctive scent.
It was an old man that made his way alone through the
gloomy jungle, a wrinkled, dried up, little old man
hideously scarred and tattooed and strangely garbed,
with the skin of a hyena about his shoulders and the
dried head mounted upon his grey pate. Tarzan
recognized the ear-marks of the witch-doctor and
awaited Numa's charge with a feeling of pleasurable
anticipation, for the ape-man had no love for
witch-doctors; but in the instant that Numa did charge,
the white man suddenly recalled that the lion had stolen
his kill a few minutes before and that revenge is
sweet.
The first intimation the black man had that he was in
danger was the crash of twigs as Numa charged through
the bushes into the game trail not twenty yards behind
him. Then he turned to see a huge, black-maned lion
racing toward him and even as he turned, Numa seized
him. At the same instant the ape-man dropped from an
overhanging limb full upon the lion's back and as he
alighted he plunged his knife into the tawny side
behind the left shoulder, tangled the fingers of his
right hand in the long mane, buried his teeth in Numa's
neck and wound his powerful legs about the beast's
torso. With a roar of pain and rage, Numa reared up
and fell backward upon the ape-man; but still the
mighty man-thing clung to his hold and repeatedly the
long knife plunged rapidly into his side. Over and
over rolled Numa, the lion, clawing and biting at the
air, roaring and growling horribly in savage attempt to
reach the thing upon its back. More than once was
Tarzan almost brushed from his hold. He was battered
and bruised and covered with blood from Numa and dirt
from the trail, yet not for an instant did he lessen
the ferocity of his mad attack nor his grim hold upon
the back of his antagonist. To have loosened for an
instant his grip there, would have been to bring him
within reach of those tearing talons or rending fangs,
and have ended forever the grim career of this jungle-bred
English lord. Where he had fallen beneath the
spring of the lion the witch-doctor lay, torn and
bleeding, unable to drag himself away and watched the
terrific battle between these two lords of the jungle.
His sunken eyes glittered and his wrinkled lips moved
over toothless gums as he mumbled weird incantations to
the demons of his cult.
For a time he felt no doubt as to the outcome--the
strange white man must certainly succumb to terrible
Simba--whoever heard of a lone man armed only with a
knife slaying so mighty a beast! Yet presently the old
black man's eyes went wider and he commenced to have
his doubts and misgivings. What wonderful sort of
creature was this that battled with Simba and held his
own despite the mighty muscles of the king of beasts
and slowly there dawned in those sunken eyes, gleaming
so brightly from the scarred and wrinkled face, the
light of a dawning recollection. Gropingly backward
into the past reached the fingers of memory, until at
last they seized upon a faint picture, faded and yellow
with the passing years. It was the picture of a lithe,
white-skinned youth swinging through the trees in
company with a band of huge apes, and the old eyes
blinked and a great fear came into them--the
superstitious fear of one who believes in ghosts and
spirits and demons.
And came the time once more when the witch-doctor no
longer doubted the outcome of the duel, yet his first
judgment was reversed, for now he knew that the jungle
god would slay Simba and the old black was even more
terrified of his own impending fate at the hands of the
victor than he had been by the sure and sudden death
which the triumphant lion would have meted out to him.
He saw the lion weaken from loss of blood. He saw the
mighty limbs tremble and stagger and at last he saw the
beast sink down to rise no more. He saw the forest god
or demon rise from the vanquished foe, and placing a
foot upon the still quivering carcass, raise his face
to the moon and bay out a hideous cry that froze the
ebbing blood in the veins of the witch-doctor.
4
Prophecy and Fulfillment
Then Tarzan turned his attention to the man. He had
not slain Numa to save the Negro--he had merely done it
in revenge upon the lion; but now that he saw the old
man lying helpless and dying before him something akin
to pity touched his savage heart. In his youth he
would have slain the witch-doctor without the slightest
compunction; but civilization had had its softening
effect upon him even as it does upon the nations and
races which it touches, though it had not yet gone far
enough with Tarzan to render him either cowardly or
effeminate. He saw an old man suffering and dying, and
he stooped and felt of his wounds and stanched the flow
of blood.
"Who are you?" asked the old man in a trembling voice.
"I am Tarzan--Tarzan of the Apes," replied the ape-man
and not without a greater touch of pride than he would
have said, "I am John Clayton, Lord Greystoke."
The witch-doctor shook convulsively and closed his
eyes. When he opened them again there was in them a
resignation to whatever horrible fate awaited him at
the hands of this feared demon of the woods. "Why do
you not kill me?" he asked.
"Why should I kill you?" inquired Tarzan.
"You have not harmed me, and anyway you are already dying.
Numa, the lion, has killed you."
"You would not kill me?" Surprise and incredulity were
in the tones of the quavering old voice.
"I would save you if I could," replied Tarzan, "but
that cannot be done. Why did you think I would kill
you?"
For a moment the old man was silent. When he spoke it
was evidently after some little effort to muster his
courage. "I knew you of old," he said, "when you
ranged the jungle in the country of Mbonga, the chief.
I was already a witch-doctor when you slew Kulonga and
the others, and when you robbed our huts and our poison
pot. At first I did not remember you; but at last I
did--the white-skinned ape that lived with the hairy
apes and made life miserable in the village of Mbonga,
the chief--the forest god--the Munango-Keewati for whom
we set food outside our gates and who came and ate it.
Tell me before I die--are you man or devil?"
Tarzan laughed. "I am a man," he said.
The old fellow sighed and shook his head. "You have
tried to save me from Simba," he said. "For that I
shall reward you. I am a great witch-doctor. Listen
to me, white man! I see bad days ahead of you. It is
writ in my own blood which I have smeared upon my palm.
A god greater even than you will rise up and strike you
down. Turn back, Munango-Keewati! Turn back before it
is too late. Danger lies ahead of you and danger lurks
behind; but greater is the danger before. I see--"
He paused and drew a long, gasping breath. Then he
crumpled into a little, wrinkled heap and died.
Tarzan wondered what else he had seen.
It was very late when the ape-man re-entered the boma
and lay down among his black warriors. None had seen
him go and none saw him return. He thought about the
warning of the old witch-doctor before he fell asleep
and he thought of it again after he awoke; but he did
not turn back for he was unafraid, though had he known
what lay in store for one he loved most in all the
world he would have flown through the trees to her side
and allowed the gold of Opar to remain forever hidden
in its forgotten storehouse.
Behind him that morning another white man pondered
something he had heard during the night and very nearly
did he give up his project and turn back upon his
trail. It was Werper, the murderer, who in the still
of the night had heard far away upon the trail ahead of
him a sound that had filled his cowardly soul with
terror--a sound such as he never before had heard in
all his life, nor dreamed that such a frightful thing
could emanate from the lungs of a God-created creature.
He had heard the victory cry of the bull ape as Tarzan
had screamed it forth into the face of Goro, the moon,
and he had trembled then and hidden his face; and now
in the broad light of a new day he trembled again as he
recalled it, and would have turned back from the
nameless danger the echo of that frightful sound seemed
to portend, had he not stood in even greater fear of
Achmet Zek, his master.
And so Tarzan of the Apes forged steadily ahead toward
Opar's ruined ramparts and behind him slunk Werper,
jackal-like, and only God knew what lay in store for
each.
At the edge of the desolate valley, overlooking the
golden domes and minarets of Opar, Tarzan halted.
By night he would go alone to the treasure vault,
reconnoitering, for he had determined that caution
should mark his every move upon this expedition.
With the coming of night he set forth, and Werper, who
had scaled the cliffs alone behind the ape-man's party,
and hidden through the day among the rough boulders of
the mountain top, slunk stealthily after him. The
boulder-strewn plain between the valley's edge and the
mighty granite kopje, outside the city's walls, where
lay the entrance to the passage-way leading to the
treasure vault, gave the Belgian ample cover as he
followed Tarzan toward Opar.
He saw the giant ape-man swing himself nimbly up the
face of the great rock. Werper, clawing fearfully
during the perilous ascent, sweating in terror, almost
palsied by fear, but spurred on by avarice, following
upward, until at last he stood upon the summit of the
rocky hill.
Tarzan was nowhere in sight. For a time Werper hid
behind one of the lesser boulders that were scattered
over the top of the hill, but, seeing or hearing
nothing of the Englishman, he crept from his place of
concealment to undertake a systematic search of his
surroundings, in the hope that he might discover the
location of the treasure in ample time to make his
escape before Tarzan returned, for it was the Belgian's
desire merely to locate the gold, that, after Tarzan
had departed, he might come in safety with his
followers and carry away as much as he could transport.
He found the narrow cleft leading downward into the
heart of the kopje along well-worn, granite steps. He
advanced quite to the dark mouth of the tunnel into
which the runway disappeared; but here he halted,
fearing to enter, lest he meet Tarzan returning.
The ape-man, far ahead of him, groped his way along the
rocky passage, until he came to the ancient wooden
door. A moment later he stood within the treasure
chamber, where, ages since, long-dead hands had ranged
the lofty rows of precious ingots for the rulers of
that great continent which now lies submerged beneath
the waters of the Atlantic.
No sound broke the stillness of the subterranean vault.
There was no evidence that another had discovered the
forgotten wealth since last the ape-man had visited its
hiding place.
Satisfied, Tarzan turned and retraced his steps toward
the summit of the kopje. Werper, from the concealment
of a jutting, granite shoulder, watched him pass up
from the shadows of the stairway and advance toward the
edge of the hill which faced the rim of the valley
where the Waziri awaited the signal of their master.
Then Werper, slipping stealthily from his hiding place,
dropped into the somber darkness of the entrance and
disappeared.
Tarzan, halting upon the kopje's edge, raised his voice
in the thunderous roar of a lion. Twice, at regular
intervals, he repeated the call, standing in attentive
silence for several minutes after the echoes of the
third call had died away. And then, from far across
the valley, faintly, came an answering roar--once,
twice, thrice. Basuli, the Waziri chieftain, had heard
and replied.
Tarzan again made his way toward the treasure vault,
knowing that in a few hours his blacks would be with
him, ready to bear away another fortune in the
strangely shaped, golden ingots of Opar. In the
meantime he would carry as much of the precious metal
to the summit of the kopje as he could.
Six trips he made in the five hours before Basuli
reached the kopje, and at the end of that time he had
transported forty-eight ingots to the edge of the great
boulder, carrying upon each trip a load which might
well have staggered two ordinary men, yet his giant
frame showed no evidence of fatigue, as he helped to
raise his ebon warriors to the hill top with the rope
that had been brought for the purpose.
Six times he had returned to the treasure chamber, and
six times Werper, the Belgian, had cowered in the black
shadows at the far end of the long vault. Once again
came the ape-man, and this time there came with him
fifty fighting men, turning porters for love of the
only creature in the world who might command of their
fierce and haughty natures such menial service. Fifty-two
more ingots passed out of the vaults, making the total
of one hundred which Tarzan intended taking away
with him.
As the last of the Waziri filed from the chamber,
Tarzan turned back for a last glimpse of the fabulous
wealth upon which his two inroads had made no
appreciable impression. Before he extinguished the
single candle he had brought with him for the purpose,
and the flickering light of which had cast the first
alleviating rays into the impenetrable darkness of the
buried chamber, that it had known for the countless
ages since it had lain forgotten of man, Tarzan's mind
reverted to that first occasion upon which he had
entered the treasure vault, coming upon it by chance as
he fled from the pits beneath the temple, where he had
been hidden by La, the High Priestess of the Sun
Worshipers.
He recalled the scene within the temple when he had
lain stretched upon the sacrificial altar, while La,
with high-raised dagger, stood above him, and the rows
of priests and priestesses awaited, in the ecstatic
hysteria of fanaticism, the first gush of their
victim's warm blood, that they might fill their golden
goblets and drink to the glory of their Flaming God.
The brutal and bloody interruption by Tha, the mad
priest, passed vividly before the ape-man's
recollective eyes, the flight of the votaries before
the insane blood lust of the hideous creature, the
brutal attack upon La, and his own part of the grim
tragedy when he had battled with the infuriated Oparian
and left him dead at the feet of the priestess he would
have profaned.
This and much more passed through Tarzan's memory as
he stood gazing at the long tiers of dull-yellow metal.
He wondered if La still ruled the temples of the ruined
city whose crumbling walls rose upon the very
foundations about him. Had she finally been forced
into a union with one of her grotesque priests?
It seemed a hideous fate, indeed, for one so beautiful.
With a shake of his head, Tarzan stepped to the
flickering candle, extinguished its feeble rays and
turned toward the exit.
Behind him the spy waited for him to be gone. He had
learned the secret for which he had come, and now he
could return at his leisure to his waiting followers,
bring them to the treasure vault and carry away all the
gold that they could stagger under.
The Waziri had reached the outer end of the tunnel,
and were winding upward toward the fresh air and the
welcome starlight of the kopje's summit, before Tarzan
shook off the detaining hand of reverie and started
slowly after them.
Once again, and, he thought, for the last time, he
closed the massive door of the treasure room. In the
darkness behind him Werper rose and stretched his
cramped muscles. He stretched forth a hand and
lovingly caressed a golden ingot on the nearest tier.
He raised it from its immemorial resting place and
weighed it in his hands. He clutched it to his bosom
in an ecstasy of avarice.
Tarzan dreamed of the happy homecoming which lay before
him, of dear arms about his neck, and a soft cheek
pressed to his; but there rose to dispel that dream the
memory of the old witch-doctor and his warning.
And then, in the span of a few brief seconds, the hopes
of both these men were shattered. The one forgot even
his greed in the panic of terror--the other was plunged
into total forgetfulness of the past by a jagged
fragment of rock which gashed a deep cut upon his head.
5
The Altar of the Flaming God
It was at the moment that Tarzan turned from the closed
door to pursue his way to the outer world. The thing
came without warning. One instant all was quiet and
stability--the next, and the world rocked, the tortured
sides of the narrow passageway split and crumbled,
great blocks of granite, dislodged from the ceiling,
tumbled into the narrow way, choking it, and the walls
bent inward upon the wreckage. Beneath the blow of a
fragment of the roof, Tarzan staggered back against the
door to the treasure room, his weight pushed it open
and his body rolled inward upon the floor.
In the great apartment where the treasure lay less
damage was wrought by the earthquake. A few ingots
toppled from the higher tiers, a single piece of the
rocky ceiling splintered off and crashed downward to
the floor, and the walls cracked, though they did not
collapse.
There was but the single shock, no other followed to
complete the damage undertaken by the first. Werper,
thrown to his length by the suddenness and violence of
the disturbance, staggered to his feet when he found
himself unhurt. Groping his way toward the far end of
the chamber, he sought the candle which Tarzan had left
stuck in its own wax upon the protruding end of an
ingot.
By striking numerous matches the Belgian at last found
what he sought, and when, a moment later, the sickly
rays relieved the Stygian darkness about him, he
breathed a nervous sigh of relief, for the impenetrable
gloom had accentuated the terrors of his situation.
As they became accustomed to the light the man turned
his eyes toward the door--his one thought now was of
escape from this frightful tomb--and as he did so he
saw the body of the naked giant lying stretched upon
the floor just within the doorway. Werper drew back in
sudden fear of detection; but a second glance convinced
him that the Englishman was dead. From a great gash in
the man's head a pool of blood had collected upon the
concrete floor.
Quickly, the Belgian leaped over the prostrate form of
his erstwhile host, and without a thought of succor for
the man in whom, for aught he knew, life still
remained, he bolted for the passageway and safety.
But his renewed hopes were soon dashed. Just beyond
the doorway he found the passage completely clogged and
choked by impenetrable masses of shattered rock.
Once more he turned and re-entered the treasure vault.
Taking the candle from its place he commenced a
systematic search of the apartment, nor had he gone far
before he discovered another door in the opposite end
of the room, a door which gave upon creaking hinges to
the weight of his body. Beyond the door lay another
narrow passageway. Along this Werper made his way,
ascending a flight of stone steps to another corridor
twenty feet above the level of the first. The
flickering candle lighted the way before him, and a
moment later he was thankful for the possession of this
crude and antiquated luminant, which, a few hours
before he might have looked upon with contempt, for it
showed him, just in time, a yawning pit, apparently
terminating the tunnel he was traversing.
Before him was a circular shaft. He held the candle
above it and peered downward. Below him, at a great
distance, he saw the light reflected back from the
surface of a pool of water. He had come upon a well.
He raised the candle above his head and peered across
the black void, and there upon the opposite side he saw
the continuation of the tunnel; but how was he to span
the gulf?
As he stood there measuring the distance to the
opposite side and wondering if he dared venture so
great a leap, there broke suddenly upon his startled
ears a piercing scream which diminished gradually until
it ended in a series of dismal moans. The voice seemed
partly human, yet so hideous that it might well have
emanated from the tortured throat of a lost soul,
writhing in the fires of hell.
The Belgian shuddered and looked fearfully upward,
for the scream had seemed to come from above him.
As he looked he saw an opening far overhead, and a
patch of sky pinked with brilliant stars.
His half-formed intention to call for help was expunged
by the terrifying cry--where such a voice lived, no
human creatures could dwell. He dared not reveal
himself to whatever inhabitants dwelt in the place
above him. He cursed himself for a fool that he had
ever embarked upon such a mission. He wished himself
safely back in the camp of Achmet Zek, and would almost
have embraced an opportunity to give himself up to the
military authorities of the Congo if by so doing he
might be rescued from the frightful predicament in
which he now was.
He listened fearfully, but the cry was not repeated,
and at last spurred to desperate means, he gathered
himself for the leap across the chasm. Going back
twenty paces, he took a running start, and at the edge
of the well, leaped upward and outward in an attempt to
gain the opposite side.
In his hand he clutched the sputtering candle,
and as he took the leap the rush of air extinguished it.
In utter darkness he flew through space, clutching outward
for a hold should his feet miss the invisible ledge.
He struck the edge of the door of the opposite terminus
of the rocky tunnel with his knees, slipped backward,
clutched desperately for a moment, and at last hung
half within and half without the opening; but he was safe.
For several minutes he dared not move; but
clung, weak and sweating, where he lay. At last,
cautiously, he drew himself well within the tunnel,
and again he lay at full length upon the floor,
fighting to regain control of his shattered nerves.
When his knees struck the edge of the tunnel he had
dropped the candle. Presently, hoping against hope
that it had fallen upon the floor of the passageway,
rather than back into the depths of the well, he rose
upon all fours and commenced a diligent search for the
little tallow cylinder, which now seemed infinitely
more precious to him than all the fabulous wealth of
the hoarded ingots of Opar.
And when, at last, he found it, he clasped it to him
and sank back sobbing and exhausted. For many minutes
he lay trembling and broken; but finally he drew
himself to a sitting posture, and taking a match from
his pocket, lighted the stump of the candle which
remained to him. With the light he found it easier to
regain control of his nerves, and presently he was
again making his way along the tunnel in search of an
avenue of escape. The horrid cry that had come down to
him from above through the ancient well-shaft still
haunted him, so that he trembled in terror at even the
sounds of his own cautious advance.
He had gone forward but a short distance, when, to his
chagrin, a wall of masonry barred his farther progress,
closing the tunnel completely from top to bottom and
from side to side. What could it mean? Werper was an
educated and intelligent man. His military training
had taught him to use his mind for the purpose for
which it was intended. A blind tunnel such as this was
senseless. It must continue beyond the wall. Someone,
at some time in the past, had had it blocked for an
unknown purpose of his own. The man fell to examining
the masonry by the light of his candle. To his delight
he discovered that the thin blocks of hewn stone of
which it was constructed were fitted in loosely without
mortar or cement. He tugged upon one of them, and to
his joy found that it was easily removable. One after
another he pulled out the blocks until he had opened an
aperture large enough to admit his body, then he
crawled through into a large, low chamber. Across this
another door barred his way; but this, too, gave before
his efforts, for it was not barred. A long, dark
corridor showed before him, but before he had followed
it far, his candle burned down until it scorched his
fingers. With an oath he dropped it to the floor,
where it sputtered for a moment and went out.
Now he was in total darkness, and again terror rode
heavily astride his neck. What further pitfalls and
dangers lay ahead he could not guess; but that he was
as far as ever from liberty he was quite willing to
believe, so depressing is utter absence of light to one
in unfamiliar surroundings.
Slowly he groped his way along, feeling with his hands
upon the tunnel's walls, and cautiously with his feet
ahead of him upon the floor before he could take a
single forward step. How long he crept on thus he
could not guess; but at last, feeling that the tunnel's
length was interminable, and exhausted by his efforts,
by terror, and loss of sleep, he determined to lie down
and rest before proceeding farther.
When he awoke there was no change in the surrounding
blackness. He might have slept a second or a day--he
could not know; but that he had slept for some time was
attested by the fact that he felt refreshed and hungry.
Again he commenced his groping advance; but this time
he had gone but a short distance when he emerged into a
room, which was lighted through an opening in the
ceiling, from which a flight of concrete steps led
downward to the floor of the chamber.
Above him, through the aperture, Werper could see
sunlight glancing from massive columns, which were
twined about by clinging vines. He listened; but he
heard no sound other than the soughing of the wind
through leafy branches, the hoarse cries of birds,
and the chattering of monkeys.
Boldly he ascended the stairway, to find himself in a
circular court. Just before him stood a stone altar,
stained with rusty-brown discolorations. At the time
Werper gave no thought to an explanation of these
stains--later their origin became all too hideously
apparent to him.
Beside the opening in the floor, just behind the altar,
through which he had entered the court from the
subterranean chamber below, the Belgian discovered
several doors leading from the enclosure upon the level
of the floor. Above, and circling the courtyard, was a
series of open balconies. Monkeys scampered about the
deserted ruins, and gaily plumaged birds flitted in and
out among the columns and the galleries far above; but
no sign of human presence was discernible. Werper felt
relieved. He sighed, as though a great weight had been
lifted from his shoulders. He took a step toward one
of the exits, and then he halted, wide-eyed in
astonishment and terror, for almost at the same instant
a dozen doors opened in the courtyard wall and a horde
of frightful men rushed in upon him.
They were the priests of the Flaming God of Opar--the
same, shaggy, knotted, hideous little men who had
dragged Jane Clayton to the sacrificial altar at this
very spot years before. Their long arms, their short
and crooked legs, their close-set, evil eyes, and their
low, receding foreheads gave them a bestial appearance
that sent a qualm of paralyzing fright through the
shaken nerves of the Belgian.
With a scream he turned to flee back into the lesser
terrors of the gloomy corridors and apartments from
which he had just emerged, but the frightful men
anticipated his intentions. They blocked the way;
they seized him, and though he fell, groveling upon his
knees before them, begging for his life, they bound him
and hurled him to the floor of the inner temple.
The rest was but a repetition of what Tarzan and Jane
Clayton had passed through. The priestesses came,
and with them La, the High Priestess. Werper was raised
and laid across the altar. Cold sweat exuded from his
every pore as La raised the cruel, sacrificial knife
above him. The death chant fell upon his tortured
ears. His staring eyes wandered to the golden goblets
from which the hideous votaries would soon quench their
inhuman thirst in his own, warm life-blood.
He wished that he might be granted the brief respite of
unconsciousness before the final plunge of the keen
blade--and then there was a frightful roar that sounded
almost in his ears. The High Priestess lowered her
dagger. Her eyes went wide in horror. The
priestesses, her votaresses, screamed and fled madly
toward the exits. The priests roared out their rage
and terror according to the temper of their courage.
Werper strained his neck about to catch a sight of the
cause of their panic, and when, at last he saw it, he
too went cold in dread, for what his eyes beheld was
the figure of a huge lion standing in the center of the
temple, and already a single victim lay mangled beneath
his cruel paws.
Again the lord of the wilderness roared, turning his
baleful gaze upon the altar. La staggered forward,
reeled, and fell across Werper in a swoon.
6
The Arab Raid
After their first terror had subsided subsequent to the
shock of the earthquake, Basuli and his warriors
hastened back into the passageway in search of Tarzan
and two of their own number who were also missing.
They found the way blocked by jammed and distorted
rock. For two days they labored to tear a way through
to their imprisoned friends; but when, after Herculean
efforts, they had unearthed but a few yards of the
choked passage, and discovered the mangled remains of
one of their fellows they were forced to the conclusion
that Tarzan and the second Waziri also lay dead beneath
the rock mass farther in, beyond human aid, and no
longer susceptible of it.
Again and again as they labored they called aloud the
names of their master and their comrade; but no
answering call rewarded their listening ears. At last
they gave up the search. Tearfully they cast a last
look at the shattered tomb of their master, shouldered
the heavy burden of gold that would at least furnish
comfort, if not happiness, to their bereaved and
beloved mistress, and made their mournful way back
across the desolate valley of Opar, and downward
through the forests beyond toward the distant bungalow.
And as they marched what sorry fate was already drawing
down upon that peaceful, happy home!
From the north came Achmet Zek, riding to the summons
of his lieutenant's letter. With him came his horde of
renegade Arabs, outlawed marauders, these, and equally
degraded blacks, garnered from the more debased and
ignorant tribes of savage cannibals through whose
countries the raider passed to and fro with perfect
impunity.
Mugambi, the ebon Hercules, who had shared the dangers
and vicissitudes of his beloved Bwana, from Jungle
Island, almost to the headwaters of the Ugambi,
was the first to note the bold approach of the
sinister caravan.
He it was whom Tarzan had left in charge of the
warriors who remained to guard Lady Greystoke, nor
could a braver or more loyal guardian have been found
in any clime or upon any soil. A giant in stature,
a savage, fearless warrior, the huge black possessed also
soul and judgment in proportion to his bulk and his ferocity.
Not once since his master had departed had he been
beyond sight or sound of the bungalow, except when Lady
Greystoke chose to canter across the broad plain, or
relieve the monotony of her loneliness by a brief
hunting excursion. On such occasions Mugambi, mounted
upon a wiry Arab, had ridden close at her horse's
heels.
The raiders were still a long way off when the
warrior's keen eyes discovered them. For a time he
stood scrutinizing the advancing party in silence,
then he turned and ran rapidly in the direction of the
native huts which lay a few hundred yards below the bungalow.
Here he called out to the lolling warriors. He issued
orders rapidly. In compliance with them the men seized
upon their weapons and their shields. Some ran to call
in the workers from the fields and to warn the tenders
of the flocks and herds. The majority followed Mugambi
back toward the bungalow.
The dust of the raiders was still a long distance away.
Mugambi could not know positively that it hid an enemy;
but he had spent a lifetime of savage life in savage
Africa, and he had seen parties before come thus
unheralded. Sometimes they had come in peace and
sometimes they had come in war--one could never tell.
It was well to be prepared. Mugambi did not like the
haste with which the strangers advanced.
The Greystoke bungalow was not well adapted for
defense. No palisade surrounded it, for, situated as
it was, in the heart of loyal Waziri, its master had
anticipated no possibility of an attack in force by any
enemy. Heavy, wooden shutters there were to close the
window apertures against hostile arrows, and these
Mugambi was engaged in lowering when Lady Greystoke
appeared upon the veranda.
"Why, Mugambi!" she exclaimed. "What has happened?
Why are you lowering the shutters?"
Mugambi pointed out across the plain to where a white-robed
force of mounted men was now distinctly visible.
"Arabs," he explained. "They come for no good purpose
in the absence of the Great Bwana."
Beyond the neat lawn and the flowering shrubs, Jane
Clayton saw the glistening bodies of her Waziri.
The sun glanced from the tips of their metal-shod spears,
picked out the gorgeous colors in the feathers of their
war bonnets, and reflected the high-lights from the
glossy skins of their broad shoulders and high cheek bones.
Jane Clayton surveyed them with unmixed feelings of
pride and affection. What harm could befall her with
such as these to protect her?
The raiders had halted now, a hundred yards out upon
the plain. Mugambi had hastened down to join his
warriors. He advanced a few yards before them and
raising his voice hailed the strangers. Achmet Zek sat
straight in his saddle before his henchmen.
"Arab!" cried Mugambi. "What do you here?"
"We come in peace," Achmet Zek called back.
"Then turn and go in peace," replied Mugambi.
"We do not want you here. There can be no peace between
Arab and Waziri."
Mugambi, although not born in Waziri, had been adopted
into the tribe, which now contained no member more
jealous of its traditions and its prowess than he.
Achmet Zek drew to one side of his horde, speaking to
his men in a low voice. A moment later, without
warning, a ragged volley was poured into the ranks of
the Waziri. A couple of warriors fell, the others were
for charging the attackers; but Mugambi was a cautious
as well as a brave leader. He knew the futility of
charging mounted men armed with muskets. He withdrew
his force behind the shrubbery of the garden. Some he
dispatched to various other parts of the grounds
surrounding the bungalow. Half a dozen he sent to the
bungalow itself with instructions to keep their
mistress within doors, and to protect her with their lives.
Adopting the tactics of the desert fighters from which
he had sprung, Achmet Zek led his followers at a gallop
in a long, thin line, describing a great circle which
drew closer and closer in toward the defenders.
At that part of the circle closest to the Waziri,
a constant fusillade of shots was poured into the bushes
behind which the black warriors had concealed
themselves. The latter, on their part, loosed their
slim shafts at the nearest of the enemy.
The Waziri, justly famed for their archery, found no
cause to blush for their performance that day.
Time and again some swarthy horseman threw hands above
his head and toppled from his saddle, pierced by a
deadly arrow; but the contest was uneven. The Arabs
outnumbered the Waziri; their bullets penetrated the
shrubbery and found marks that the Arab riflemen had
not even seen; and then Achmet Zek circled inward a
half mile above the bungalow, tore down a section of
the fence, and led his marauders within the grounds.
Across the fields they charged at a mad run. Not again
did they pause to lower fences, instead, they drove
their wild mounts straight for them, clearing the
obstacles as lightly as winged gulls.
Mugambi saw them coming, and, calling those of his
warriors who remained, ran for the bungalow and the
last stand. Upon the veranda Lady Greystoke stood,
rifle in hand. More than a single raider had accounted
to her steady nerves and cool aim for his outlawry;
more than a single pony raced, riderless, in the wake
of the charging horde.
Mugambi pushed his mistress back into the greater
security of the interior, and with his depleted force
prepared to make a last stand against the foe.
On came the Arabs, shouting and waving their long guns
above their heads. Past the veranda they raced,
pouring a deadly fire into the kneeling Waziri who
discharged their volley of arrows from behind their
long, oval shields--shields well adapted, perhaps,
to stop a hostile arrow, or deflect a spear; but futile,
quite, before the leaden missiles of the riflemen.
From beneath the half-raised shutters of the bungalow
other bowmen did effective service in greater security,
and after the first assault, Mugambi withdrew his
entire force within the building.
Again and again the Arabs charged, at last forming a
stationary circle about the little fortress, and
outside the effective range of the defenders' arrows.
From their new position they fired at will at the
windows. One by one the Waziri fell. Fewer and fewer
were the arrows that replied to the guns of the
raiders, and at last Achmet Zek felt safe in ordering
an assault.
Firing as they ran, the bloodthirsty horde raced for
the veranda. A dozen of them fell to the arrows of the
defenders; but the majority reached the door.
Heavy gun butts fell upon it. The crash of splintered
wood mingled with the report of a rifle as Jane Clayton
fired through the panels upon the relentless foe.
Upon both sides of the door men fell; but at last the
frail barrier gave to the vicious assaults of the
maddened attackers; it crumpled inward and a dozen
swarthy murderers leaped into the living-room.
At the far end stood Jane Clayton surrounded by the remnant
of her devoted guardians. The floor was covered by the
bodies of those who already had given up their lives in
her defense. In the forefront of her protectors stood
the giant Mugambi. The Arabs raised their rifles to
pour in the last volley that would effectually end all
resistance; but Achmet Zek roared out a warning order
that stayed their trigger fingers.
"Fire not upon the woman!" he cried. "Who harms her,
dies. Take the woman alive!"
The Arabs rushed across the room; the Waziri met them
with their heavy spears. Swords flashed, long-barreled
pistols roared out their sullen death dooms. Mugambi
launched his spear at the nearest of the enemy with a
force that drove the heavy shaft completely through the
Arab's body, then he seized a pistol from another, and
grasping it by the barrel brained all who forced their
way too near his mistress.
Emulating his example the few warriors who remained to
him fought like demons; but one by one they fell, until
only Mugambi remained to defend the life and honor of
the ape-man's mate.
From across the room Achmet Zek watched the unequal
struggle and urged on his minions. In his hands was a
jeweled musket. Slowly he raised it to his shoulder,
waiting until another move should place Mugambi at his
mercy without endangering the lives of the woman or any
of his own followers.
At last the moment came, and Achmet Zek pulled the
trigger. Without a sound the brave Mugambi sank to the
floor at the feet of Jane Clayton.
An instant later she was surrounded and disarmed.
Without a word they dragged her from the bungalow.
A giant Negro lifted her to the pommel of his saddle,
and while the raiders searched the bungalow and outhouses
for plunder he rode with her beyond the gates and
waited the coming of his master.
Jane Clayton saw the raiders lead the horses from the
corral, and drive the herds in from the fields.
She saw her home plundered of all that represented
intrinsic worth in the eyes of the Arabs, and then she saw
the torch applied, and the flames lick up what remained.
And at last, when the raiders assembled after glutting
their fury and their avarice, and rode away with her
toward the north, she saw the smoke and the flames
rising far into the heavens until the winding of the trail
into the thick forests hid the sad view from her eyes.
As the flames ate their way into the living-room,
reaching out forked tongues to lick up the bodies of
the dead, one of that gruesome company whose bloody
welterings had long since been stilled, moved again.
It was a huge black who rolled over upon his side and
opened blood-shot, suffering eyes. Mugambi, whom the
Arabs had left for dead, still lived. The hot flames
were almost upon him as he raised himself painfully
upon his hands and knees and crawled slowly toward the
doorway.
Again and again he sank weakly to the floor; but each
time he rose again and continued his pitiful way toward
safety. After what seemed to him an interminable time,
during which the flames had become a veritable fiery
furnace at the far side of the room, the great black
managed to reach the veranda, roll down the steps,
and crawl off into the cool safety of some nearby
shrubbery.
All night he lay there, alternately unconscious and
painfully sentient; and in the latter state watching
with savage hatred the lurid flames which still rose
from burning crib and hay cock. A prowling lion roared
close at hand; but the giant black was unafraid. There
was place for but a single thought in his savage mind--
revenge! revenge! revenge!
7
The Jewel-Room of Opar
For some time Tarzan lay where he had fallen upon the
floor of the treasure chamber beneath the ruined walls
of Opar. He lay as one dead; but he was not dead.
At length he stirred. His eyes opened upon the utter
darkness of the room. He raised his hand to his head
and brought it away sticky with clotted blood. He
sniffed at his fingers, as a wild beast might sniff at
the life-blood upon a wounded paw.
Slowly he rose to a sitting posture--listening.
No sound reached to the buried depths of his sepulcher.
He staggered to his feet, and groped his way about
among the tiers of ingots. What was he? Where was he?
His head ached; but otherwise he felt no ill effects
from the blow that had felled him. The accident he did not
recall, nor did he recall aught of what had led up to it.
He let his hands grope unfamiliarly over his limbs,
his torso, and his head. He felt of the quiver at his
back, the knife in his loin cloth. Something struggled
for recognition within his brain. Ah! he had it.
There was something missing. He crawled about upon
the floor, feeling with his hands for the thing that
instinct warned him was gone. At last he found it--the
heavy war spear that in past years had formed so
important a feature of his daily life, almost of his
very existence, so inseparably had it been connected
with his every action since the long-gone day that he
had wrested his first spear from the body of a black
victim of his savage training.
Tarzan was sure that there was another and more lovely
world than that which was confined to the darkness of
the four stone walls surrounding him. He continued his
search and at last found the doorway leading inward
beneath the city and the temple. This he followed,
most incautiously. He came to the stone steps leading
upward to the higher level. He ascended them and
continued onward toward the well.
Nothing spurred his hurt memory to a recollection of
past familiarity with his surroundings. He blundered
on through the darkness as though he were traversing an
open plain under the brilliance of a noonday sun, and
suddenly there happened that which had to happen under
the circumstances of his rash advance.
He reached the brink of the well, stepped outward into
space, lunged forward, and shot downward into the inky
depths below. Still clutching his spear, he struck the
water, and sank beneath its surface, plumbing the
depths.
The fall had not injured him, and when he rose to the
surface, he shook the water from his eyes, and found
that he could see. Daylight was filtering into the
well from the orifice far above his head. It illumined
the inner walls faintly. Tarzan gazed about him.
On the level with the surface of the water he saw a
large opening in the dark and slimy wall. He swam to it,
and drew himself out upon the wet floor of a tunnel.
Along this he passed; but now he went warily, for
Tarzan of the Apes was learning. The unexpected pit
had taught him care in the traversing of dark
passageways--he needed no second lesson.
For a long distance the passage went straight as an
arrow. The floor was slippery, as though at times the
rising waters of the well overflowed and flooded it.
This, in itself, retarded Tarzan's pace, for it was
with difficulty that he kept his footing.
The foot of a stairway ended the passage. Up this he
made his way. It turned back and forth many times,
leading, at last, into a small, circular chamber,
the gloom of which was relieved by a faint light which
found ingress through a tubular shaft several feet in
diameter which rose from the center of the room's
ceiling, upward to a distance of a hundred feet or
more, where it terminated in a stone grating through
which Tarzan could see a blue and sun-lit sky.
Curiosity prompted the ape-man to investigate his
surroundings. Several metal-bound, copper-studded
chests constituted the sole furniture of the round
room. Tarzan let his hands run over these. He felt
of the copper studs, he pulled upon the hinges, and at
last, by chance, he raised the cover of one.
An exclamation of delight broke from his lips at sight
of the pretty contents. Gleaming and glistening in the
subdued light of the chamber, lay a great tray full of
brilliant stones. Tarzan, reverted to the primitive by
his accident, had no conception of the fabulous value
of his find. To him they were but pretty pebbles.
He plunged his hands into them and let the priceless gems
filter through his fingers. He went to others of the
chests, only to find still further stores of precious
stones. Nearly all were cut, and from these he
gathered a handful and filled the pouch which dangled at
his side--the uncut stones he tossed back into the chests.
Unwittingly, the ape-man had stumbled upon the
forgotten jewel-room of Opar. For ages it had lain
buried beneath the temple of the Flaming God, midway of
one of the many inky passages which the superstitious
descendants of the ancient Sun Worshipers had either
dared not or cared not to explore.
Tiring at last of this diversion, Tarzan took up his way
along the corridor which led upward from the jewel-room
by a steep incline. Winding and twisting, but always
tending upward, the tunnel led him nearer and
nearer to the surface, ending finally in a low-ceiled
room, lighter than any that he had as yet discovered.
Above him an opening in the ceiling at the upper end of
a flight of concrete steps revealed a brilliant sunlit
scene. Tarzan viewed the vine-covered columns in mild
wonderment. He puckered his brows in an attempt to
recall some recollection of similar things. He was not
sure of himself. There was a tantalizing suggestion
always present in his mind that something was eluding
him--that he should know many things which he did not know.
His earnest cogitation was rudely interrupted by a
thunderous roar from the opening above him. Following
the roar came the cries and screams of men and women.
Tarzan grasped his spear more firmly and ascended the
steps. A strange sight met his eyes as he emerged from
the semi-darkness of the cellar to the brilliant light
of the temple.
The creatures he saw before him he recognized for what
they were--men and women, and a huge lion. The men and
women were scuttling for the safety of the exits.
The lion stood upon the body of one who had been less fortunate
than the others. He was in the center of the temple.
Directly before Tarzan, a woman stood beside a
block of stone. Upon the top of the stone lay
stretched a man, and as the ape-man watched the scene,
he saw the lion glare terribly at the two who remained
within the temple. Another thunderous roar broke from
the savage throat, the woman screamed and swooned
across the body of the man stretched prostrate upon the
stone altar before her.
The lion advanced a few steps and crouched. The tip of
his sinuous tail twitched nervously. He was upon the
point of charging when his eyes were attracted toward
the ape-man.
Werper, helpless upon the altar, saw the great
carnivore preparing to leap upon him. He saw the
sudden change in the beast's expression as his eyes
wandered to something beyond the altar and out of the
Belgian's view. He saw the formidable creature rise to
a standing position. A figure darted past Werper.
He saw a mighty arm upraised, and a stout spear shoot
forward toward the lion, to bury itself in the broad chest.
He saw the lion snapping and tearing at the weapon's
shaft, and he saw, wonder of wonders, the naked giant
who had hurled the missile charging upon the great
beast, only a long knife ready to meet those ferocious
fangs and talons.
The lion reared up to meet this new enemy. The beast
was growling frightfully, and then upon the startled
ears of the Belgian, broke a similar savage growl from
the lips of the man rushing upon the beast.
By a quick side step, Tarzan eluded the first swinging
clutch of the lion's paws. Darting to the beast's
side, he leaped upon the tawny back. His arms
encircled the maned neck, his teeth sank deep into the
brute's flesh. Roaring, leaping, rolling and
struggling, the giant cat attempted to dislodge this
savage enemy, and all the while one great, brown fist < |