Tarzan And The Jewels Of Opar / Burroughs, Edgar Rice

[pg/etext93/tarz510.txt]

December, 1993  [Etext #92]

This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska, using:

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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
was driving a long keen blade repeatedly into the
beast's side.

During the battle, La regained consciousness.
Spellbound, she stood above her victim watching the
spectacle. It seemed incredible that a human being
could best the king of beasts in personal encounter and
yet before her very eyes there was taking place just
such an improbability.

At last Tarzan's knife found the great heart, and with
a final, spasmodic struggle the lion rolled over upon
the marble floor, dead.  Leaping to his feet the
conqueror placed a foot upon the carcass of his kill,
raised his face toward the heavens, and gave voice to
so hideous a cry that both La and Werper trembled as it
reverberated through the temple.

Then the ape-man turned, and Werper recognized him as
the man he had left for dead in the treasure room.

8

The Escape from Opar

Werper was astounded.  Could this creature be the same
dignified Englishman who had entertained him so
graciously in his luxurious African home?  Could this
wild beast, with blazing eyes, and bloody countenance,
be at the same time a man?  Could the horrid, victory
cry he had but just heard have been formed in human
throat?

Tarzan was eyeing the man and the woman, a puzzled
expression in his eyes, but there was no faintest tinge
of recognition.  It was as though he had discovered
some new species of living creature and was marveling
at his find.

La was studying the ape-man's features.  Slowly her
large eyes opened very wide.

"Tarzan!" she exclaimed, and then, in the vernacular of
the great apes which constant association with the
anthropoids had rendered the common language of the
Oparians: "You have come back to me!  La has ignored the
mandates of her religion, waiting, always waiting for
Tarzan--for her Tarzan.  She has taken no mate, for in
all the world there was but one with whom La would
mate.  And now you have come back!  Tell me, O Tarzan,
that it is for me you have returned."

Werper listened to the unintelligible jargon.
He looked from La to Tarzan.  Would the latter understand
this strange tongue?  To the Belgian's surprise, the
Englishman answered in a language evidently identical
to hers.

"Tarzan," he repeated, musingly.  "Tarzan.  The name
sounds familiar."

"It is your name--you are Tarzan," cried La.

"I am Tarzan?" The ape-man shrugged.  "Well, it is a
good name--I know no other, so I will keep it; but I do
not know you.  I did not come hither for you.  Why I
came, I do not know at all; neither do I know from
whence I came.  Can you tell me?"

La shook her head.  "I never knew," she replied.

Tarzan turned toward Werper and put the same question
to him; but in the language of the great apes.
The Belgian shook his head.

"I do not understand that language," he said in French.

Without effort, and apparently without realizing that
he made the change, Tarzan repeated his question in
French.  Werper suddenly came to a full realization of
the magnitude of the injury of which Tarzan was a
victim.  The man had lost his memory--no longer could
he recollect past events.  The Belgian was upon the
point of enlightening him, when it suddenly occurred to
him that by keeping Tarzan in ignorance, for a time at
least, of his true identity, it might be possible to
turn the ape-man's misfortune to his own advantage.

"I cannot tell you from whence you came," he said;
"but this I can tell you--if we do not get out of this
horrible place we shall both be slain upon this bloody
altar.  The woman was about to plunge her knife into my
heart when the lion interrupted the fiendish ritual. Come!
Before they recover from their fright and reassemble,
let us find a way out of their damnable temple."

Tarzan turned again toward La.

"Why," he asked, "would you have killed this man?
Are you hungry?"

The High Priestess cried out in disgust.

"Did he attempt to kill you?" continued Tarzan.

The woman shook her head.

"Then why should you have wished to kill him?" Tarzan
was determined to get to the bottom of the thing.

La raised her slender arm and pointed toward the sun.

"We were offering up his soul as a gift to the Flaming
God," she said.

Tarzan looked puzzled.  He was again an ape, and apes
do not understand such matters as souls and Flaming
Gods.

"Do you wish to die?" he asked Werper.

The Belgian assured him, with tears in his eyes, that
he did not wish to die.

"Very well then, you shall not," said Tarzan.  "Come!
We will go.  This SHE would kill you and keep me
for herself.  It is no place anyway for a Mangani.
I should soon die, shut up behind these stone walls."

He turned toward La.  "We are going now," he said.

The woman rushed forward and seized the ape-man's hands
in hers.

"Do not leave me!" she cried.  "Stay, and you shall be
High Priest.  La loves you.  All Opar shall be yours.
Slaves shall wait upon you.  Stay, Tarzan of the Apes,
and let love reward you."

The ape-man pushed the kneeling woman aside.  "Tarzan
does not desire you," he said, simply, and stepping to
Werper's side he cut the Belgian's bonds and motioned
him to follow.

Panting--her face convulsed with rage, La sprang to her
feet.

"Stay, you shall!" she screamed.  "La will have you--if
she cannot have you alive, she will have you dead," and
raising her face to the sun she gave voice to the same
hideous shriek that Werper had heard once before and
Tarzan many times.

In answer to her cry a babel of voices broke from the
surrounding chambers and corridors.

"Come, Guardian Priests!" she cried.  "The infidels
have profaned the holiest of the holies.  Come!  Strike
terror to their hearts; defend La and her altar; wash
clean the temple with the blood of the polluters."

Tarzan understood, though Werper did not.  The former
glanced at the Belgian and saw that he was unarmed.
Stepping quickly to La's side the ape-man seized her in
his strong arms and though she fought with all the mad
savagery of a demon, he soon disarmed her, handing her
long, sacrificial knife to Werper.

"You will need this," he said, and then from each
doorway a horde of the monstrous, little men of Opar
streamed into the temple.

They were armed with bludgeons and knives, and
fortified in their courage by fanatical hate and
frenzy.  Werper was terrified.  Tarzan stood eyeing the
foe in proud disdain. Slowly he advanced toward the
exit he had chosen to utilize in making his way from
the temple.  A burly priest barred his way.  Behind the
first was a score of others.  Tarzan swung his heavy
spear, clublike, down upon the skull of the priest.
The fellow collapsed, his head crushed.

Again and again the weapon fell as Tarzan made his way
slowly toward the doorway.  Werper pressed close
behind, casting backward glances toward the shrieking,
dancing mob menacing their rear.  He held the
sacrificial knife ready to strike whoever might come
within its reach; but none came.  For a time he
wondered that they should so bravely battle with the
giant ape-man, yet hesitate to rush upon him, who was
relatively so weak.  Had they done so he knew that he
must have fallen at the first charge.  Tarzan had
reached the doorway over the corpses of all that had
stood to dispute his way, before Werper guessed at the
reason for his immunity.  The priests feared the
sacrificial knife!  Willingly would they face death and
welcome it if it came while they defended their High
Priestess and her altar; but evidently there were
deaths, and deaths.  Some strange superstition must
surround that polished blade, that no Oparian cared to
chance a death thrust from it, yet gladly rushed to the
slaughter of the ape-man's flaying spear.

Once outside the temple court, Werper communicated his
discovery to Tarzan.  The ape-man grinned, and let
Werper go before him, brandishing the jeweled and holy
weapon.  Like leaves before a gale, the Oparians
scattered in all directions and Tarzan and the Belgian
found a clear passage through the corridors and
chambers of the ancient temple.

The Belgian's eyes went wide as they passed through the
room of the seven pillars of solid gold.  With ill-concealed
avarice he looked upon the age-old, golden tablets
set in the walls of nearly every room and down
the sides of many of the corridors.  To the ape-man all
this wealth appeared to mean nothing.

On the two went, chance leading them toward the broad
avenue which lay between the stately piles of the
half-ruined edifices and the inner wall of the city.
Great apes jabbered at them and menaced them; but Tarzan
answered them after their own kind, giving back taunt
for taunt, insult for insult, challenge for challenge.

Werper saw a hairy bull swing down from a broken column
and advance, stiff-legged and bristling, toward the
naked giant.  The yellow fangs were bared, angry snarls
and barkings rumbled threateningly through the thick
and hanging lips.

The Belgian watched his companion.  To his horror, he
saw the man stoop until his closed knuckles rested upon
the ground as did those of the anthropoid.  He saw him
circle, stiff-legged about the circling ape.  He heard
the same bestial barkings and growlings issue from the
human throat that were coming from the mouth of the
brute.  Had his eyes been closed he could not have
known but that two giant apes were bridling for combat.

But there was no battle.  It ended as the majority of
such jungle encounters end--one of the boasters loses
his nerve, and becomes suddenly interested in a blowing
leaf, a beetle, or the lice upon his hairy stomach.

In this instance it was the anthropoid that retired in
stiff dignity to inspect an unhappy caterpillar, which
he presently devoured.  For a moment Tarzan seemed
inclined to pursue the argument.  He swaggered
truculently, stuck out his chest, roared and advanced
closer to the bull.  It was with difficulty that Werper
finally persuaded him to leave well enough alone and
continue his way from the ancient city of the Sun
Worshipers.

The two searched for nearly an hour before they found
the narrow exit through the inner wall.  From there the
well-worn trail led them beyond the outer fortification
to the desolate valley of Opar.

Tarzan had no idea, in so far as Werper could discover,
as to where he was or whence he came.  He wandered
aimlessly about, searching for food, which he
discovered beneath small rocks, or hiding in the shade
of the scant brush which dotted the ground.

The Belgian was horrified by the hideous menu of his
companion.  Beetles, rodents and caterpillars were
devoured with seeming relish.  Tarzan was indeed an ape
again.

At last Werper succeeded in leading his companion
toward the distant hills which mark the northwestern
boundary of the valley, and together the two set out in
the direction of the Greystoke bungalow.

What purpose prompted the Belgian in leading the victim
of his treachery and greed back toward his former home
it is difficult to guess, unless it was that without
Tarzan there could be no ransom for Tarzan's wife.

That night they camped in the valley beyond the hills,
and as they sat before a little fire where cooked a
wild pig that had fallen to one of Tarzan's arrows, the
latter sat lost in speculation.  He seemed continually
to be trying to grasp some mental image which as
constantly eluded him.

At last he opened the leathern pouch which hung at his
side.  From it he poured into the palm of his hand a
quantity of glittering gems.  The firelight playing
upon them conjured a multitude of scintillating rays,
and as the wide eyes of the Belgian looked on in rapt
fascination, the man's expression at last acknowledged
a tangible purpose in courting the society of the ape-man.

9

The Theft of the Jewels

For two days Werper sought for the party that had
accompanied him from the camp to the barrier cliffs;
but not until late in the afternoon of the second day
did he find clew to its whereabouts, and then in such
gruesome form that he was totally unnerved by the
sight.

In an open glade he came upon the bodies of three of
the blacks, terribly mutilated, nor did it require
considerable deductive power to explain their murder.
Of the little party only these three had not been
slaves.  The others, evidently tempted to hope for
freedom from their cruel Arab master, had taken
advantage of their separation from the main camp, to
slay the three representatives of the hated power which
held them in slavery, and vanish into the jungle.

Cold sweat exuded from Werper's forehead as he
contemplated the fate which chance had permitted him to
escape, for had he been present when the conspiracy
bore fruit, he, too, must have been of the garnered.

Tarzan showed not the slightest surprise or interest in
the discovery.  Inherent in him was a calloused
familiarity with violent death.  The refinements of his
recent civilization expunged by the force of the sad
calamity which had befallen him, left only the
primitive sensibilities which his childhood's training
had imprinted indelibly upon the fabric of his mind.

The training of Kala, the examples and precepts of
Kerchak, of Tublat, and of Terkoz now formed the basis
of his every thought and action.  He retained a
mechanical knowledge of French and English speech.
Werper had spoken to him in French, and Tarzan had
replied in the same tongue without conscious
realization that he had departed from the anthropoidal
speech in which he had addressed La.  Had Werper used
English, the result would have been the same.

Again, that night, as the two sat before their camp
fire, Tarzan played with his shining baubles.  Werper
asked him what they were and where he had found them.
The ape-man replied that they were gay-colored stones,
with which he purposed fashioning a necklace, and that
he had found them far beneath the sacrificial court of
the temple of the Flaming God.

Werper was relieved to find that Tarzan had no
conception of the value of the gems.  This would make
it easier for the Belgian to obtain possession of them.
Possibly the man would give them to him for the asking.
Werper reached out his hand toward the little pile that
Tarzan had arranged upon a piece of flat wood before
him.

"Let me see them," said the Belgian.

Tarzan placed a large palm over his treasure.  He bared
his fighting fangs, and growled.  Werper withdrew his
hand more quickly than he had advanced it.  Tarzan
resumed his playing with the gems, and his conversation
with Werper as though nothing unusual had occurred.
He had but exhibited the beast's jealous protective
instinct for a possession.  When he killed he shared
the meat with Werper; but had Werper ever, by accident,
laid a hand upon Tarzan's share, he would have aroused
the same savage, and resentful warning.

From that occurrence dated the beginning of a great
fear in the breast of the Belgian for his savage
companion.  He had never understood the transformation
that had been wrought in Tarzan by the blow upon his
head, other than to attribute it to a form of amnesia.
That Tarzan had once been, in truth, a savage, jungle
beast, Werper had not known, and so, of course, he
could not guess that the man had reverted to the state
in which his childhood and young manhood had been
spent.

Now Werper saw in the Englishman a dangerous maniac,
whom the slightest untoward accident might turn upon
him with rending fangs.  Not for a moment did Werper
attempt to delude himself into the belief that he could
defend himself successfully against an attack by the
ape-man.  His one hope lay in eluding him, and making
for the far distant camp of Achmet Zek as rapidly as he
could; but armed only with the sacrificial knife,
Werper shrank from attempting the journey through the
jungle.  Tarzan constituted a protection that was by no
means despicable, even in the face of the larger
carnivora, as Werper had reason to acknowledge from the
evidence he had witnessed in the Oparian temple.

Too, Werper had his covetous soul set upon the pouch of
gems, and so he was torn between the various emotions
of avarice and fear.  But avarice it was that burned
most strongly in his breast, to the end that he dared
the dangers and suffered the terrors of constant
association with him he thought a mad man, rather than
give up the hope of obtaining possession of the fortune
which the contents of the little pouch represented.

Achmet Zek should know nothing of these--these would be
for Werper alone, and so soon as he could encompass his
design he would reach the coast and take passage for
America, where he could conceal himself beneath the
veil of a new identity and enjoy to some measure the
fruits of his theft.  He had it all planned out, did
Lieutenant Albert Werper, living in anticipation the
luxurious life of the idle rich.  He even found himself
regretting that America was so provincial, and that
nowhere in the new world was a city that might compare
with his beloved Brussels.

It was upon the third day of their progress from Opar
that the keen ears of Tarzan caught the sound of men
behind them.  Werper heard nothing above the humming of
the jungle insects, and the chattering life of the
lesser monkeys and the birds.

For a time Tarzan stood in statuesque silence,
listening, his sensitive nostrils dilating as he
assayed each passing breeze.  Then he withdrew Werper
into the concealment of thick brush, and waited.
Presently, along the game trail that Werper and Tarzan
had been following, there came in sight a sleek,
black warrior, alert and watchful.

In single file behind him, there followed, one after
another, near fifty others, each burdened with two
dull-yellow ingots lashed upon his back.  Werper
recognized the party immediately as that which had
accompanied Tarzan on his journey to Opar.  He glanced
at the ape-man; but in the savage, watchful eyes he saw
no recognition of Basuli and those other loyal Waziri.

When all had passed, Tarzan rose and emerged from
concealment.  He looked down the trail in the direction
the party had gone.  Then he turned to Werper.

"We will follow and slay them," he said.

"Why?" asked the Belgian.

"They are black," explained Tarzan.  "It was a black
who killed Kala.  They are the enemies of the
Manganis."

Werper did not relish the idea of engaging in a battle
with Basuli and his fierce fighting men.  And, again,
he had welcomed the sight of them returning toward the
Greystoke bungalow, for he had begun to have doubts as
to his ability to retrace his steps to the Waziri
country.  Tarzan, he knew, had not the remotest idea of
whither they were going.  By keeping at a safe distance
behind the laden warriors, they would have no
difficulty in following them home.  Once at the
bungalow, Werper knew the way to the camp of Achmet
Zek.  There was still another reason why he did not
wish to interfere with the Waziri--they were bearing
the great burden of treasure in the direction he wished
it borne.  The farther they took it, the less the
distance that he and Achmet Zek would have to transport it.

He argued with the ape-man therefore, against the
latter's desire to exterminate the blacks, and at last
he prevailed upon Tarzan to follow them in peace,
saying that he was sure they would lead them out of the
forest into a rich country, teeming with game.

It was many marches from Opar to the Waziri country;
but at last came the hour when Tarzan and the Belgian,
following the trail of the warriors, topped the last
rise, and saw before them the broad Waziri plain, the
winding river, and the distant forests to the north and
west.

A mile or more ahead of them, the line of warriors was
creeping like a giant caterpillar through the tall
grasses of the plain.  Beyond, grazing herds of zebra,
hartebeest, and topi dotted the level landscape, while
closer to the river a bull buffalo, his head and
shoulders protruding from the reeds watched the
advancing blacks for a moment, only to turn at last and
disappear into the safety of his dank and gloomy
retreat.

Tarzan looked out across the familiar vista with no
faintest gleam of recognition in his eyes.  He saw the
game animals, and his mouth watered; but he did not
look in the direction of his bungalow.  Werper,
however, did.  A puzzled expression entered the
Belgian's eyes.  He shaded them with his palms and
gazed long and earnestly toward the spot where the
bungalow had stood.  He could not credit the testimony
of his eyes--there was no bungalow--no barns--no
out- houses.  The corrals, the hay stacks--all were gone.
What could it mean?

And then, slowly there filtered into Werper's
consciousness an explanation of the havoc that had been
wrought in that peaceful valley since last his eyes had
rested upon it--Achmet Zek had been there!

Basuli and his warriors had noted the devastation the
moment they had come in sight of the farm.  Now they
hastened on toward it talking excitedly among
themselves in animated speculation upon the cause and
meaning of the catastrophe.

When, at last they crossed the trampled garden and
stood before the charred ruins of their master's
bungalow, their greatest fears became convictions in
the light of the evidence about them.

Remnants of human dead, half devoured by prowling
hyenas and others of the carnivora which infested the
region, lay rotting upon the ground, and among the
corpses remained sufficient remnants of their clothing
and ornaments to make clear to Basuli the frightful
story of the disaster that had befallen his master's
house.

"The Arabs," he said, as his men clustered about him.

The Waziri gazed about in mute rage for several
minutes.  Everywhere they encountered only further
evidence of the ruthlessness of the cruel enemy that
had come during the Great Bwana's absence and laid
waste his property.

"What did they with 'Lady'?" asked one of the blacks.

They had always called Lady Greystoke thus.

"The women they would have taken with them," said
Basuli.  "Our women and his."

A giant black raised his spear above his head, and gave
voice to a savage cry of rage and hate.  The others
followed his example.  Basuli silenced them with a gesture.

"This is no time for useless noises of the mouth," he
said.  "The Great Bwana has taught us that it is acts
by which things are done, not words.  Let us save our
breath--we shall need it all to follow up the Arabs and
slay them.  If 'Lady' and our women live the greater
the need of haste, and warriors cannot travel fast upon
empty lungs."

From the shelter of the reeds along the river, Werper
and Tarzan watched the blacks.  They saw them dig a
trench with their knives and fingers.  They saw them
lay their yellow burdens in it and scoop the overturned
earth back over the tops of the ingots.

Tarzan seemed little interested, after Werper had
assured him that that which they buried was not good to
eat; but Werper was intensely interested.  He would
have given much had he had his own followers with him,
that he might take away the treasure as soon as the
blacks left, for he was sure that they would leave this
scene of desolation and death as soon as possible.

The treasure buried, the blacks removed themselves a
short distance up wind from the fetid corpses, where
they made camp, that they might rest before setting out
in pursuit of the Arabs.  It was already dusk.  Werper
and Tarzan sat devouring some pieces of meat they had
brought from their last camp.  The Belgian was occupied
with his plans for the immediate future.  He was
positive that the Waziri would pursue Achmet Zek,
for he knew enough of savage warfare, and of the
characteristics of the Arabs and their degraded
followers to guess that they had carried the Waziri
women off into slavery.  This alone would assure
immediate pursuit by so warlike a people as the Waziri.

Werper felt that he should find the means and the
opportunity to push on ahead, that he might warn Achmet
Zek of the coming of Basuli, and also of the location
of the buried treasure.  What the Arab would now do
with Lady Greystoke, in view of the mental affliction
of her husband, Werper neither knew nor cared.  It was
enough that the golden treasure buried upon the site of
the burned bungalow was infinitely more valuable than
any ransom that would have occurred even to the
avaricious mind of the Arab, and if Werper could
persuade the raider to share even a portion of it with
him he would be well satisfied.

But by far the most important consideration, to Werper,
at least, was the incalculably valuable treasure in the
little leathern pouch at Tarzan's side.  If he could
but obtain possession of this!  He must!  He would!

His eyes wandered to the object of his greed.
They measured Tarzan's giant frame, and rested upon
the rounded muscles of his arms.  It was hopeless.
What could he, Werper, hope to accomplish, other than his
own death, by an attempt to wrest the gems from their
savage owner?

Disconsolate, Werper threw himself upon his side.
His head was pillowed on one arm, the other rested across
his face in such a way that his eyes were hidden from
the ape-man, though one of them was fastened upon him
from beneath the shadow of the Belgian's forearm.
For a time he lay thus, glowering at Tarzan, and
originating schemes for plundering him of his treasure--
schemes that were discarded as futile as rapidly as
they were born.

Tarzan presently let his own eyes rest upon Werper.
The Belgian saw that he was being watched, and lay very
still.  After a few moments he simulated the regular
breathing of deep slumber.

Tarzan had been thinking.  He had seen the Waziri bury
their belongings.  Werper had told him that they were
hiding them lest some one find them and take them away.
This seemed to Tarzan a splendid plan for safeguarding
valuables.  Since Werper had evinced a desire to
possess his glittering pebbles, Tarzan, with the
suspicions of a savage, had guarded the baubles, of
whose worth he was entirely ignorant, as zealously as
though they spelled life or death to him.

For a long time the ape-man sat watching his companion.
At last, convinced that he slept, Tarzan withdrew his
hunting knife and commenced to dig a hole in the ground
before him.  With the blade he loosened up the earth,
and with his hands he scooped it out until he had
excavated a little cavity a few inches in diameter, and
five or six inches in depth.  Into this he placed the
pouch of jewels.  Werper almost forgot to breathe after
the fashion of a sleeper as he saw what the ape-man was
doing--he scarce repressed an ejaculation of
satisfaction.

Tarzan become suddenly rigid as his keen ears noted the
cessation of the regular inspirations and expirations
of his companion.  His narrowed eyes bored straight
down upon the Belgian.  Werper felt that he was lost--
he must risk all on his ability to carry on the
deception.  He sighed, threw both arms outward, and
turned over on his back mumbling as though in the
throes of a bad dream.  A moment later he resumed the
regular breathing.

Now he could not watch Tarzan, but he was sure that the
man sat for a long time looking at him.  Then, faintly,
Werper heard the other's hands scraping dirt, and later
patting it down.  He knew then that the jewels were
buried.

It was an hour before Werper moved again, then he
rolled over facing Tarzan and opened his eyes.  The
ape-man slept.  By reaching out his hand Werper could
touch the spot where the pouch was buried.

For a long time he lay watching and listening.
He moved about, making more noise than necessary,
yet Tarzan did not awaken.  He drew the sacrificial knife
from his belt, and plunged it into the ground.
Tarzan did not move.  Cautiously the Belgian pushed the
blade downward through the loose earth above the pouch.
He felt the point touch the soft, tough fabric of the
leather.  Then he pried down upon the handle.
Slowly the little mound of loose earth rose and parted.
An instant later a corner of the pouch came into view.
Werper pulled it from its hiding place, and tucked it
in his shirt.  Then he refilled the hole and pressed
the dirt carefully down as it had been before.

Greed had prompted him to an act, the discovery of
which by his companion could lead only to the most
frightful consequences for Werper.  Already he could
almost feel those strong, white fangs burying
themselves in his neck.  He shuddered.  Far out across
the plain a leopard screamed, and in the dense reeds
behind him some great beast moved on padded feet.

Werper feared these prowlers of the night; but
infinitely more he feared the just wrath of the human
beast sleeping at his side.  With utmost caution the
Belgian arose.  Tarzan did not move.  Werper took a few
steps toward the plain and the distant forest to the
northwest, then he paused and fingered the hilt of the
long knife in his belt.  He turned and looked down upon
the sleeper.

"Why not?" he mused.  "Then I should be safe."

He returned and bent above the ape-man.  Clutched
tightly in his hand was the sacrificial knife of the
High Priestess of the Flaming God!

10

Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels

Mugambi, weak and suffering, had dragged his painful
way along the trail of the retreating raiders.
He could move but slowly, resting often; but savage hatred
and an equally savage desire for vengeance kept him to
his task.  As the days passed his wounds healed and his
strength returned, until at last his giant frame had
regained all of its former mighty powers.  Now he went
more rapidly; but the mounted Arabs had covered a great
distance while the wounded black had been painfully
crawling after them.

They had reached their fortified camp, and there Achmet
Zek awaited the return of his lieutenant, Albert
Werper.  During the long, rough journey, Jane Clayton
had suffered more in anticipation of her impending fate
than from the hardships of the road.

Achmet Zek had not deigned to acquaint her with his
intentions regarding her future.  She prayed that she
had been captured in the hope of ransom, for if such
should prove the case, no great harm would befall her
at the hands of the Arabs; but there was the chance,
the horrid chance, that another fate awaited her.
She had heard of many women, among whom were white women,
who had been sold by outlaws such as Achmet Zek into
the slavery of black harems, or taken farther north
into the almost equally hideous existence of some
Turkish seraglio.

Jane Clayton was of sterner stuff than that which bends
in spineless terror before danger.  Until hope proved
futile she would not give it up; nor did she entertain
thoughts of self-destruction only as a final escape
from dishonor.  So long as Tarzan lived there was every
reason to expect succor.  No man nor beast who roamed
the savage continent could boast the cunning and the
powers of her lord and master.  To her, he was little
short of omnipotent in his native world--this world of
savage beasts and savage men.  Tarzan would come, and
she would be rescued and avenged, of that she was
certain.  She counted the days that must elapse before
he would return from Opar and discover what had
transpired during his absence.  After that it would be
but a short time before he had surrounded the Arab
stronghold and punished the motley crew of wrongdoers
who inhabited it.

That he could find her she had no slightest doubt.
No spoor, however faint, could elude the keen vigilance
of his senses.  To him, the trail of the raiders would be
as plain as the printed page of an open book to her.

And while she hoped, there came through the dark jungle
another.  Terrified by night and by day, came Albert
Werper.  A dozen times he had escaped the claws and
fangs of the giant carnivora only by what seemed a
miracle to him.  Armed with nothing more than the knife
he had brought with him from Opar, he had made his way
through as savage a country as yet exists upon the face
of the globe.

By night he had slept in trees.  By day he had stumbled
fearfully on, often taking refuge among the branches
when sight or sound of some great cat warned him from
danger.  But at last he had come within sight of the
palisade behind which were his fierce companions.

At almost the same time Mugambi came out of the jungle
before the walled village.  As he stood in the shadow
of a great tree, reconnoitering, he saw a man, ragged
and disheveled, emerge from the jungle almost at his
elbow.  Instantly he recognized the newcomer as he who
had been a guest of his master before the latter had
departed for Opar.

The black was upon the point of hailing the Belgian
when something stayed him.  He saw the white man
walking confidently across the clearing toward the
village gate.  No sane man thus approached a village in
this part of Africa unless he was sure of a friendly
welcome.  Mugambi waited.  His suspicions were aroused.

He heard Werper halloo; he saw the gates swing open,
and he witnessed the surprised and friendly welcome
that was accorded the erstwhile guest of Lord and Lady
Greystoke.  A light broke upon the understanding of
Mugambi.  This white man had been a traitor and a spy.
It was to him they owed the raid during the absence of
the Great Bwana.  To his hate for the Arabs, Mugambi
added a still greater hate for the white spy.

Within the village Werper passed hurriedly toward the
silken tent of Achmet Zek.  The Arab arose as his
lieutenant entered.  His face showed surprise as he
viewed the tattered apparel of the Belgian.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Werper narrated all, save the little matter of the
pouch of gems which were now tightly strapped about his
waist, beneath his clothing.  The Arab's eyes narrowed
greedily as his henchman described the treasure that
the Waziri had buried beside the ruins of the Greystoke
bungalow.

"It will be a simple matter now to return and get it,"
said Achmet Zek.  "First we will await the coming of
the rash Waziri, and after we have slain them we may
take our time to the treasure--none will disturb it
where it lies, for we shall leave none alive who knows
of its existence.

"And the woman?" asked Werper.

"I shall sell her in the north," replied the raider.
"It is the only way, now.  She should bring a good
price."

The Belgian nodded.  He was thinking rapidly.  If he
could persuade Achmet Zek to send him in command of the
party which took Lady Greystoke north it would give him
the opportunity he craved to make his escape from his
chief.  He would forego a share of the gold, if he
could but get away unscathed with the jewels.

He knew Achmet Zek well enough by this time to know
that no member of his band ever was voluntarily
released from the service of Achmet Zek.  Most of the
few who deserted were recaptured.  More than once had
Werper listened to their agonized screams as they were
tortured before being put to death.  The Belgian had no
wish to take the slightest chance of recapture.

"Who will go north with the woman," he asked, "while we
are returning for the gold that the Waziri buried by
the bungalow of the Englishman?"

Achmet Zek thought for a moment.  The buried gold was
of much greater value than the price the woman would
bring.  It was necessary to rid himself of her as
quickly as possible and it was also well to obtain the
gold with the least possible delay.  Of all his
followers, the Belgian was the most logical lieutenant
to intrust with the command of one of the parties.  An
Arab, as familiar with the trails and tribes as Achmet
Zek himself, might collect the woman's price and make
good his escape into the far north.  Werper, on the
other hand, could scarce make his escape alone through
a country hostile to Europeans while the men he would
send with the Belgian could be carefully selected with
a view to preventing Werper from persuading any
considerable portion of his command to accompany him
should he contemplate desertion of his chief.

At last the Arab spoke: "It is not necessary that we
both return for the gold.  You shall go north with the
woman, carrying a letter to a friend of mine who is
always in touch with the best markets for such
merchandise, while I return for the gold.  We can meet
again here when our business is concluded."

Werper could scarce disguise the joy with which he
received this welcome decision.  And that he did
entirely disguise it from the keen and suspicious eyes
of Achmet Zek is open to question.  However, the
decision reached, the Arab and his lieutenant discussed
the details of their forthcoming ventures for a short
time further, when Werper made his excuses and returned
to his own tent for the comforts and luxury of a
long-desired bath and shave.

Having bathed, the Belgian tied a small hand mirror to
a cord sewn to the rear wall of his tent, placed a rude
chair beside an equally rude table that stood beside
the glass, and proceeded to remove the rough stubble
from his face.

In the catalog of masculine pleasures there is scarce
one which imparts a feeling of greater comfort and
refreshment than follows a clean shave, and now, with
weariness temporarily banished, Albert Werper sprawled
in his rickety chair to enjoy a final cigaret before
retiring.  His thumbs, tucked in his belt in lazy
support of the weight of his arms, touched the belt
which held the jewel pouch about his waist.  He tingled
with excitement as he let his mind dwell upon the value
of the treasure, which, unknown to all save himself,
lay hidden beneath his clothing.

What would Achmet Zek say, if he knew?  Werper grinned.
How the old rascal's eyes would pop could he but have a
glimpse of those scintillating beauties!  Werper had
never yet had an opportunity to feast his eyes for any
great length of time upon them.  He had not even
counted them--only roughly had he guessed at their
value.

He unfastened the belt and drew the pouch from its
hiding place.  He was alone.  The balance of the camp,
save the sentries, had retired--none would enter the
Belgian's tent.  He fingered the pouch, feeling out the
shapes and sizes of the precious, little nodules
within.  He hefted the bag, first in one palm, then in
the other, and at last he wheeled his chair slowly
around before the table, and in the rays of his small
lamp let the glittering gems roll out upon the rough
wood.

The refulgent rays transformed the interior of the
soiled and squalid canvas to the splendor of a palace
in the eyes of the dreaming man.  He saw the gilded
halls of pleasure that would open their portals to the
possessor of the wealth which lay scattered upon this
stained and dented table top.  He dreamed of joys and
luxuries and power which always had been beyond his
grasp, and as he dreamed his gaze lifted from the
table, as the gaze of a dreamer will, to a far distant
goal above the mean horizon of terrestrial
commonplaceness.

Unseeing, his eyes rested upon the shaving mirror which
still hung upon the tent wall above the table; but his
sight was focused far beyond.  And then a reflection
moved within the polished surface of the tiny glass,
the man's eyes shot back out of space to the mirror's
face, and in it he saw reflected the grim visage of
Achmet Zek, framed in the flaps of the tent doorway
behind him.

Werper stifled a gasp of dismay.  With rare
self-possession he let his gaze drop, without appearing
to have halted upon the mirror until it rested again upon
the gems.  Without haste, he replaced them in the
pouch, tucked the latter into his shirt, selected a
cigaret from his case, lighted it and rose.  Yawning,
and stretching his arms above his head, he turned
slowly toward the opposite end of the tent.  The face
of Achmet Zek had disappeared from the opening.

To say that Albert Werper was terrified would be
putting it mildly.  He realized that he not only had
sacrificed his treasure; but his life as well.
Achmet Zek would never permit the wealth that he had
discovered to slip through his fingers, nor would he
forgive the duplicity of a lieutenant who had gained
possession of such a treasure without offering to share
it with his chief.

Slowly the Belgian prepared for bed.  If he were being
watched, he could not know; but if so the watcher saw
no indication of the nervous excitement which the
European strove to conceal.  When ready for his
blankets, the man crossed to the little table and
extinguished the light.

It was two hours later that the flaps at the front of
the tent separated silently and gave entrance to a
dark-robed figure, which passed noiselessly from the
darkness without to the darkness within.  Cautiously
the prowler crossed the interior.  In one hand was a
long knife.  He came at last to the pile of blankets
spread upon several rugs close to one of the tent
walls.

Lightly, his fingers sought and found the bulk beneath
the blankets--the bulk that should be Albert Werper.
They traced out the figure of a man, and then an arm
shot upward, poised for an instant and descended.
Again and again it rose and fell, and each time the
long blade of the knife buried itself in the thing
beneath the blankets.  But there was an initial
lifelessness in the silent bulk that gave the assassin
momentary wonder.  Feverishly he threw back the
coverlets, and searched with nervous hands for the
pouch of jewels which he expected to find concealed
upon his victim's body.

An instant later he rose with a curse upon his lips.
It was Achmet Zek, and he cursed because he had
discovered beneath the blankets of his lieutenant only
a pile of discarded clothing arranged in the form and
semblance of a sleeping man--Albert Werper had fled.

Out into the village ran the chief, calling in angry
tones to the sleepy Arabs, who tumbled from their tents
in answer to his voice.  But though they searched the
village again and again they found no trace of the
Belgian.  Foaming with anger, Achmet Zek called his
followers to horse, and though the night was pitchy
black they set out to scour the adjoining forest for
their quarry.

As they galloped from the open gates, Mugambi, hiding
in a nearby bush, slipped, unseen, within the palisade.
A score of blacks crowded about the entrance to watch
the searchers depart, and as the last of them passed
out of the village the blacks seized the portals and
drew them to, and Mugambi lent a hand in the work as
though the best of his life had been spent among the
raiders.

In the darkness he passed, unchallenged, as one of
their number, and as they returned from the gates to
their respective tents and huts, Mugambi melted into
the shadows and disappeared.

For an hour he crept about in the rear of the various
huts and tents in an effort to locate that in which his
master's mate was imprisoned.  One there was which he
was reasonably assured contained her, for it was the
only hut before the door of which a sentry had been
posted.  Mugambi was crouching in the shadow of this
structure, just around the corner from the unsuspecting
guard, when another approached to relieve his comrade.

"The prisoner is safe within?" asked the newcomer.

"She is," replied the other, "for none has passed this
doorway since I came."

The new sentry squatted beside the door, while he whom
he had relieved made his way to his own hut.  Mugambi
slunk closer to the corner of the building.  In one
powerful hand he gripped a heavy knob-stick.  No sign
of elation disturbed his phlegmatic calm, yet inwardly
he was aroused to joy by the proof he had just heard
that "Lady" really was within.

The sentry's back was toward the corner of the hut
which hid the giant black.  The fellow did not see the
huge form which silently loomed behind him.  The
knob-stick swung upward in a curve, and downward again.
There was the sound of a dull thud, the crushing of
heavy bone, and the sentry slumped into a silent,
inanimate lump of clay.

A moment later Mugambi was searching the interior of
the hut.  At first slowly, calling, "Lady!" in a low
whisper, and finally with almost frantic haste, until
the truth presently dawned upon him--the hut was empty!

11

Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again

For a moment Werper had stood above the sleeping ape-man,
his murderous knife poised for the fatal thrust;
but fear stayed his hand.  What if the first blow
should fail to drive the point to his victim's heart?
Werper shuddered in contemplation of the disastrous
consequences to himself.  Awakened, and even with a few
moments of life remaining, the giant could literally
tear his assailant to pieces should he choose, and the
Belgian had no doubt but that Tarzan would so choose.

Again came the soft sound of padded footsteps in the
reeds--closer this time.  Werper abandoned his design.
Before him stretched the wide plain and escape.
The jewels were in his possession.  To remain longer was to
risk death at the hands of Tarzan, or the jaws of the
hunter creeping ever nearer.  Turning, he slunk away
through the night, toward the distant forest.

Tarzan slept on.  Where were those uncanny, guardian
powers that had formerly rendered him immune from the
dangers of surprise?  Could this dull sleeper be the
alert, sensitive Tarzan of old?

Perhaps the blow upon his head had numbed his senses,
temporarily--who may say?  Closer crept the stealthy
creature through the reeds.  The rustling curtain of
vegetation parted a few paces from where the sleeper
lay, and the massive head of a lion appeared.  The
beast surveyed the ape-man intently for a moment, then
he crouched, his hind feet drawn well beneath him, his
tail lashing from side to side.

It was the beating of the beast's tail against the
reeds which awakened Tarzan.  Jungle folk do not awaken
slowly--instantly, full consciousness and full command
of their every faculty retur