Tarzan And The Cave City

New Tarzan 02

(1964)

Barton Werper

Contents

Chapter 1 The Safari

Chapter 2 The 100-Pound Emerald

Chapter 3 The Plan

Chapter 4 Alarums And Excursions!

Chapter 5 Double Jeopardy

Chapter 6 The Pursuit

Chapter 7 The White Plumes

Chapter 8 The Capture Of Tarzan

Chapter 9 The Gladiator

Chapter 10 So Die Cowards

Chapter 11 The Decision

Chapter 12 The Charge Of The Bull Apes

Chapter 13 The Death Of Bamo

Chapter 14 The Judgment

Chapter One

The Safari

John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, handed the cablegram to his Wife, Jane. "I have a suggestion to make, dear," he said. She held up her hand to hush him as she rapidly scanned the message.

"Arriving Nairobi airport on 13th this month," she read aloud. "Can you meet me? My sister-in-law Marcia and her fiancé will accompany me. Pamela extends a hearty invitation for Jane to visit in Sussex while we are on a rather mysterious safari! Some nonsense about an impossibly large precious jewel. Thought it might be fun. No matter, please join us.

"Kindest, Freddie."

Jane looked up, her face brightening, "I think this is a splendid opportunity to pay a visit to Jack. And you've always thought so highly of Freddie."

Tarzan smiled. "My best friend. Well, Jane, I must admit that I've been growing a bit tired of the trappings of civilization. Are you sure you would like to go back to England?"

Her face softened immediately. "Not if you don't desire it, my lord. I could never do anything of which you do not approve."

"It might be good for both of us," Tarzan said, then hastily, remembering her temper (which was altogether unreasonable in one so small and dainty), "I mean, I could use the exercise, and Fm sure you'd like a few weeks with Lady Pembroke and a day or so with Jack. Frankly, I haven't been looking over our holdings here as well as I might have been. And to be honest, Jane, my feet hurt. From shoes." He looked like a little boy, and Jane laughed.

"I know. I have been rather restricting your movements, haven't I? Well, it's decided. I'm going to England. And you, Tarzan, are going on safari. To look for 'an impossibly large precious jewel.' We'll have to leave tomorrow morning to meet the flight. Shall I have the servants pack?"

"Yes, of course, my love," .Tarzan agreed, his heart singing. He felt a bit guilty, and of course he loved Jane very much and would miss her very much, but the jungle, the world of sun and shadow, life and death, the world without compromise or false diplomacy, the world into which he had, literally, been born, called. The jungle was his first wife, Jane his second, and he could no more have resisted this opportunity to return (a fact which Jane very well knew) than he could have deliberately stopped breathing.

Jane made the most of it. "My lord," she said, in the language of the tarmangani, the great apes, "shall we visit the tall trees again tonight? One last time? For who knows what might transpire?"

Tarzan smiled. "You are my mate," he answered, in the same tongue. "Tonight we go to the middle terrace. I shall make us a nest. Now," and he switched to English, "get out of those European clothes and into your leopard skin. Quickly!"

Jane ran to obey.

"Goro, the moon, smiles upon us, Tarzan," Jane remarked a few hours later. She lay comfortably in a soft nest which the ape-man had swiftly constructed when the idea had struck them both, the return to the primitive, uncomplicated, uncivilized life, even if only for a matter of a few hours, for indeed Jane loved the jungle as much as Tarzan. More, perhaps, because she had been a belle of Baltimore society during her youth, at the same time that Tarzan was being suckled by a great she-ape. Hers was the position of a child who had adopted its environment, while her mate had never had a choice.

Tarzan, grunting with utter contentment, said merely, "Look below."

In the clearing beneath their comfortable perch, the moon shone brightly. Slowly, almost indistinguishable from the shadows that surrounded it, into the clearing a few forms entered, the moonlight striking off the shadowy, hairy figures. "The giant apes," she whispered to Tarzan. "But how did you ..."

"Shh. They dance. Tonight is the full moon. See that big fellow in the middle, starting, just now, to drum on his chest?"

"Jedak," she whispered, daring not to speak aloud. In these ceremonial rituals, as Jane well knew, the great apes, especially the bulls, preferred to offer a living sacrifice to Goro, the moon, a satellite they regarded as a god and worshiped accordingly. Below her, the apes had started their ceremonial dance, the ludicrous enough to the uninformed, but a dance that would strike terror, and did, to any normal jungle denizen.

Jedak, the mightiest bull ape of the jungle, was the star of the performance he strutted about, stomping the ground, giving the mighty cry of the bull apes, the cry that would strike terror to all denizens of the forest except, perhaps, Numa the lion. "I am Jedak," he roared, pounding his mighty chest. "I kill! I am the most savage of all No one dares dispute me!"

Tarzan could take no more of this. He patted Jane reassuringly on the shoulder and before she could protest aloud, dropped lightly from his tree into the swale, the place of concealment, for such it was. He confronted the mighty Jedak, who was making a complete asset himself with his stomping and boasting. "I am Tarzan," said the ape-man, growling. "I kill."

Jane watched the serio-comic scene below her in fascinated horror. Jedak, the mighty ape, strutted about the natural arena, mocking Tarzan. On the other hand, Tarzan cut hardly a better figure as he thrust out his chest in a patently ridiculous fashion, stomped the ground with his feet, and issued insults and challenges to Jedak, who outweighed the ape-man by at least two hundred pounds. Jedak appeared to accept the challenge. He and Tarzan had fought before, and Jedak had inevitably been worsted in the encounters. Still, the ape reasoned, those other times had been accidents. This time, for sure, he would destroy this annoying white-skinned creature.

He held his paws in the air. "I carry no weapons."

Tarzan laughed, roared again, a sound at which Jedak visibly winced. "Nor I," Tarzan said, and unloosed his belt, letting the steel knife that he'd inherited from his father drop to the ground. "Nor I."

Jedak's brow furrowed, as be corked himself into a killing rage. Suddenly he gave a roar and charged. At the sound, all the others of the small tribe, which numbered perhaps fifteen or twenty in all, including pups and shes, took to the trees. One such she found room beside Jane, on the same branch. "Onwa," she introduced herself politely in the language of the apes. "Mate of Jedak..

"Jane," the woman replied, with a mastery of the tongue that had been taught to her by Tarzan. "Mate of Tarzan." She said this last with a certain pride.

Onwa watched the strutting hes for a moment, then wiped her muzzle with a gesture of disgust. "Males!"

"Yes," Jane agreed, gravely. "Males. Well, there's nothing we can do about it."

"Jedak is this way because I am giving birth shortly. One more moon, perhaps." The she ape wiped her muzzle again, sniffling with a strangely human sound.

"Oh?"Jane asked.

"Yes." The ape regarded her gravely, as the two males continued to stomp around rather foolishly on the ground. "Have you whelped?"

Jane thought of her fine young son. Jack, now in his second year lit Oxford. Somehow, it didn't seem so many years ago, although Jack was older than any great ape. They conceived at the age of seven or eight, died at six" teen or seventeen years of age. "I have a cub," she said.

"Just one?"

"Just one."

The ape looked at Jane with large eyes. "This will be my first. I am frightened. Tell me, did you get sick? In the morning?"

"Below them, the two savage figures still stomped and circled each other, uttering outlandish threats and strange curses. Jane put an arm about the huge, shaggy shoulders of the ape. "Oh, yes. You must not be afraid. That is right. One is always sick"

Onwa looked at her with large eyes again. "Truly? I was afraid. And my belly feels strange. Like someone inside with a club, striking at me. Surely this is wrong, and I am cursed with some strange demon."

Jane laughed aloud. "No. That is the--pup-within you, coming to life. All shes feel this. I felt it."

Onwa placed a paw on her belly. "It happens even now. But it somehow feels comforting. It is a pleasant night tonight. Cool. If only these silly males would stop their showing off."

Jane nodded, with heartfelt sympathy. "Yes."

Below them, the pair continued their strutting. Tarzan, very much the aggressor, stuck his chest out at a rather ridiculous angle, openly challenging the mighty bull ape.

Jedak proclaimed again, "I am Jedak, mightiest of all apes. I kill!" He then paused, just before a threatened charge, and picked up a grub, really a caterpillar, from behind a rock. He sniffed it cautiously, found it good, broke it in half and offered one still-squirming end to Tarzan. Lord Greystoke, who had been rushing the ape, stopped in midstride, accepting the delicacy from Jedak.

Quickly, Tarzan popped the delicacy into his mouth. "Something comes," he warned the giant ape. "I smell Numa, the lion."

Jedak brushed his muzzle with a giant paw. "We shall kill him. I smell him also!"

The ape-man, still cautious, shook his head. "No. He harms no one. He comes slowly, cautiously. Without hunger. I shall go to my mate, up in the middle terrace of the trees, to sleep. Your people, too, are there."

Jedak scowled, baling froth-spilling fangs. "I fear no lion. I am the mightiest of all in the jungle."

"Yes," Tarzan said, against his will. "So you are. Mighty Jedak. Greatest of the apes. My mate awaits me in the trees, yonder."

"And mine," growled the primeval tarmangani. "Do you think I acknowledge you as the leader of all the bull apes in this country. Just because we never fought to the death."

"There is that," Tarzan acknowledged, unsmiling. There is that, indeed. Still, Numa approaches. Perhaps curious, perhaps hungry. I rejoin my mate. Let Numa prowl in peace. I leave you. We are friends."

"Friends," echoed the great ape, as he, too swung into , the nearest tree, looking down with unblinking eyes as the great lion strolled casually across the clearing where, moments before, the apes had been performing their dance to the full moon.

Both Tarzan and Jedak had swung into the trees, regarding the prowling lion with unblinking eyes.

Tarzan unerringly rejoined Jane, halting himself abruptly as he saw the shaggy form of the female ape Onwa. She, on the contrary, had been watching the form of her mate take to the trees across the swale and raised herself to her haunches, reaching with her mighty paws for the next limb. "Men!" she exclaimed to Jane.

Tarzan settled down in the nest next to his mate. "What did she say?" He hadn't heard it.

"Never mind, darling," Jane answered. "Don't you think you'd better get some sleep? We have a long day tomorrow."

"Yes," Tarzan answered. "Yes, I suppose I should, I Are you quite comfortable?"

"Quite."

"That's nice," he answered. "Those great apes are really very silly."

Jane smiled, almost asleep in the curve of her master's arm. "Yes," she answered, softly, "that's right. Quite silly."

Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, slept. His mate, Jane smiled gently as she listened to his regular breathing.

Chapter Two

The 100-Pound Emerald

"Sounds a bit silly, I dare say," Norton remarked. "Who has ever heard of any gem weighing a hundred pounds?"

Lord Pembroke laughed. "A hundred-pound emerald? Sounds damned silly to me. The fact is, old man, even uncut gems just don't come that large. Let's face it, you've been had."

Tarzan, immaculate in a well-fitting tweed suit, frowned. "I'm not so sure. There have been rumors, Fred," and he was addressing his closest friend in the world, "nothing is impossible. Especially in Africa. Or put it this way. If any emerald in the world weighs that much, chances are it's in Africa. I've seen things I still don't really believe. Africa is the' very mother of surprises. We have civilizations that have not been discovered, let alone explored, and we have no footprints in which to walk. This is still a dark continent."

"But I thought you knew..."

"No man knows. Nor ever will. At least not in the foreseeable future. Emeralds weighing a hundred pounds are possible. Doctor Norton, where did you get your information?"

"Let us all have another aperitif. I have a map. And, just possibly, an authenticated rumor. Let us enjoy our drinks, and afterwards I will spread the map. Lord Greystoke, you will help?"

"Jane is on the way to London, by plane, to meet with Pamela and to see our son. Jack. I have nothing of interest to do, my estate being in a reasonable condition."

"Hear, hear!" This from Freddie, Lord Pembroke. "I fancy we shall all welcome a respite, a brief one to be sure, from our women-folk. I am ready to face the most savage beasts of the jungle. Marcia," and he addressed his wife's sister, "you are ready for what might well befall? In a few hours we shall embark upon this expedition, this safari which I personally consider foolhardy. No matter. However, I make this statement now and for the record: if Tarzan does not lead us, I shall not go. Neither shall I assume the responsibility. I mean to say, this must not be construed as male chauvinism, or anything of the sort, but it's my considered opinion, for what it's worth, that this endeavor is doomed without Lord Greystoke. With him, for that matter, for I honestly believe the whole thing a figment of an overactive imagination. Nothing personal, Robert, but still, you see, treasure maps always have a way of not working out."

Norton smiled thinly. "I have no reason to believe that this is any better than so many other maps. As you say, they do not have a way of working out. Still and all, this should be a great deal more fun than a holiday at Southhampton, shouldn't it? And if it should be a good map and a true story, well then, who is to say what the profit might be? If the legendary jewel is only half the reputed size, it would still be a profitable enterprise, I think. At any rate, it will be capital fun."

Lord Pembroke looked at Professor Norton, then at Tarzan. "John," he stated, "your final opinion. Shall we have a go at it?"

"I'd like to see the map. Africa is a rather large continent, you know, and I doubt very much if anyone knows every inch of it. I certainly don't. Then there's provisioning, bearers, even guards. I use nothing but the Waziri. I should like to see where this legendary place might reasonably be, how many nights from my estate, because I make it a definite practice to start any such expedition from my own home. That way, we can determine our requirements for porters, for food, equipment, water, all the rest. As for the enormous gem, well," and he shrugged, "I would be interested in a purely speculative fashion. I'm as curious as the next one. Yes, Fred, let's have a go at it, as you say. If," and he held up a warning finger, "there's anything to have a go at. I'll tell you more after we've seen the map. There's very little about this continent I don't know, except for one largely unexplored region, actually several thousands of square miles, which starts just south of this very dining room table. A bit strange how civilization stops just there, how no explorers have penetrated, but there it is. A white spot on any truthful map, a spot which almost might carry a legend such as 'here lurk dragons,' or something of the sort."

Professor Norton almost spilled his coffee, "Yes," he exclaimed. "Yes! And this is the very territory which I've been discussing!"

"Good," Tarzan said. "Now we will finish our luncheon, and fly back to my estate. There we can go into some detail about the projected safari. And the emerald. Incidentally, welcome to Africa, and I hope this meal was tasty." he shoved back his own trifle, not touched. Tarzan did not care lor sweets. Indeed, he did not care for cooking in any form, a source of great embarrassment and considerable stomach upset to Tarzan, John Clayton, also known as Lord Greystoke, whenever the occasion arose that dictated his appearance in London. Raised since he had been a helpless infant by the great apes, the tarmangani; he vastly preferred his meat red, raw and if possible, freshly killed. For sweets, he would choose, if such a choice were possible, grubs, caterpillars, such other sweet delicacies. Even the Waziri, his African guards who killed on the slightest provocation, shuddered at his choice of food. It was impossible to explain this taste to European guests, and Tarzan made no attempt to do so. If necessary, he could (and often did, thanks to Jane) live on more "civilized" food for weeks, even months at a time. Jane had learned, however, to order such delicacies as impala steaks to be cooked blood- rare. Even then, Lord Greystoke munched them glumly. He would much prefer raw, blood-hot meat. So were the great apes raised, and loving her mate as she did, Jane had consumed many pounds of rare beef, pork, buffalo, kudu and impala, although she really preferred a well- done steak. With a nice steak sauce, and lots of salt and pepper. Tarzan, literally gagged if any sort of spice was served with or on a dish. It presented a pretty problem, yet Jane loved him so that she spent most of her waking hours overcoming her own distaste for raw meat. She still couldn't eat it, but she could now bring herself to serve it to Lord Greystoke. On his part, he felt he was being rather civilized by using a knife and fork on it, he who killed his own meat, who savagely tore out the jugular vein, tore at the tender, still warm, pulsating flesh with his fangs.

"I didn't care for the trifle," Tarzan told his guests. Too sweet, I suppose. Shall we go to the plane? I have a incelittle dual-motored job here."

* * *

Airborne, Marcia poke to her fiancé, Professor Norton. "Isn't he handsome," she remarked, "and so very... debonair?"

Robert Norton laughed, aloud. "Yes. Very handsome. And, as you say, very debonair. Also, my dear, although I don't want to shock you, the most efiicient killing machine ever devised by nature. A beast, really, with all the cunning of the jungle, plus all the intelligence of the so-called civilized person."

She pursed her lips. "You know him, then."

"No."He shook his head. "No, I don't know him. I know only what I have heard. Actually, what your brother-in-law, Freddie, has told me." He raised his voice, so as to be heard above the mutter of the small airplane piloted by LordGreystofce. "He is tremendously strong. He swings through the trees like an ape, and there is a very strong rumor that he was raised by the great apes. He fights and kills lions armed only with a knife. He has an unestimated fortune, apparently bottomless, which makes him acceptable in all levels of society. In a word, he's a complete and utter savage. A beast, really"

She nodded her head. "Yes. But a glorious beast. Jane Clayton is the most fortunate of women."

"What?" It was shouted against the slipstream.

"Nothing. I said nothing."

"Oh." He sat back in the cockpit, waiting for Lord Greystoke to arrive at his private landing strip. He watched with interest as the plane disturbed a herd of wildebeest.

"Interesting," he commented, poking his companion. "See how they run!"

She looked at the tendons in the neck of their pilot, Tarzan. "Very interesting," she said. "Very interesting, indeed!"

Professor Norton settled back, satisfied. Marcia Malley sat forward in her seat, eagerly awaiting the next move of John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.

Tarzan!

The plane landed, in moments, on the airstrip that had been cleared for the apeman by his faithful Waziri many years ago. It was only a few moments' walk to the somewhat lavish bungalow of Lord and Lady Greystoke.

"We shall have dinner, drinks if you want them," Tarzan said. "Tomorrow, all things being well, we shall set out on a search for this treasure of yours. Professor I shall talk with my headmen tonight. Basuli. Tomorrow we shall have bearers. One word of caution to all of you. Yes, even you, Freddie. The Waziri are proud people. A savage race. Be cautious when you ask a favor. Most of them speak English, which I have taught them."

"I've been here before, old boy," Lord Pembroke remarked, smiling. "We are friends, aren't we?"

Tarzan, pulling back the throttle and taking his feet off the brakes, smiled, flashing white incisors. "We are indeed. And you know we can't flout the pride of a proud people. Well, we seem to have arrived in good shape. Miss Malley, may I?" He opened the door, dropping a short ladder, sprang to the ground and offered his hand to the girl.

The girl accepted his hand, stepping down eagerly, gazing about her. "This is all yours," she-asked, "all this?"

Tarzan smiled, releasing the perhaps extended hand-clasp. "Yes, Miss Malley. As much as any mortal could claim, at any rate. Hardly a baronial holding, however."

"Beautiful. It's just beautiful," she enthused. "Isn't it, Robert?" she asked her fiancé, who stepped from the plane mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

"Yes," he answered, with rather less enthusiasm, "and quite warm. Hot. I say, are those men coming this way friendly?"

Tarzan glanced at the approaching Waziri, and laughed. "I should think so. At least, they're my friends. "Ho, Basuli!"

The chief of the Waziri, splendidly bedecked in plumes for the occasion, slid to a halt before the party. "Ho, Tarzan!"

"Your men will clean and store the mighty bird?"

"It is done. No news. Great Hunter. All is well. A bit dull, however."

Tarzan slapped him on the shoulder. "Perhaps we may change that. We have a safari to make, and it may well be interesting. I will talk with you of this thing later, after I have discussed it with my guests. Have one of your wives prepare the guesthouse for the woman." All this was in the rapid "clack" of the Waziri dialect.

"It has been done, lord. Ice and cold drinks await you at the bungalow. And a treat for dinner, my men brought in a pair of dik-dik, the smaller antelope, and even now the haunches are roasting!" He beamed with forgivable pride. "It will be good to go on safari. How many bearers shall "we need? It will be necessary to find some Watusi for the chore."

"We shall talk of it later. Walk with us." He changed to English. "A few details. Shall we go to the bungalow? Basuli assures me that there is ice in plenty, and drinks for those who want them. Also, a special treat tonight. Roast antelope." Privately, Tarzan's stomach churned at the thought of cooked meat. He preferred his in a fashion that made even the Waziri slightly nauseated, fresh, quivering, hot from the kill and, if possible, ripped out by his teeth.

Marcia Malley, gazing with what amounted to frank adoration at the ape-man, saw only the civilized veneer, "How exotic!" she exclaimed. "I do hope you have vegetables, as well."

Tarzan smiled gravely. "Whatever you like. Miss Malley. We do ourselves rather well, thanks to the Waziri. Shall we go?"

The little party strode across the landing field, followed by Basuli, who cast a warning eye at members of his tribe who were wheeling Lord Greystoke's plane into the hangar.

Chapter Three

The Plan

The little party sat around after dinner. Professor Norton rose after a second drink, almost apologetically. "I'll get the map from my suitcase," he said.

Freddie, Lord Pembroke, filled his glass with another splash of whisky and soda. "Why not? Let's chart this blasted expedition Of course, Bobby, you realize that I ..."

"That you think I'm off my rocker? Quite so. And, as a matter of fact, I may well be. Still, shall we have a look at it?"

"Let's do that." Lord Pembroke tossed down the contents of his glass. "As I recall, its easterly, isn't it? And not too far from where we sit at the moment. John," he turned to Lord Greystoke, "I've seen the map. Must we journey by a tedious safari? Couldn't we just pop over there in your plane?" Tarzan shook his head. "No place for landing. No, I'm afraid it will have to be done overland." He sniffed, standing up. "Excuse me. Basuli is here, just outside. I'll have to spend a moment or two with him. Professor Norton, suppose you bring in the map. I'll be back in a moment."

"I see you, Tarzan," was Basuli's greeting as his master stepped from the veranda.

"I see you, Basuli," Tarzan responded. "There are problems? The Watusi bearers for the party tomorrow?"

"No. This has been arranged. Fifty bearers. This should be enough."

Tarzan nodded his head.

"Our bean crop."

Tarzan was immediately alert. A bean crop is a matter of importance in Africa, on any plantation. Tarzan had some twenty thousand acres planted to beans. "It is threatened? Some blight, perhaps?"

Basuli stood, one foot against a leg, considering. These were matters of import, as he well knew, worthy of grave discussion between leaders of men. "A blight?" He considered the meaning of the word. "No, I do not think so. You will recall that we planted the acres some days apart? Even weeks? So that we might reap the harvest at our leisure?"

"Yes."

The chief of the Waziri bobbed his head. "So. The gods have been good to us. We have beans. Many beans. Unfortunately, they are all ready for picking. All. If we do not pick them within a day or so, they will rot. Never, lord, has there been such a fruitful crop, nor one which needs attention more urgently. A day, a week, a month— it makes no difference. All the beans need picking. At once. It is a case of feast or famine. I will lead the safari tomorrow, if you say I shall. I am a proud man, as I must be, and the true leader of my tribe. Still, the beans should be picked."

Lord Greystoke, thinking of the many employees of his vast holdings, almost all of whom came under Basuli's jurisdiction, and all of whom depended in a large part upon the bean crop for their subsistence, agreed wholeheartedly. "Pick three of your Waziri," he ordered Basuli. Your bravest, strongest ones. The party must leave tomorrow. I shall stay behind with you until the crop is harvested. Two days. Three days at the most. Then I shall join them. Meanwhile, you will organize a large group of bearers and warriors, and we shall join them. Is this a wise decision?"

"A wise decision, lord," answered a satisfied Basuli. "I shall have three of my strongest warriors, including a sub-chief, here in the morning. Your guests shall be safe."

"Good, That, then, is that. I see you, Basuli," he bade him farewell with the ceremony the Waziri loved so well. "May the sun bless you and shine upon you tomorrow."

"And may Goro, the moon, shine upon you and bless you tonight," responded the chief, fading into the darkness.

Lord Greystoke walked thoughtfully back into his bungalow.

He broke the news with some hesitation, but Lord Pembroke only smiled. "Frankly." he announced loudly, "if John says it's the thing to do, well, then, it's the thing to do".

"Hear, hear!'' Rather surprisingly, this ejaculation came from Professor Norton. "I now have the map before me. Lord Greystoke. Shall we just have a look at it?" He spread a parchment, obviously priceless in his own mind from the delicate way he unfolded it. "Now then. We are where? Here?"

Freddie Pembroke shook his head. "No. I shouldn't think so. We're nearer to this spot." He jabbed a finger at the map."John?"

Tarzan regarded the map for a moment with his grey eyes- almost burning a hole in it. Finally, he placed a finger firmly upon it; "We are here," he announced. "Right here. I see a cross or an 'X' marked on the map. Is this our goal?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "I know nothing of this country. It is a week's march away, possibly more. The stream here, it is the kwamba. It leads to dangerous country. I speak of wild beasts, predators. The countryside abounds in them. Lion, leopard, even the great apes. I will consult with Basuli again tomorrow morning before you leave, but I advise you to erect a boma, a fence of thorns, every night until I join you, three days hence."

"And then?" The girl asked the question.

"Then?" he shrugged. "Then I shall possibly ask that the boma be made stronger and higher. I know Africa. I know the countryside, the dangers, the possible rewards. I admit I do not know this place. It is a blank space on any map. Anything—or nothing—can lurk there. The project bears thought. And consideration. I leave you all to think upon it. For myself, there is a bean crop to get harvested. Dull, perhaps, but necessary. Goodnight."

That was his dismissal. Tarzan was never one to use unnecessary words.

"He's quite a man," Lord Pembroke stated, after Tarzan had made his farewells.

"All man," sighed Marcia Malley.

Professor Norton finished his drink, looked with a frown at the company. "But does he know his Africa?"

Lord Pembroke laughed aloud. "It might be well to depend upon it. John is Africa, you know. He's saved my life on numerous occasions. I know him to be fearless, absolutely fearless, and tremendously perceptive."

"A glorified white hunter!"

"Something more. A beast himself, perhaps. Animals fear him. You've never seen him in action, I know. Well, it's frightening."

"Really? I've never been frightened by a beast."

"You've never been in Africa either, until this moment. May I remind you that John is a close, warm, personal friend of mine. My closest friend, as a matter of fact."

"That probably explains it, then, wouldn't you say? No human is all that great."

Freddie sat down his glass on a small table, decorated with a leopard skin. "He isn't human, you know," he said, mildly. "It's a common mistake, many people make it, but he isn't human. Well, then, shall we catch some sleep? It's off and away early in the morning. Goodnight, my dear," he addressed Marcia. "Sleep well. See you in the morning."

"Not human?"

Lord Pembroke smiled. "You'll see for yourself, old man. Now, goodnight, eh? Right?"

The strangely assorted group said their goodnights, went to their beds.

Professor. Norton dreamed of the huge emerald. A legend, no doubt, but possibly something there. Certainly, the dream of a lad. He'd first heard of the mighty emerald when he was a youngster. Now, he was here, in Africa, ready to track down the source of the legend, if legend it might be.

His fiancee, Marcia Malley, by herself in the guest house, dreamed of Tarzan. A Waziri maiden in attendance, helped her not at all. She spoke no native tongue. Yet, even so, there seemed to be an empathy between the women. The European, who slept between white sheets, and the native, who slept on the floor at the foot of the bed. By preference, if it comes to that. The common bond was Tarzan. John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.

Fred, Lord Pembroke, slept rather more happily. He was going on safari tomorrow morning, a thing he loved dearly. More, Tarzan, his friend, would join them in just a few days. After the bean crop was in, mostly for the benefit of the natives, Tarzan's people. This was right and proper, and he heartily approved.

Tarzan, Lord Greystoke, slept rather fitfully. First of all, he missed Jane. Second, he was concerned more than a little about the projected expedition. Third, and not last, he was worried about the bean crop. Uneasily, the master of the plantation settled into a restless sleep. Tomorrow would be another day.

Chapter Four

Alarums And Excursions!

Rather glumly, Tarzan bade his companions farewell the next morning, promising to meet with them in three or at most four days. Then he turned to the undesirable task of supervising the bean harvesting. This went as well as could be expected. Basuli leaned upon his spear beside Tarzan, companionably. "Much food for my people," the Waziri chieftain said.

Tarzan grunted. "Yes." Basuli glanced at the ape-man. "However," Lord Greystoke added, "you would think they'd be a bit more eager to reap what they have sown. They certainly are not working as fast as they might."

"Tarzan grows eager for the safari," Basuli observed, wisely.

"Tarzan grows weary of beans."

"It is a good crop, Lord."

"We leave in the morning, Basuli. Have your warriors ready. Your people have reaped twice as many beans as they did last season, and that was a good season, is it not so? And Basuli..."

"Yes, Lord?"

"No beans with the provisions for the safari. Is this understood?"

"As you say." veiled amusement danced in the Waziri chieftain's eyes. "It will be a hard march, carrying all the needed items to the safari. You will accompany us?" Lord Greystoke took a last long look about the final beanfield, then turned his head, sniffing the air. "No. I will take to the trees. However, I shall make camp, a boma, for the three Europeans, and I shall see that they remain here until you and your men arrive. Understood?"

"Understood, Lord," the Waziri agreed, gravely. "And no beans?"

Tarzan gave him a look of disgust. "No beans." Basuli remained impassive. He'd had some idea of bringing along a few beans, anyway, because it struck him as a very funny idea. Now, he decided that the idea was not really very good after all. "No beans," he repeated.

* * *

Tarzan and the Waziri chieftain met again that night in Lord Greystoke's bungalow. "It is important," the ape-man said, with emphasis, "that you clearly understand one thing. There is a great treasure involved. It may or may no be true, but the Professor seems to think it may well be. If it is, true, it is almost without price."

Basuli nodded, not really understanding "Price," to a Waziri, was measured in beans, cattle, fat young women.

"So then," Tarzan went on, knowing exactly what was going through the mind of the African, "it follows that there are others, somewhere, who have heard of this mighty treasure. Until it is found, it belongs to anyone. But after it is found, it belongs to the true discoverer. This, I think is clear. And this, I think, may well become a problem. And it may well where you and I, Basuli, will start to encounter our problems. Foe to guide a safari is one thing. To protect it against the beasts of the jungle is still another. But to protect a mighty treasure against the predators who call themselves 'men,' is yet another thing. They will be cunning, these people. If there is such a treasure," he added philosophically.

The native nodded. He understood only one thing. That Tarzan wished these people, this safari, protected, at all costs, against all possible dangers. This was simple and easy to understand. Talk of "treasure" merely made him uneasy. This was someone else's responsibility, not his. Gold was shiny, jewels glittered. So much for that. But good cattle, or plump young wives—there was treasure! Even beans, he thought, but erased the thought from his mind. Tarzan would not have approved of it.

* * *

In the smoke-filled den, in the very heart of the native quarter, men sat sipping their kirsch, watching with solemn eyes the gyrations of the belly dancers, as the flageolets and drums meted out a weird tempo. One of these was a certain Wong Feng, a completely gross, completely evil and amoral Eurasian. His features were a curious mixture of Oriental and Caucasian. Wong was a mastermind among thieves. He had never, personally, stolen so much as a paper clip, but he had arranged deals making it possible to steal diamonds, and resell them at a profit, rob banks and escape undetected. He had accumulated a fortune in illegal ivory. Indeed, Arab caravans were even now, at the very moment, hauling tusks (and slaves) across Africa, doing his bidding, paying him his share of the profit. A share which was perhaps exorbitant, but which guaranteed the traders yet another opportunity to exercise their own perverted talents.

Wong Feng loved money for itself. Personally, he lived a relatively simple life. Unlike many of his subordinates, he was neither a glutton nor a sybarite. He liked the simple pleasures. Good food, good drink, none in excess. He had earned, by devious means, vast sums of money, which he in turn invested to make other vast sums of money. He was a fantastically wealthy man, although he had no heirs. Basically, he was power mad. Money itself meant nothing. The knowledge that he had money meant everything. That he could order, control, twist other's lives to his own current whims was enough to him. He glanced with an apathy that was almost disgust at the girl with the jewel in her navel (paste, he noted) and tossed her a few pesars, mostly so that she would move on and titillate some other more interested person .in the room, then glanced at his companion, a lascar named Magra Taask.

Magra Taask was quite another kettle of fish. To begin with, he hated white men with an unswerving, cold, calculating hatred. Not, perhaps, without justice. His mother had been, in her youth, a golden goddess, or so his white father, a cockney who worked—-when he worked—in the engine room of ocean liners, tramp steamers, anywhere at sea where he might obtain a position, had called her. Taask, with a great scar on one side of his face, the left, had only one eye. The other had long since been: gouged out of its socket in a barroom brawl in one of the lowest dives in Singapore. He was acquainted with such establishments in almost every port of the civilized (and sometimes uncivilized) world. He, too, claimed to be a seaman by trade, although it Was not his true profession. Really, he was a murderer, an assassin, a thief by vocation. He was exactly and precisely the man Wong Feng wanted for this particular mission.

Wong waited patiently until the lascar's eye left the gleaming belly of the dancer. "One requires a minute or so to discuss a new—ah—-project. Which should be highly profitable."

Taask held his glass. "May I have another drink?"

Wong snapped his finger at the burnoosed waiter. "Indeed" He waited until the drink had been brought. "The conversation must start with a question. Have you ever heard of the 'Light of the Night'? You know what it is, or at least is reputed to be?"

Magra Taask sipped his drink. "Indeed. An emerald of a ridiculous size, reportedly located in an inaccessible city which cannot be reached by an outsider. You aye wasting my time, Wong. And yours, as well"

"And if I told you there is a map?"

Taask wiped his lips with the back of a scarred hand. "I would laugh at you. Such maps can be bought from any beggar, on any street corner, for a few dinars."

"That is, of course, well-known. But if I were to tell you that only a few days ago an English professor landed here, with a perhaps more authenticated map, and is even now on his way to locate the emerald, would you be interested?"

"No."

Wong Feng sighed with vast patience. "If I told you he had outfitted and was starting his safari from the compound of Lord Greystoke, Tarzan? You would still not be interested?"

The lascar sat his half-full glass down softly, stared into the Eurasian's eyes. "This is true?"

Wong nodded.

"If it is there," Taask sighed, his eyes staring at the wall, "if there is such a treasure, such an emerald, Tarzan will find it. But of course, this is a ridiculous conversation. I take it that you are offering me certain financial backing to organize a little safari of my own, and that you are offering me one-half of the—"

"One-third."

"One-half of the treasure," the lascar continued, smoothly, "in order to stalk Tarzan and his safari? What utter nonsense! You know this is impossible, that I should die. The ape-man would see to it."

Wong regarded his own folded hands on the table. "There is a woman with the safari," he said, silkily, suggestively. "The sister of Tarzan's great friend. And Tarzan is busy with his bean crop, for his natives. As we sit here, this moment, there are six people encamped. Three Europeans, three Waziri. Tarzan cannot join the safari with guns, food, bearers for another day, maybe two days. The woman," he concluded, practically, is engaged to the professor I mentioned, who owns the map. And the sister of the other man, an English lord." He looked at his hands again, spread them in a universal gesture. "Need I say more? We could trade her for the map. So?"

"In truth." The other thought on the proposition for a few moments, considering all the implications, all the possibilities. "You will pay half?"

Wong Feng shrugged. "Half of something is more than all of nothing. I will pay half. After expenses."

"Which you will advance?"

"Which I will advance. You must move rapidly. There is no time to lose."

"I leave now. A thousand dinars."

The Oriental threw a purse on the table. "There are two thousand. Bring me the emerald. Or the map. Or the woman."

Magra Taask picked up the parse, stuck it under his belt. "It is done." He left without a backward glance. Wong Feng's eyes positively glistened with pleasure. If this came off, it would be the coup of the century. If not, and he mentally shrugged, there would be one less lascar in the world, which would be no very great loss. And two thousand dinars gambled against millions... well, there was a gamble worth taking!

And anyway, he smiled grimly, he wasn't paying half. Nor a third. Nothing. The investment, the total investment, was made. Fifty dinars would obtain the violent death of Magra Taask, successful or unsuccessful. Either way, the lascar's days were numbered. He knew a bit too much for comfort about the operations of Wong Feng, and of course a wise man does not give ammunition to his enemies. Wong smiled, calling for another glass of kirsch.

Chapter Five

Double Jeopardy

At dawn, Tarzan took to the trees, after making sure that the large "back-up" party for the safari, bearing food, ammunition, tents and other comforts was well-organized and under way under the direction of the infallible Basuli. The Waziri were a proud tribe. No other person in the world than Tarzan could have made bearers of them. For the "white-skinned great ape," they would perform such unmanly labor cheerfully, or at least willingly and with diligence.

With unfailing instinct, Tarzan knew exactly the trail taken by Professor Norton, Lord Pembroke and the charming Marcia Malley, and he took to the upper terrace, for swift movement. In a few hours, his lithe and mighty muscles rejoicing In the familiar exercise, he covered as much ground as the small party had managed to make on foot in a day or more. He descended to what was obviously their first night's campsite, and all seemed serene. Sniffing, he detected no unfamiliar odors on the jungle breeze. For a mile or more, Tarzan stayed in the lower terrace, reconnoitering the terrain. Satisfied that all was well, he swung back to the upper terrace. With luck, he might come upon the encampment for the second night tonight, and have only an hour or so journey through the forest tomorrow. He felt a strange unease, which was not like Tarzan, really, and raced even more rapidly from branch to branch. In mid-afternoon, he spotted a herd of kudu, unmistakable by virtue, of their enormous, top and spiraling horns. It was a strong meat, a meat he did not particularly relish, but the ape-man hungered.

He swung down from the trees, unloosed his knife, the knife that had belonged to his father, and which was Tarzan's most prized possession. He crept through the tall grass, well downwind, then charted like a lion. He struck so swiftly, so efficiently, that the rest of the herd continued to graze. Growling, Tarzan dragged the still-hot carcass into a thicket of thorn, where he proceeded to slice off a succulent haunch. He would have preferred topi, even the cloyingly sweet meat of Horta, the boar, but it was food. Food as he preferred it, actually. Raised as a jungle beast, Tarzan could never understand why men would ruin the taste of good meat by scorching and burning it. As a general rule, the ape-man refrained from his appetites in the presence of other humans. Even his Waziri, as savage as they were, were uneasy when Tarzan killed game and ate the hot flesh on the spot. He also had a taste tor grubs and caterpillars which had been acquired from his lone association with the great apes and his foster-mother, Kala. Lady Greystoke had loudly and bitterly protested against this, so that Tarzan almost never touched them. Much as he found his appetite whetted at the sight oi a particularly succulent crawler on the bark of a damp log.

In his own private boma, Tarzan had just picked up the haunch of the kudu, when a snarl sounded. A lioness, evidently taking her turn hunting for the pride (because the male seldom hunts) had followed the scent of blood, and was now threatening to take the carcass, the carcass Tarzan had discarded and did not really want. Nevertheless, it was an insufferable affront to the dignity of Tarzan, and he snarled in return, taking the meat from his mouth and curling his lips. He wondered why she was even bothering. There was a perfectly good herd of kudu within easy striking distance. Let her get her meat the way Tarzan got his! She stepped a few paces forward, then crouched for her charge. Her tail lashed a few times as she considered the range. Tarzan watched as she prepared for the charge. She was limping badly on a forepaw, and was obviously hungry.

He snarled again, to confuse her and to hold her charge, then, taking his piece of the kill, sprang into the nearest tree, allowing her to have the bulk of the body. She ignored the ape-man as soon as he'd disappeared overhead, and went to the carcass. Turning her head, she called out a soft "huh-huh," and two small cubs came lumbering through the underbrush to savagely attack the carcass under her approving eye.

No male was in sight, which meant that she was hunting alone for her young. She glanced uneasily about from time to time as she let the cubs gorge themselves. She drove off an awkward-walking hyena who almost lost his life for his appetite, and seemed to feel that this ended any threat to her offspring. Tarzan grinned at the family scene below, finishing up his meal in the crotch of a tree.

He took a nap, then, dozing off to the psuedo-growls of the pair of cubs.

* * *

Magra Taask halted his assorted gang of hoodlums about a quarter-mile from the boma thrown up by the Waziri about the camp of Lord Pembroke, Professor Norton and Marcia Malley. They were a vicious-looking crew, as well as they might be. They had traveled fast and light, without too much water or too much food. They had ammunition in plenty, with asserted weapons. One could hardly have imagined a more motley group. Every man—there were five, altogether—were convicted, escaped murderers. More, they had killed for the sheer pleasure of killing, not out of need, or passion.

"Lay here, quietly," Taask told his band. "I will be gone an hour, to look at this camp. I would advise complete quiet," he added, "because the natives at the camp are Waziri. You understand?"

They understood. The Waziri were the most dreaded savages in all of Africa, not simply for their ferocity, but for their almost supernatural cunning. If anyone, any human, could catch them unawares, it would be the oily tricky Taask, who killed not for honor, not for the joy of killing, but for profit.

Without further word, the lascar disappeared from sight. Not the slightest movement of a bush or a blade of grass marked his departure or his passage.

In minutes, he was close enough to the boma to mark the number and movements of its occupants. A small cooking fire occupied the attention of the girl and one man. He had no way of knowing who the man might be, only that he was a European. Another white man was intently poring over a map, or at least a piece of paper that might well be a map! All three Europeans, including the girl, were wearing sidearms. Umm! And there were rifles stacked, as well. Two of the Waziri were chatting indolently in one corner of the small, hastily erected compound, while a third stood guard alertly at the only small entrance.

Taask narrowed his slit eyes in thought. The map, of course, was the object of his hunt. The emerald presented another set of problems altogether, problems to be faced at a later date. The map could be easily concealed, and undoubtedly would be. The girl could not.

He considered the odds. It was almost certain that he would lose some of his own party. Not that it really mattered; such thugs were cheap enough. Still, he did not relish making the trip back to his rendezvous alone, with only the girl for company, delectable as she seemed to be. For one thing, it would of necessity be a slower trip, with the woman in tow, than he liked. For another, he trusted Wong Feng, his employer, not at all.

Doggedly, he circled the boma, maintaining a respectable distance. The couch of a nearby lion stopped him for a moment, but he rightly assumed that the beast was doing little except lazing in the heat of the day, and arrived back at his own party's stopping place within the time he'd allotted himself. He beckoned to his second-in-command, a flat-nosed, foul-looking, gross Malayan, whose speaking voice was so poor that he was known, far and wide, as "Oooga."

"I have looked."

"And?"

Taask shook his head. "It will not be easy. Three Waziri. Three Europeans. Plenty of arms. And a lion, possibly more than one, asleep near the boma. A lion which will be awake tonight, smelling the odors from the cooking pot of the camp. We will lose men."

"The first man through the boma, certainly."

Oooga grinned, displaying a set of sharp-filed teeth. We have such a man, a fitting candidate for the honor. The one known, from his drinking habits, as Double Charley' A tedious man. But big. Big enough to take many bullets, many knife and spear slashes, We seek the map?"

"No. The girl."

The Malay smiled evilly. "That is good. We will share her."

Taask shrugged. "That is as it may be. Remember, my friend, she is our small fortune. She must not be harmed. This above all. We must deliver her safely to one you know, so that he can use her to bargain for the map. Of course, if we by great good luck find the map, it is a different story. Greatly different," he added, with afterthought. Still, the girl was tangible. He, personally, had little or no interest in treasure maps. He'd seen too many of them, had, in fact, sold a number to credulous and naive explorers. This was probably, almost certainly, one of the same things. "We should concentrate our efforts on getting the woman. That Way, Allah willing, we shall have our money and be out of this affair. I like it not."

"As you say. And now?"

"And now we stay in cover until first dark. Then we creep closer. Do you see the entrance of the ... no, of course you cannot. Look, see the large tree? Five feet to the left is the entrance to the boma. Mark it well. The guard, at least the guard standing there now, is also at the left, at the left of the entrance, and he stands inside. Tonight, the guard may stand to the right."

Oooga chuckled. "'Double Charley' will find out, I am sure. To him goes the honor. And the first spear. A great loss. His family, if he had one, would mourn. Well, death comes to all men. Sooner to one than to another. It is the mysterious way of the various gods, whom I have never been able to sort out, one from the other."

"Yes," Taask said, quietly. "These things have been mysterious to me, as well. The others?"

"Good men. But expendable. And very stupid. They trust me. And you."

Taask stared at the Malay. "When such a thing is said, it has many meanings. You trust me not?"

"Me? I trust you blindly" Oooga hoisted the gun he was carrying, speculatively. "Indeed I "trust you. Let no man say differently. In fact, I shall be right behind you when we storm the boma. Right behind you!"

"We had better rest, now. Post one sentry."

"As you say, mighty Magra." It was a sardonic re- mark, although issued with a quiet subservience. Taask decided, on the spot, to kill the Malay at the very first opportunity, although not until after the raid on the boma. It promised to be an interesting evening.

* * *

Margad, chieftain and ruler of Bamo, the cave city, held up a warning hand, halting his party of roving warriors. As were his men, Margad was an imposing creature. He stood almost seven feet in height, looking even taller due to the black plume, a feather-like substance, that grew from his head, taking the place of hair. In ordinary moments, it lay flat. In moments of excitement, lust or passion, the plume stood erect, adding another two feet to his already imposing height.

It was almost erect now.

"Someone approaches," he said, softly. "My mate, the Empress L'al, is infallible in these matters. Take your places." he sniffed the air, his black plume now standing stiffly erect. "There are two. A male and a female. We shall take them alive. Quickly, to cover."

There was a round score of warriors, each as imposing as their leader. They disappeared in seconds behind rocks and bushes, so that nothing appeared. It was early light and the shadows were long. Taask could have no way of knowing that he, dragging the terrified Marcia Malley behind him on a rope, was surrounded by the elite among the warriors of Bamo, the cave city, sister city to Ondo. There was no struggle, no outcry.

Even Marcia, overwhelmed by the numbers and numbed by her recent experience, was both too startied and too terrified to cry out. Even had she done so, there would have been none to hear her. Both captives were tightly bound and carried, much like a hartebeest or topi, back to the cave city of Bamo. The warriors who had hoped to have bloodied their spears that morning, just before the light, were nevertheless well-satisfied with the approval of their emperor, whose black plume now rose to a full two feet over his head.

It was a triumphal procession that finally entered the swale leading to the cave city of Bamo.

* * *

Tarzan, almost a full day ahead of his following tribe of Waziri, swung down from the trees and looked with puzzlement at the small boma. Something was obviously wrong, and he circled it once before entering. Two of the Waziri who had accompanied the small safari were dead of gunshot wounds. The third, a sub-chieftain, was just as obviously dying, and there were other bodies lying about, dead of gun and spear wounds.

Professor Norton was busy bandaging a nasty wound in his arm as the-ape-man came through the entrance to the camp. Fred, Lord Pembroke, was wiping the brow of the dying Waziri with a damp cloth. The latter glanced up at Tarzan. "Thank God you've come up. Where are the Waziri?"

"Well behind me. What's happened? Is Marcia all right?"

Freddie got to his feet. "This poor beggar's had it, I'm afraid. Marcia's been taken. We were attacked last night. Lasted for hours."

Tarzan grunted. "You killed a, few. Bodies lying all around the boma. Any idea who it might have been?"

"Not any. One beggar had only one eye. Evil looking feller."

"One eye?" Tarzan said. "It could well be a lascar named Magra Taask."

Lord Pembroke shrugged. "Lord knows. But Marcia's gone. Norton, poor chap, is almost off his rocker."

The professor came up just then, glaring at Tarzan with accusing eyes. "It's your fault," he almost screamed. "It's your fault. You sent us off with insufficient guard. Those cowardly Waziri of yours al- lowed us to be robbed, kidnapped!"

Tarzan regarded him with a certain distaste. "Those cowardly Waziri," he pointed out, coldly, "are dead. You aren't. When you seek treasure, you assume certain dangers. How many attacked your party?"

"Dozens," stated Norton. "Dozens of the savage devils!"

"I counted six," Lord Pembroke corrected gently.

"There are five dead about the boma," Tarzan said, with some speculation. "Which means that one got away, taking Miss Malley with him. Do you still have the treasure map, Professor?"

"Yes. And I need a doctor."

"I can only go in one direction at a time. You seem strong enough to me, so I'd guess you have only a flesh wound. Do you want your fiancée, or a doctor?"

"I'm in pain, but the most important thing is the return of Marcia. I'll just suffer. If you can, please get her back."

Tarzan's grey eyes studied the other speculatively for a second. "Commendable, Professor," the ape-man said. "The rest of the party should be here by nightfall. I suggest you and Lord Pembroke wait here until that time. I'll see what can do about returning Miss Malley. Meanwhile, I should like you to give my Waziri a decent burial."

"You ask us to dig graves?" Norton almost shouted. "To bury a few natives?"

"Had they been the cowards you seem to consider them," Lord Greystoke replied, "they would now be digging a grave for you."

"Hear, hear!" Lord Pembroke said, softly, as Tarzan turned, and, with a few leaps, bounded into the trees near the boma.

Chapter Six

The Pursuit

Marcia stared at the ceiling of the filthy cave, and heard the booming of drums in the village street outside. Eerie and menacing they sounded, mysterious and frightening, She felt that they were beating for her a savage, insistent dirge, foretelling death. She wondered what form it would take, when it would come to her. She felt that she might almost welcome death as an escape from the terror that engulfed her. Presently, black-plumed warriors came, jerking her roughly to her feet after removing the bonds that confined her ankles; then they dragged her into the "street," really a wide passageway, which fronted the cave of Margad, the chieftain of these strange people. They tied her to a stake, while about and around her milled screaming women and shouting warriors. In the glare of their cooking fires the whole scene seemed to be, to the doomed girl, the horrible phantasmagoria of some hideous nightmare from which she must awaken. It was all too fantastic to be real, but when a spear point pierced her flesh and she felt blood she knew she did not dream.

* * *

It was a well-equipped safari that the Waziri brought to the small camp. Porters and Askaris squatted around tiny cook fires; and before the central beast fire, a pair of men talked with Basuli, the headman, while faintly from afar came the sullen sound of drums.

"They are at it," said the professor, "This is cannibal country. We had better get out quickly. Tomorrow, we'll make a long trek back to the plantation Greystoke claims to be his. Then the plane. The girl is lost. The drums may be for her. In fact. I'm sure they are."

Lord Pembroke looked at him, coldly. "Her blood would be on your head."

"Nonsense. This is impossible, really. She's been kid-napped, hasn't she? That's that. Let the great Lord Greystoke pursue a lost cause," he added, sneeringly. "It isn't the line of country I propose to explore. We'll just turn the blacks around, and head back for what passes as civilization in this bloody country!"

Basuli, speaking in his native tongue, spoke to Lord Pembroke.

"What does this blighter have to say?" angrily inquired Norton.

Pembroke grinned. "Roughly translated, Basuli has just said that you—by the way, he understands English very well—that you may go anywhere you like. That Tarzan is his chief, that he and his men will follow Tarzan, even to the death. And he wishes you lots of luck."

Professor Norton turned irritably away, went to the tent erected by the Waziri, but the drums would not let him rest. The drums, nor the knowledge of the graves just outside the boma.

Both the Waziri chieftain and the English noble watched as the flaps closed behind Norton. Basuli shook his head. "Excuse me, I do not like this man."

"Nor do I."

"Nor do I like the drums. They spell death for someone."

Pembroke looked interested. "You know the drums?

"Indeed. They are the drums of Bamo. The first time I heard these same drums, I was tied to a stake and a lot of the devils, with their black plumes, were dancing around me, jabbing with their spears. They don't quite kill you at first; they just torture you, for watching you suffer is their pleasure.

"But you escaped."

"Tarzan came," the Waziri explained, with dignity.

Pembroke looked thoughtful. "He has had time to reach them. Perhaps the drums are for him."

"And the sky may fall," the Waziri chieftain said, gravely. "No, it will not be for the great white ape. He has many lives. My tribe moves in an hour. Through the night."

"I move with you."

"The professor?"

Pembroke shrugged. "Who knows? Surely, he will come with us, because he is cowardly. This is not a good thing to speak of. It is, after all, the sister of my wife who is missing."

"But among men. .."

"Among men, he is forever from this time ranked as a coward. Do the Waziri have a punishment they mete out to cowards?"

Basuli's teeth gleamed in the firelight as he grinned. "Yes, lord. Death. We kill cowards."

"Rather drastic."

"But," retorted the native with a strange dignity, "most effective."

The drums had carried their messages to Tarzan. They told him of impending torture, sacrifice and death. The lives of strangers, even the woman, Marcia Malley, meant nothing to the ape-man who had lived with imminent death all his life. Death was, after all, something that came to all creatures. He had no fear of it, he who feared nothing. To avoid it was a game that added zest to life, To pit his courage, his strength, his agility, his cunning against Death, and win—there was the satisfaction. Some day, of course and naturally. Death would win, but to that day Tarzan gave no thought. He could fight or he could run away, and in either event preserve his self-respect, for only a fool throws his life away uselessly, and Tarzan had no respect for fools; but if the stake warranted it, he could lightly, almost casually accept the gravest risks.

As he heard the drums against the new night, he thought less of their sinister portent than of the fact that they would guide him to a village or an. encampment where it was likely the woman was even now a captive, being tortured before her death. If the natives were both fierce and alert he would wait patiently for the Waziri to come up to him. The message of the drums even suggested that this might well be the case.

Tarzan continued to swing through the trees to the source of the drums. He moved swiftly, despite the hours he'd spent, anticipating a sport he had enjoyed many times in the past; frustrating the natives, the Go-mangani, in the exercise of weird rites of torture and death. The drums told him that a victim was to die but that death had not as yet been meted out. The victim was actually of little or no consequence to Tarzan. What mattered, what brought a gleam of anticipation to his eye, was cheating the torturers of the final accomplishment of their aims. Perhaps he would arrive m time. Perhaps not. Also, even if he arrived in time, he might fail to accomplish his design. These were the factors' that lent zest to the savage game that Tarzan loved to play.

* * *

Tarzan stopped in surprise. He looked in all directions, then swung down from the trees. The sound of the drums was coming from a cave entrance in the hillside before him, and this was such a new, such a startling experience that the ape-man had to think it over. The entrance was well-enough disguised to have passed the inspection of the most alert observer. Indeed, Tarzan himself might well have missed it had it not been for the sound of the drums.

* * *

The howling pack circled the helpless girl. Now and then a spear point touched her lightly and involuntarily her flesh recoiled. Later the torture might be more excruciating, or some maddened savage, black plumes erect and driven to frenzy by the excitement of the dance, might plunge his spear through her heart and with unintentional mercy deliver her from further suffering.

Tarzan, all his senses alert, ran rapidly toward the cave mouth, pausing only a second to assure himself no sentry was posted, then thrust aside the bush that concealed it and swiftly entered. The absence of a sentry confirmed his opinion, based on the throbbing of the drums, now much louder, that all the natives were participating in the orgy of the sacrifice. He held out an arm, touching the walls of the passageway, then raced rapidly ahead. There were two turns to the tunnel, then torches set into the wall. Tarzan darted past the illumination, knowing he would not be seen, grateful for the light to mark his speeding path, certain that the sound of the drums would drown out any noise he might make.

With the agility of Sheeta, the panther, he crept to the very edge of the huge underground city, where the fires burned as the dancers leaped and howled. Tarzan looked for, and found, a crevice in the wall of the tunnel. There he climbed, lithely, looking down upon the scene of savagery below. It was almost with a sense of shock that he recognized the victim below, at the stake. He saw the horde of black-plumed warriors to frenzy by the drums, the dancing, the lust for human flesh. Hardly thinking, the ape-man fitted an arrow to his bow.

As one of the dancing Bamos, carried away by the excitement of the moment, paused before the girl and raised his short spear to drive it through her heart a sudden hush fell upon the expectant assemblage, and Marcia closed her eyes. The end had come! She breathed a silent prayer. The ominous hush was broken only by the increased madness of the drums; then came a scream of mortal agony!

The assurance of the savages vanished as an arrow, mysteriously sped, pierced the heart of the would-be executioner. It was then that the drums stopped.

At the scream of the stricken warrior, Marcia opened her eyes. A man lay dead at her feet and consternation was written on the faces of the savage Bamos. She saw one, braver than the rest, creeping toward her with a long knife ready in his hand, then a weird and uncanny cry rang out from somewhere over her, above her, as Tarzan of the Apes leaped from the cranny, and, standing erect in the very floor of the tunnel, voiced the victory cry of the bull ape that had made a kill. Louder than the drums, it carried far out into the night.

* * *

The Waziri, and their safari, heard the scream.

"Some animal," said Professor Norton, learnedly, "has made a kill."

Basuli, chief of the Waziri, heard the ululation and smiled. "It is Tarzan, lord of the jungle, who has killed," he said, proudly.

Norton shuddered. "A hideous sound."

Lord Pembroke spoke. "It is Africa. And that was the victory cry of the bull ape. I have heard it before."

"You mean that Tarzan ..."

"More ape than man, old boy," Pembroke said blithely. "If what we heard was not a, bull ape, it was Tarzan. Too close for comfort?"

"I do not wish to see that man again. He disturbs me. Nor do I wish to hear more of the lovely Marcia, your sister-in-law, because she is gone beyond all recall."

Lord Pembroke, not amused, stopped walking, mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "Indeed? You give hope speedily, Robert. Do you feel the same way about the 'Light of the Night'?"

Basuli smiled to himself, understanding not only the conversation but the implications of it. He urged the other members of the safari along.

"I'm convinced there is such a stone," Norton said, thoughtfully. He took a swig from his canteen.

"Yes," Lord Pembroke returned his handkerchief to his pocket, waving Basuli and the party on. "A hundred- pound emerald. Marcia weighs five pounds more. I'm sure you've figured out a way to bring out the emerald if you find it? On your back? Under your arm? And then, of course, there's Marcia."

"Well, if she's still alive, which seems rather unlikely ..."

"There's that," Pembroke said, unsmiling, falling into line behind the native bearers. "It does give one something to look forward to, doesn't it?"

There was no sound but the frantic throbbing of the drums for the next few miles.

Chapter Seven

The White Plumes

Magra Taask, imprisoned, turned his native cunning, which was not inconsiderable, to escape. He had long since given up the hope of obtaining the "Light of the Night," the very father of emeralds. Now he hoped only to salvage his life.

He raised his head from the stone slab upon which he lay, looting at his guard, an impassive seven-foot Bamo. "Do you ..." he started to ask, the first step of a cunningly worked-out escape plan.

The guard whirled, fiercely. "Quiet, or I kill. I have my orders."

"And I," Taask agreed, smoothly. "All men take orders. Still, there should be some communication between us." He stared at the guard with a certain amount of speculation, wondering how far he dared venture. Encouraged by the silence of his captor, he spoke softly, smoothly. "You have doubtless heard of a certain jewel, an emerald? Called, if I am not mistaken, the 'Light of the Night'? Very large. Sacred, perhaps."

The Bamo looked in both directions, came closer to the pen. "You know of this jewel?" Taask grinned, lying. "Certainly." The giant guard sidled closer. "You could recover it?"

It is something upon which to ponder. Yes, almost certainly, if I were to regain my freedom. This would bring honor to you?"

"How would you go about it? To recover the 'Light of the Night'? Assuming, that is, that you were free to go where you chose. You would go to the city of Ondo? Wrest it physically from the priests of the temple? I —doubt this."

Taask thought about the conversation. The precious stone, in which he was not particularly interested, was almost certainly in another city. And it was almost certainly a relic of worship. An important one. He noted the almost extraordinary interest on the part of his guard. Obviously, great honor, perhaps even kingship would fall as a mantle about the shoulders of the man responsible for the recovery of the Light of the Night. Magra Taask retired to his stone bed. "We shall forget the conversation," he said, chuckling to himself. "Obviously, you are a man of no ambition, and hold only the hope of seeing me, a stranger, put to the torture. Let it be that way," he concluded, with great dignity. "One knows how to die. At any rate, I would not know how to get to Ondo from this particular spot. I am all turned about. Also, I am sure you are happy as a warrior for the Bamo. After all, what greater honor could befall anyone?"

The guard considered this statement with some gravity. He scratched the calf of one leg with the toes of the other, lost in thought, uncomfortable.

"It is true," he said, finally, "that no greater honor can befall a man than to be a warrior of the Bamo."

Taask smiled."Yes."

"Still." There was a silence following this thought.

"Still?" Taask prompted, sensing release only seconds away.

"I am thinking idle and probably evil thoughts. And yet, and yet ... Margad grows old. L'al remains beautiful. His mate. Were I to be responsible for the return of the "Light of the Night' ... I might well become ruler of Bamo." He stared at the prisoner. "I could release you, yellow-face, if you could do this thing. But how do I know you tell the truth?"

Taask shrugged. "You don't, of course. But why should this be of concern? You speak of the beautiful empress, L'al. Certainly she is far above your station. And certainly, you're considering a remote, barely possible gamble. If you turn me loose, if I sincerely will strive to steal the emerald, if I succeed, if I return .. .these things must be considered. And finally, if all these things transpire, who knows what will actually happen to you? It may very well be that the Empress L'al will have your head for such impudence as daring to desire the rest of her." Taask, certain that he had gained his freedom, bared his fangs in a smile that was more a snarl than anything. "If I were you, I should give the entire idea considerable thought. After all, you can remain a warrior of the race for the rest of your life. A proud thing, certainly. Better than a possible death. For myself, being a man of honor, and with nothing to lose, other than that which I have already lost, my life, I can only say that I envy you. You have a choice. I have none. Still, it is perhaps better to be a slave—no matter what you call a slave, warrior or whatever—than a headless, would-be emperor. With a beautiful empress. This sort of thing is doubtless for greater men than me. Or you. I sleep now." Taask rolled over, placing his back to the guard.

"My name," the guard finally said, "is Gani. It means 'brave.' I am very brave."

"Yes "

"I fear nothing. No one."

"Yes. I saw you as such a man. So now I sleep. It would be comforting to awake and find you the ruler of the city. However, small men, men of little stature, such as you and me.. . well, we must carry out our orders, no matter how distasteful."

"This is needful. Still, before you close your eyes, a question. Supposing, only supposing, that I were to release you. You would go get the mighty emerald, bring it to me?"

"No. I would get it, doubtless, but I would keep it. It will buy me much drink, languorous women, and easy life. Why should I bring it to you? Why not keep it?"

Gani looked upon the lascar, thoughtfully, then lay down his spear and reached for the bolt in the door. "You speak truth," he said. "Had you reassured me, you would have died before the night is out, as the she is about to die. I say this to you. L'al has looked upon me with favorable eyes. Bring me the 'Light of the Night' -and I shall make you my second-in-command. You shall have more beautiful women than you can dream of; all the liquor, all the easy and luxurious living you can imagine. Wealth shall be yours, because Bamo is a wealthy city. And one other thing I can offer. Power. The power of life and death. You like to kill, I think. So do I Power," he breathed again. "Power!"

Magra Taask sat up on the edge of his stone bed. "Open the door," he whispered. The ambitious native did so, scratching on the dirt floor leading to Ondo. Taask borrowed the assegai after the route had been clearly established."In this direction, surely?"

"Yes"

"I cannot mistake the way?"

"Not if you follow the way I showed you. There is but one turning, and that is well-guarded." He leaned over, pointed with a long finger. "Just here."

"I see," Taask said, and ran him through with his own spear. "You were right," he told the sinking body, almost regretfully, "I do like to kill. But not to share. That is something else altogether." The lascar rubbed the short throwing spear in the dirt and carried it with him as he set off on the trail that had been clearly marked in the dust.

He noted that just where the guarded turn-off was indicated in the hastily and crudely drawn map, there was a small puddle of blood, already beginning to coagulate in the heat. Unfortunate.

* * *

As the bloodcurdling cry crashed through the cave arena, in the half-lit darkness, the warrior who had been creeping upon Marcia straightened up and stepped back, frightened. The others, male and female alike, shrank back from the menace of the fearful sound, then Tarzan spoke.

"The demon of the forest comes for the white mem-sahib, he said. "Beware!" As he spoke, he ran to the ground near the stake, trusting by the very boldness of his move to overawe the savages for the few moments it would take to free Marcia and escape; he had reckoned without the courage of one Bamo, who sprang forward. "I am Chemungo, son of Margad, and I do not fear demons of the forest. As the last of Marcia's bonds fell away beneath the ape-man's knife, Tarzan slipped his own knife back into its sheath, standing erect, challenging the oncoming native with theory "Kre-a-gah!"on his lips. With bare hands he faced the infuriated warrior.

As Chemungo closed with upraised knife hand ready to strike, Tarzan seized him by the right wrist and at the same time the belly and swung him above his head as lightly as if he had been a child. The knife dropped from Chemungo's hand as the steel thews of the ape-man closed with a vise-like clamp upon his wrist.

Marcia Malley, almost unable to believe her own senses, looked with astonishment upon this amazing man who dared to face a whole savage village alone; she could see no hope but that two lives, hers and Tarzan's, must now be sacrificed, instead of just her own. It was a brave, a glorious gesture that Tarzan had made, but how pathetically futile!

Now Tarzan took out his knife again. "Clear the way," he ordered, holding the sharp blade to the throat of the native, "or Chemungo, son of Margad, dies this instant!"

The onlookers, moments removed from their lustful dance of death, hesitated. Would they obey, or would they charge?

"Come," said Tarzan to Marcia, and without waiting for any reply from the Bamo, he started toward an exit from the vast subterranean chamber, still carrying Chemungo above his head, Marcia walking at his side.

Some of the warriors started to close in upon them. It was a tense moment, fraught with danger. Then Margad spoke. "Wait," he commanded his warriors, and then to Tarzan. "When I have open the way for you, will you set Chemungo free, unharmed?"

"When I have passed your last guard by a spear throw," Tarzan replied, "then will I set him free."

"How do I know you will do that? How do I know that you will not remove him from the city, to the Jungle, and there kill him?"

Tarzan shrugged. "His life, not his death, is only of importance to me. You do not know what I may do. You can only hope. This I will tell you, chief: the female and myself pass through your tunnels in safety, and your off- spring shall be released, without harm. If this is not arranged, immediately, I shall kill him now."

"Let them pass, in safety," roared Margad.

And so Tarzan and Marcia passed in safety from the tunnels of the strange tribe. One stop was made. Tarzan examined with curiosity the body of the guard who had unwisely released Magra Taask, then stared at the map, sketched with a spear, in the dirt of the tunnel.

The ape-man studied it closely. It was crude, yet skillfully done. He sat the giant Bamo prince on the floor, pointing sternly, not relinquishing his grip on his arm. "What place is this?" he asked, pointing to the map.

"Ondo. You are not taking me there? It is certain death for me."

"For your death," Tarzan said brutally, yet honestly, "I could not care less. I gave my word, which is enough. No, I will not carry you to certain death. This is also an underground city?"

"Yes. An evil place, surely. Although I have never seen it, I have seen its denizens. Terrible people. Ugly as well. They also are responsible for the theft of the 'Light of the Night,' a gem most precious to my people."

"They resemble your tribe?"

"Their plumes are white. Think of it. White."

"That is unfortunate," Tarzan said, gravely. "There are more guards between this spot and the exit of the tunnel, at the cave mouth?"

The other shook his head. "No. But the approach to the tunnels leading down into Ondo are well guarded. You promised to free nag, once you had reached safety."

"So I did." Tarzan dealt him a blow calculated to render him unconscious for the next hour. The giant savage crumpled to the dirt of the tunnel. Thoughtfully, Tarzan erased the crudely scratched map with his foot. He could see no really good reason to leave any possible evidence as to his intentions, and his intentions were to go to Ondo. "And now, my dear," he said to the girl, "how did you come to be captured?"

Chapter Eight

The Capture Of Tarzan

Basuli, together with his Waziri warriors, the two white men and a horde of bearers pressed onward, cursing the heat, the tsetse flies and, on occasion, each other. This was strange territory. The map, accurate enough in its way, still was crudely drawn, so that Lord Freddie and the somewhat less popular Professor Robert Norton were always stopping the expedition to seek a reference point that made any sense at all. Twice, the safari had been forced to backtrack.

Basuli had a rather scanty familiarity with the country through which they were trekking, but absolutely no knowledge of or use for a map. What trails there were to follow were, by and large, overgrown with verdant jungle foliage. Verdant, and tough. The Waziri sweated mightily to open the trails with their sharp knives. The Waziri chieftain had been told by the two white men that Tarzan had taken to the trees. This was not startling information to Basuli. Tarzan usually did so. Still, there was no trail his trained scouts could follow. He was dependent upon the map to catch up with, perhaps fight for, his lord. And the map was something less than reliable. The great apes would know how to follow Tarzan, but not one roving band had been sighted. It was possibly just as well, all things considered, reflected the Nubian warrior chief; he, himself, was known to most of the apes by his association with Tarzan. And his warriors were accepted on sufferance because of that same association. This might not be equally true of the two white men. Indeed, Basuli thought, they could easily be the target of an all-out assault by apes, if they encountered any. While Numa, the lion, was a more formidable single opponent, the bull apes traveled in hunting bands of from ten to thirty or forty, and when enraged would often charge and kill in a well-disciplined unit, with little sense and absolutely no mercy. Many lions had fallen prey to them, although no ape would, so far as Basuli had been able to ascertain, touch, the carcass of a lion after death except to plant a mighty foot upon it, beat his breast and give a victory cry. After that gesture, they would often wander off, find a piece of fruit or a particularly succulent grub, squat down and chew thoughtfully, although one could not determine exactly what sort of thoughts. The bull apes simply did not like lions. In fact, they liked hardly any other animal. They respected Tantor, the elephant, and Bute, the rhinoceros—the latter with a certain contempt for his stupidity—abhorred Horta, the boar, because of the beast's sweet, cloying smell, and actually admired the antelope and gazelle because of their grace. And that was about the size of it. By and large, the apes respected only strength and savagery. And they fought among themselves as viciously and without apparent provocation as they would attack other beasts. Even more so.

Basuli was closer to them in the scheme of evolution than he thought. He was, after all, human, though not so human as the so-called "civilized" races.

And, of course, they were much worse than the apes, who had not discovered gunpowder.

Altogether, Basuli decided that following the doubtful map was better than seeking advice from a band of great apes, and he was glad they'd encountered none. Professor Norton called yet another halt, and Basuli signaled his warriors. He sighed, but he was not so unhappy as he had been. His stern look closed the mouths of a few disgruntled and vocal tribesmen. They must be getting near to the goal. It was the middle of the day, and the sun was fierce. Basuli regarded the two Englishmen with something akin to pity. They were turning red, and in fact Professor Norton's nose was peeling. Basuli shook his head. Unfortunate that the gods had made white-skinned people who could so easily burn in the rays of the golden globe that floated overhead. Well, Basuli thought, there is nothing I can do about it except feel sorry for them. Apparently, all men cannot be fortunate enough to have black skins and so be immune from that sort of torture, which must be almost constant!

* * *

Magra Taask, the lascar, had considered both approaches to the underground city of the Ondo tribe, and had decided on taking the most heavily guarded entrance, which was underground all the way, leading through what at first had appeared to be a maze of tunnels, but which was actually only one, although it zigzagged considerably. The wily one-eyed thief wished to be captured, and the sooner, the better. He wanted no part of any pursuing force, which might very easily catch up with him, upon discovering the death of the guard. Taask was foolhardy where money was concerned, but no fool. He well knew that he had no chance at all of reaching the giant emerald, the 'Light of the Night,' unless he had won over the confidence of the savages who now owned it. And he could not win that confidence until he had seen their rulers. And he could just not walk up and ask to see them. No, he had to not only allow himself to be captured; the discreet, the wise move would be to be captured as swiftly as possible. The day that he, Magra Taask, could not outwit a tribe of savages would never dawn, he thought, smiling grimly as he traced his passage-way through the darkened tunnel. There were several problems he could already anticipate, but the two fore- most were to, first, stay alive—these savages were unpredictable—and, second, to figure out a method of removing the emerald. One doesn't just pickup a stone weighing a hundred pounds and face to the coast with it tucked under an arm.

Water dripped from the top of the tunnel just ahead of Taask, and he estimated that this might well mark the "border" between the two cave cities. He slowed his progress. Now a dim illumination manifested itself, coming from a torch firmly embedded beyond the small waterfall, and Taask stopped altogether. He almost sneered. These savages were as stupid, he thought, as all the others. To place a guard in a spot where he couldn't hear the sly shuffle of approaching feet, the sound of deep breathing, the rattle of spears! One problem remained. To get captured without getting killed. At least, that was the immediate problem.

The lascar crept forward, cautiously, slowly, making his way without sound under the spray of water. It was as he would have wagered. The guard, leaning on a spear, was sound asleep. Taask stared, planning his next move. He was formidable figure, that much must be admitted. A full seven feet tall. And just as he'd been informed, white plumes on his head, which were relaxed, flat, hanging between his shoulder blades. Definitely an Ondo tribesman, probably an elite member, entrusted with this important duty.

Taask retreated, as silently as he'd approached, considering. Back behind the concealing spray, Taask picked up a small rock, threw it through the waterfall, to alert the guard. To make sure, he threw a second, then waited for a reaction. Sure enough, there was a startled shout. The lascar grinned. Now to be captured. The voice of the guard was challenging, obviously calling for reinforcements. Taask got on his belly, feigning exhaustion, crawled through the spray.

He raised a hand in the air, as the guard lifted his assegai, "I come to warn you," he croaked in a voice that seemed little more than the last gasp of a dying man. "The Bamo come. They seek the sacred stone, the 'Light of the Night'. I was a captive of the evil black plumes. I escaped. I seek asylum!"

* * *

Tarzan had been captured.

It was disgraceful for the Lord of the Jungle to be taken so easily, almost with contempt, and Lord Greystoke felt himself humiliated almost beyond recall.

It had happened due to an unfortunate series of circumstances. Tarzan's first impulse had been to return Marcia Malley to her fiancé, and as they raced through the tunnels of the cave city of Bamo, he desperately tried to recall the twistings and turnings of the map so crudely scratched on the floor of the tunnel just outside the prison pens. There had been obviously two exits (or two entrances, as one might prefer) either from Bamo or to Ondo. There had most obviously been trouble, as witness the body of the sentry, and there would undoubtedly be even more of a pursuit than Tarzan could anticipate. Accordingly, when the ape-man reached the division of the darkened pathway—one track led to Ondo, the other to the surface of the ground—-he sat Marda Malley gently, but firmly, on the ground.

"Rest here for a moment," he said. "I am going to look for a clearway out. If you hear sounds, do not move. I shall be but a second." With that, he raced off, leaving the terrified girl behind, running for the original entrance to the caves. Reaching open air, he sniffed appreciatively, looked closely. Nothing. No guard. This, then, was the way. He turned and re-entered the shaft, moving swiftly, now that he knew the way. He was too late.

The alarm given by Magra Taask had been sounded, and hordes of white-plumed Ondo streamed through the small waterfall that marked their cave city's boundary from that of the Bamo, shaking their assegai and hurling empty threats against empty caverns and passageways. They found no one except the terrified girl, cowering against the wall of the tunnel like the terrified animal she indeed had become. In the darkness of the shaft, they looked and sounded exactly like her former captors, and their savagery was almost exactly the same. It is doubtful that the sight of white plumes would have been of much reassurance. They posted several sentries, and the rest retired behind the water curtain, taking the swooning girl with them. Here was a prize for the chieftain, Nanda.

And someone else was coming, from the opposite direction.

Tarzan, padding on quiet feet, was not quiet enough in the cave. The sentries stood tautly against the wall, waiting for him. For once, the ape-man's jungle instincts failed him, and he walked into the trap. A round half-dozen of the Ondo warriors fell upon him, bearing him to the dirt of the tunnel floor. He snarled ominously, but to no avail. In a moment he was trussed up and carried through the waterfall of the city of Ondo.

Chapter Nine

The Gladiator

As Magra Taask approached the throne, following his release under guard from his cell, he was led through a veritable underground palace, which made even his greedy glance stare in amazement. "I am being taken to the Queen?" he asked one of the guards. The latter shoved him through yet another doorway.

"She has sent for you," he snarled, "it is an honor. Now, dog, on your knees!" He brutally shoved the lascar to his knees, reinforcing the command with a most suggestive prick of the short but deadly assegai he carried as a weapon. Taask crawled into the throne room. He was vaguely disappointed, hoping to have had an audience with the chieftain of the tribe. However, the ruling woman would have to do. Apparently, she held great power. At the far end of the room, upon a dais which was carved from what appeared to be a single block of lava, was seated a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties, singularly handsome. Warriors flanked her on either side, and slaves stood behind her throne ready to do her every bidding.

Her hair was so dressed that it stood out straight from her head in all directions to a length of eight or ten inches, and had woven into it an ornate headdress of White plumes. Quite obviously, the female of the species could not grow their own plumes, as did the males. Her mien was haughty and arrogant as she eyed the prisoner coldly, and with a quick upward glance Taask read cruelty in the lines of her mouth and the latent fires of a quick temper in the glint of her eyes. Here was a woman to be feared, a ruthless killer, a human tigress. The equanimity of the lascar faltered before a woman for the first time.

"Why came you to Ondo?" she demanded, coldly. The tone of her voice as well as the presence of the guards suggested swift death for an unsatisfactory answer.

"By accident. Purely. Our safari was lost. Hunters, only, looking for game. The Bamo found our little group, exterminated all but me. Me, they took prisoner. I killed my guard, and I escaped. That is all."

The Princess Nirva nodded her head, slowly. "You have told the warriors of my tribe that you have important information for me. What is it? The truth, if you value your head."

Taask thought about this. It would be the most important statement he could make.

"Quickly," the mate of Nanda said. "What is it? If you have imposed upon me and wasted my time. it will not go well for you."

"I confess," Taask whined. "I confess. I have power- ful enemies. It was while trying to escape from them that I became lost. They are even now, in company with the Bamo, coming to Ondo to steal the sacred 'Light of the Night.' The huge emerald, which they believe you to possess. I only wish to befriend you and to help you entrap them."

"Are they coming in force?" She leaned forward anxiously.

"That I do not know," Taask said. "I presume they are. They have ample means and many, many warriors."

Nirva turned to one of her nobles. "If this man speaks the truth, he shall not come to harm at our hands. Akamen, I place the prisoner in your hands. Take him away, see that he has his needs Food, Drink. Warm bedding." She spoke to another noble. "The approaches to Ondo are guarded? Well and strongly?"

"Yes, majesty. May I approach and speak to you, in confidence?"

She beckoned, negligently. The noble laid down his assegai, spear point facing away from the rude throne, then went to the ear of Nirva. "There are other prisoners. A male and a female"

"Kill them instantly. We have no need of more prisoners."

The noble bowed his head. "It shall be as you say. Still, majesty, the male is of a good size. He might make sport in the games tomorrow. In hand-to-hand combat. A suggestion, only. If you order, he shall be slain at once."

She looked interested, this savage princess. "A moment, while I think upon it. He is strong?"

"Assuredly."

"Lithe? Supple? Easy to look upon?"

The noble shrugged. "Strong, lithe and supple, yes. Easy to look upon, I do not know, majesty, I am not a woman. To me, he would be terrifying. Like a beast. Oh, not misshapen, or ugly, but ... savage. Yes, that is the word, savage. Beastlike. A fire, I think, burns within him"

"Bring him to me. Now. The woman?"

The noble shrugged again. "A woman. No more, no less."

"Good. We will sacrifice her at the games tomorrow." Akamen looked self-conscious. "I am afraid that will not be so easy. Nanda has ordered everything for her. The finest quarters, food, wine, maidens to bathe and anoint her."

Nirva slammed a tiny fist on the arm of the throne. "This we shall determine at a later date. Deliver the man to my own quarters. At once. He is clean?"

"Clean."

"I would see this one. Meanwhile, nothing of what we have spoken. Oh, his name?"

"Tarzan"

The savage princess gazed at the wall of the audience chamber, thoughtfully. "Tarzan? It is a name I believe I have heard before. Yes, I am sure of it. Bring him to my chambers, and bring a half-dozen of your finest guards, to stand outside. I would satisfy my curiosity."

Akamen bowed, a bland look upon his face. "It shall be as you say." He backed respectfully from the chamber. Once outside, he shook his head doubtfully. It looked like an unpleasant task he had to perform. It was well-known among the palace guards that Nirva and Nanda pursued their own pleasures. It really made for a very tricky, situation. He took two other guards with him, walking in a forbidding silence, his brow wrinkled in thought.

Tarzan's keen ears heard the coming of the trio. He was instantly awake and alert. "Yes?"

The bolt slipped back on the door. "You are to come with me," the Ondo ordered. "But first, may I have a pledge? I would speak with you. Privately."

"Yes." Tarzan stepped back, made a sweeping motion with his arms. "Enter this luxurious place."

Akamen chose to ignore the obvious sarcasm, motioned the other guards out of earshot. ''You are being taken to the mate of the ruler of our city. She wishes to gaze upon you."

The ape-man thought of this statement. "Not altogether an unreasonable command," he commented.

"Do you wish to die?"

"No being wishes to die," Tarzan answered. "No more do I."

"If Nanda, our ruler, finds you in his queen's apartment, you will die. This I can promise you. It has happened before. I am only trying to do you a service, as a brave warrior. As one warrior to another."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Unfortunately, no. She commands your presence, as she has commanded, the presence of others. To comply is probably death. To refuse is certainly death."

Tarzan lashed white teeth in a smile. "Not much of a choice, is it? Very well, let us see this woman who commands my death one way or another." He had many other questions to ask, but chose to withhold them for the moment.

The three Ondo and Tarzan strode quickly through numerous passageways to the apartment of the queen. Outside the door to her apartment, Akamen turned to Tarzan. "You must enter," he said, "but be very careful. Get away as quickly as you can and while you are there be as discreet as the circumstances permit. Nirva fancies herself as a temptress, and Nanda is insanely jealous. I think he is more fearful of being made a fool of than anything else."

"Yes," Tarzan said. I shall be discreet."

As the ape-man was ushered into the presence of the queen, she greeted him with a dazzling smile. "So you are the man, the famous killer of both men and beasts? It is very amusing."

"It is amusing to see men die?" Tarzan asked.

She shrugged, baring a rounded shoulder. "Man or beast, what is the difference? It is diverting, shall we say? Come," and she patted the throne beside her, "Come sit by me. Tell me, have you ever fought a lion?"

"Yes"

"And, therefore, obviously, you have triumphed, or you would not be seated here." She licked her lips, "Would you fight another?"

"Why?"

"For me? And for the girl, the female we took before we took you? For the lives of both of you?"

"I fear nothing. No one. No human, no beast." This was a simple statement of fact, and it was said so sincerely that the queen gasped with admiration.

"The lion we have will kill you, and I do not wish you to die, Tarzan." Her voice was almost a caress.

"The lion will not kill me," replied the ape-man. "If I kill him, will yon intercede with the king, the ruler, in behalf of the girl?"

"It would be useless," she replied. "Useless. She will be used for Nanda's pleasure, then given to the priests to dispose of as they see fit, possibly a human sacrifice. No matter what, she will die. It is the law, but you, you must remain in Ondo." Suddenly she started up. "Quickly," she cried, "here comes Nanda, the king. You must hide!"

Tarzan remained standing where he was with arms folded, making no more move to hide; and there the king found him when he entered the apartment.

Nanda's face clouded with an angry scowl as he saw the ape-man. "What means this?" he demanded.

"I came in search of you, but found the queen instead," Tarzan replied. "I have just been asking her to intercede in behalf of the girl."

Nanda narrowed his eyes, his white plume standing almost erect. "You lie. You could not have escaped your cell."

"I have escaped many cells."

"I have a strong suspicion about this particular 'escape,' " the ruler said, haughtily. "For, while I don't know you, I know my queen. You know our custom? A prisoner must fight a lion. I think I shall let you fight two lions."

"Her Majesty is blameless," Tarzan replied. "She was very angry because I came to these quarters."

"Yes," said Nanda, grimly. "I am sure she was. Nevertheless she looked more frightened than angry when I suddenly appeared."

"You are most unfair to me,"Nirva accused. "And you are also unfair to this man, who speaks the truth."

"How is that, that I am unfair to him?"

"One lion has always been the custom."

"The custom was established by me. I can always change it. Two lions, three lions, twenty lions. What difference does it make, in the long run? Who has defeated even one lion? Anyway, I fail to see Why you are so concerned in the matter. You but substantiate my suspicions and cause me to remember the young warrior I had to send to the arena last year. I had hoped you would permit me to forgive him.

Nirva subsided into a pout, and Nanda ordered Tarzan escorted, under guard, back to his cell. "The lions," he gloated, "have been starved. They will be quite hungry tomorrow."

"You should not starve your fighting lions," Tarzan advised seriously. "Starvation weakens them."

Nanda-stared at the ape-man, grimly. "They will be able to give a fairly good account of themselves. Starvation makes them more ravenous and ferocious. Guards! Take this plumeless one away. See that he is well-fed. Well-fed, so that the lions may be well-fed on the morrow!"

Above ground, it would have been noon of the next day that Tarzan was ushered into the arena. Only the weird glow from the walls of the vast cavern, helped somewhat by flickering, smoking torches let into the terraced amphitheatre lit the scene of the one-sided combat, Magra Taask, having cleverly insinuated himself into the royal favor, joined the king and queen of the fierce savages in their box that commanded the best view of the arena that was to mark the slaughter of the ape-man. Taask had managed to stop past Tarzan's cage for a moment, both to gloat and to assure him, falsely, of his chagrin at the entire affair. "I will have the giant emerald," he told Tarzan. "These stupid savages can think only moments ahead."

Tarzan made a small mental mark against the score of Magra Taask. If he survived, the lascar would die. But now, to survive.

As Tarzan walked to the center of the arena and stopped, Nanda turned to his queen. "Your taste is excellent, Nirva. The man is indeed a magnificent specimen. It is too bad that he must die."

"And I must compliment you on your good taste," replied his mate."The woman is also a magnificent specimen. It is too bad that she must also die." Thus did Nanda learn that Nirva knew of his visit to Marcia. The king looked most uncomfortable, for Nirva made no attempt to lower her voice, and the people about them overheard, so that he was most pleased to see the pair of lions slink into the arena.

Tarzan saw them, too. They were big lions, and he realized that his visit to Nirva, unsolicited as it had been, might very well have cost him his life. One lion he might have conquered, but how could any mortal man withstand the attack of two such beasts? He realized that this was not to be a contest, but an execution; yet, as the lions approached, he showed no felts, One lion came directly toward him while the other stood fora few seconds looking about the arena; when he started to follow his companion, he was some feet behind him. It was this that suggested to Tarzan the only plan that might succeed against them. Had they charged simultaneously, he felt that there would have been no hope for him.

Suddenly, the leading lion made a rush and reared above the ape-man. Nanda leaned forward, lips parted, his eyes dilated. Above all things, he liked to see a good kill; he liked to see bodies mauled and blood spilled. His queen stifled a scream.

Tarzan sprang to one side and leaped behind the charging lion, then he seized it and swung it above his head, wheeling about again as the second lion charged.

"What strength!'''' marveled Nirva.

"I am almost sorry I pitted him against two lions," exclaimed Nanda. "He really deserved a better fate."

"What?" Magra Taask sneered. ''Three lions?"

The king of the Ondo cast a scornful glance at the lascar. "Such a man deserves a better fate."

"Look!" breathed the queen, her heart pounding. "Look at him now!"

Tarzan had hurled the first lion into the face of the second which had charged, and both were down on the stone floor of the arena.

"Incredible," exclaimed the queen. "If he survives, the girl may live."

"Then may he live," agreed her mate, almost too quickly. "But I'm afraid there's no hope for him. They'll both be at him in a moment."

In her excitement, Nirva had risen and was leaning over the edge of the parapet surrounding the arena. "Look! They are fighting one another!"

It was almost exactly as Tarzan had believed it would be. One lion, thinking that the other had attacked him, tore into his fellow, and with hideous roars and growls the two fell upon one another, rending with powerful talons and fangs.

"The man not only has marvelous strength but great cunning," the tribal chieftain announced to his wife.

"He is superb," answered Nirva. "Superb!"

As the two lions fought, they moved nearer and nearer to the royal box until its occupants had to lean far over the parapets to watch them. Tarzan, too, had moved back from the area of combat and was standing just below the box. In her overweening excitement, Nirva lost her balance and fell over the edge of the parapet. As she screamed in fear, the ape-man looked up just in time to catch her in his arms as she fell. Realizing the danger to the woman in the event that one of the lions dispatched the other, or if the two should cease fighting and turn their attention upon their natural enemies, Tarzan started toward the doorway through which he had entered the arena, shouting to Akamen to open the door.

All was confusion in the royal box. Nanda was shouting instructions, and warriors were rushing down to the entrance of the arena, but they were to be too late. With a final shake of the dead body of his weaker antagonist, the victorious lion turned with a savage roar and charged after Tarzan and the queen. There was no time now in which to reach the doorway; the ape-man, lowering Nirva to her feet, turned with drawn knife to meet the oncoming carnivore. Growling, he crouched, and Nirva felt her flesh crawl with horror.

"The lion will kill them both," Taask cried to the king. "He is a devil!"

''So is the man," the king said, softly. "So is the man."

Nirva stood paralyzed by the savage attack, unable to move. Before the warriors, white plumes standing erect, could arrive to rescue her, the lion was upon Tarzan. Eluding the flailing talons, the ape-man seized the black mane and swung at the beast's back, driving his knife into its tawny hide. Roaring horribly, the lion threw itself about in a vain attempt to dislodge the man-thing from its back; the growls of Tarzan mingled with those of the lion until Nirva scarcely knew which one to fear the most.

At last, the knife found the savage heart, the beast rolled onto its side, and after a convulsive shudder, died; then Tarzan placed his foot upon the carcass and, raising his face to the top of the arena, voiced the ululating cry, the victory cry of the bull ape. The queen stood in hopeless fascination as her warriors finally rushed to her side.

"He is a god," she whispered. "Or a demon!"

Chapter Ten

So Die Cowards

Magra Taask gained an audience with .the king, Nanda, shortly after Tarzan's triumph. The ape-man had been taken, with highest honors, to a banquet hall, where shouting warriors were clapping him on the back, and where the queen's equerry, Akamen, waited for the opportunity to murmur as discreetly as might be that the queen wished the ape-man to visit her in her apartment. Discreetly, because among the high guard of the palace itself, it was no secret that both the king and the queen had their own small pleasures. For the moment, Akamen simply did not bother. Food entered the banquet hall, and Tarzan sniffed, hungrily. He preferred his meat raw, bloody, freshly killed, but he had fared but poorly for the past few days. Almost he could feel sorry for the pair of lions he had killed.

Nanda eyed the lascar coldly in the royal chambers, "I have other plans," he said, frankly. "They do not include spending a great deal of time, or even more than a few moments with a one-eyed lascar."

Taask bowed low, in a mock humility. "Nor should you. I am aware of your plans, I believe. I congratulate you. Yet, I must ask this question, though it cost me my life. As chief, as king, are you not also high priest of the 'Light of the Night'? And as such, responsible for its safekeeping?"

Nanda ran a hand through his white plume, then dropped it to play with the golden chain about his neck, the chain of office. "You toy with your life. Do you not then value existence?" It was a cold threat.

"I do. Nor do I mean to question you in an offensive fashion. Yet I ..."

Nanda slapped a hand on the edge of his throne. "You came to this city willingly, although we both know you are an aboveground dweller, not a cave city dweller. You have spoken much of this sacred gem. You have warned me of Tarzan, certainly the greatest warrior I have ever seen, who needs it not. You have spoken of his friends, who are even now on safari, waiting, planning, conniving and scheming to steal it. You have told me of the plans of the Bamo, the black-plumes, to invade our cave city and steal it. Yet, I wonder. What is your own purpose? Surely, you do not arrive in our midst with no purpose. No plan. This seems to me to be impossibly philanthropic, and you, yourself, do not look like a philanthropist." He sat back on the throne, considering. "Nor are you a warrior. Nora guide. Nor a hunter."

"I am ... "

An opportunist, perhaps. Yes, that would be the kind way of stating it. A conniver. I am not without experience with this sort of personal have slain several. Rather horribly, as a matter of fact."

"Majesty, I swear that I ..."

Nanda held up a forbidding hand. "We have given you sanctuary. Honor, even, although the last seems to be a mistake. Your oaths leave me strangely untouched. Upon what do you swear?"

"Upon all the gods."

Nanda laughed, called for his guards. "Take the sacred one away. Handle him carefully. He has many gods, and I am sure t hat our race, our city is so sunken in degradation, so immoral, that we can use all the gods presently available. Oh, one thing. Do riot let him near the 'Light of the Night.' I fear he worships this particular god too much. And bring me Tarzan. I weary of double-talk."

Taask was taken from the king's presence and thrown into a cell, a change from the luxurious quarters he had been enjoying. Tarzan appeared before the king.

"Ah," said Nanda, looking at the ape-man appreciatively. "You area great warrior. Do you hear me, man? A great warrior."

Tarzan inclined his head courteously, not answering aloud.

"You have saved my queen," Nanda went on, "and thus earned your release: The orders have been given. Or, you may stay and enjoy high honors. Nobility. The choice is yours."

Lord Greystoke smiled. "Yours, rather. I imagine the lascar has told you that I lead an expedition to take the 'Light of the Night'?"

Nanda nodded, but before he could reply, a native runner, passed by the guard at the doors of the royal suite, raced in and threw himself at the feet of his lord and master. The king rose, walking to the prostrate native.

"You have a message." It was not a question.

"Yes, master. The Bamo come. The black-plumed ones. In great number. More than we can muster. They seek revenge—and the sacred emerald, the 'Light of the Night.'

"How many guards have we lost?"

"All. All but a mere handful. We fled before them."

"So." Nanda rose to his feet, raised his sword and with one stroke killed the reporting guard. He looked at Tarzan with eyes that were slightly glazed. "So die defectors. Cowards."

Tarzan did not blink. It was just.

The safari, with the leadership of Lord Pembroke and Professor Norton, and the guidance of Basuli, stopped in its tracks. The warriors sank to the ground, exhausted by the pace set for them by their redoubtable leader, chieftain of the Waziri.

As usual, Norton was the first to speak. "Why have we stopped here?" he demanded of Basuli.

The Waziri chieftain looked at him coolly. "Why not here, lord?"

Freddie Pembroke laughed aloud. "He's got you there, old boy. Why not here, indeed!"

Norton scowled. "There's still plenty of daylight. We could have trekked another five miles, if it weren't for these lazy natives."

Lord Pembroke glanced at the wise warrior, Basuli. That worthy smiled agreeably. "True. We could make another five miles before darkness. It is also true that we may riot find water again. Nor a comfortable place in which to build a boma, to protect ourselves against the beasts of the night. However, it shall be as the white lord says. I am under orders from my master, Tarzan, to lead this man of learning wherever the map indicates. I do not trust that map. Already it has cost us many hours. We have retraced our steps so many times that my tribesmen are grumbling. I think that this cannot be a very good map."

Freddie looked back to Professor Norton, adding, "I believe he is correct. Although Basuli has not said as much, he appears tome to be uneasy, apprehensive, and I have learned, long ago, to trust the native fears or unease about given situations."

"So now we are subject to the whims of an ignorant African native, hardly removed from a beast."

Lord Pembroke stared at the professor. "Really, old boy I'd like to remind you that we're at the mercy of beasts. Not that I agree with your statement, but if Basuli is only removed from the animal by a slight degree, then I feel we should listen to him, follow his guidance. Isn't that what he's here for, after all?"

Grumbling, Norton gave in, and Lord Pembroke told the warrior chieftain to make camp. Hammocks were speedily swung between thorn trees, coring fires started. The appetizing smell of antelope, barbecued over an open bed of coals soon assailed the nostrils of the Englishmen, and one of Basuli's warriors brought them a drink. Lord Pembroke studied the bottom of his glass seriously for a moment or so. "God knows why I bother to say this," he told the professor. "You're not exactly the sort of man I'd care to have for a brother-in-law, Still, you are British. I'll mention this, then say no more about it. I have a sort of rapport with these natives, especially with Basuli. I think there is big trouble ahead. Imminent, perhaps. Basuli didn't stop for water, nor for a good camping site. Not this early. I know he fears for life of Tarzan, and nothing, you, me, nothing, could keep him from taking his tribe of Waziri to the place where Tarzan was last known to be. This much is sure. We are to camp here tonight. Keep a loaded gun handy."

Norton, although highly skeptical of the advice, nevertheless loaded a rifle, took it off "Safety," and placed it in a ready position beside and beneath his hammock.

Just past midnight, the beast fire, designed to burn all night and to keep prowling lions and panthers from the sleeping forms scattered about, attracted the eyes of a huge band of black-plumed Bamo. In stealthy silence, the Bamo approached the small camp, killing more than half the fierce Waziri as they slept, capturing the rest, including Basuli and the two Englishmen.

* * *

Magra Taask fumed in his cell. This was not the purpose of his trip, certainly. When he thought of the peril he had encountered, possibly—no, certainly—the greatest of his evil life, he was more determined than ever to recover the "Light of the Night," the giant emerald. He knew it existed, that it was not just a rumor but a fact. Determination, however, was not enough. He lay in the semi-darkness of his cell, hating himself, the queen, Nirva, and his "employer," Wong Feng (who doubtless was entertaining himself with dancing girls and many bottles of kirsch at this very moment). At the very moment he was gloomily contemplating his fate, which would most probably consist of being thrown into an arena as lion food in the immediate future, the noble known as Akamen came to the lascar's cell. He had a proposition, and after he made it Magra Taask shook his head in disbelief.

"I do not like it. I have a presentiment that we shall both die for such a thing."

"Put your trust in me," Akamen said. "You want the 'Light of the Night' do you not? To me," and he shrugged, "it has no meaning. It is but a rock. One rock is much like another. As are—queens."

So began a lengthy bargaining session. In return for the death of the queen, Taask was to receive the giant emerald. But Taask would then need help to carry it. It was not a feather. Such help was impossible, all must be done, in the utmost secrecy. Without such help, the theft of the emerald was ridiculous. Was Taask's life, which was surely forfeit tomorrow at the whim of the queen, so worthless. No, but still—"Why me?"

Akamen smiled. "I was waiting for you to ask .that, Nirva herself has sent for you. She wishes for you to assassinate the Englishwoman and the king, himself. She wishes to make Tarzan ruler."

"And you?"

"Me? I wish only to ..." he broke off as a warrior came running to him, whispered into his ear. He listened carefully, smiling. He turned back to the lascar as the warrior raced off. "What was I saying?"

"I think you were passing my death sentence," Taask said, earnestly. "At best, perhaps postponing it by a few hours. Why have I been chosen for this task? Why not one of your warriors or even yourself?"

"You are, I am sure, more experienced with a dagger. Have you lost your nerve? You came here under great danger. It is very simple. The queen wishes to speak to you. She will ask you to kill the king, so that she can make Tarzan ruler. You will be alone with her. My men will be just outside the door. It will be over in five minutes, and suspicion will be directed against one of the guards whom she disciplined severely recently, and who is known to be very bitter against her. Well?"

Taask shrugged, helplessly. "What am I to do? Of course I will do it. But what of the emerald?"

"It will be waiting for you. Two warriors will carry it to the surface for you. After that, it is up to you. Just think—the queen has already retired, and is waiting for you at this very moment. In a half-hour, you will be free, on the surface, and with that which you have risked your life for. There will be no pursuit from the cave city of Ondo, I assure you. Shall we go?"

The lascar's eyes gleamed. "Indeed. I will need a weapon."

"Here." The Ondo noble handed Taask a gleaming dagger.

The oddly assorted pair left the cell area, and strode rapidly toward the queen's luxurious apartment. Outside her door stood a pair of giant guards. Akamen held the sleeve of the lascar for a moment. "You know what to do," he hissed into his ear.

"I know exactly what to do," murmured the lascar.

The noble nodded his head at the guards, and they threw open the doors, closing them quickly after the retreating figure of Magra Taask. Akamen stared at the panel for a moment, wondering if he had chosen his instrument wisely. "In a moment," he instructed the two guards, "you will hear a scream. When this happens, open the doors and kill the lascar. He will have served his purpose by then. Understood?"

"Understood, Lord."

Akamen walked away, rapidly. It had been a good day's work, so far.

"Well," Professor Norton turned to speak to Lord Pembroke. "Here we are. A fine lot of 'warriors' defended us, I must say. Tarzan's Waziri are worse than useless. First Marcia. Now, us." They were imprisoned together in a Bamo slave pen. The odor was more irritating than the bars, actually. In the distance, but out of sight, they could hear the chant of the savage Bamo, and the shrill scream of some unfortunate Waziri warrior being put to torture.

Pembroke said, simply, "I have been in Africa many times. I have never seen such a war party. The Waziri were simply engulfed, overcome by sheer numbers. I do not know what these strange creatures are. Plumes arising from their heads. And they must be eight or nine feet tall!"

"Seven," Norton admitted unhappily. "I noticed their height and their strength. Good God, man, are they human? Do we have a chance of escaping this frightful place alive?"

"Judging from the cries, I would say 'no.' It seems they are enjoying themselves, killing off Waziri. We will likely be choice candidates for something rather special. The piece de resistance so to speak. I am afraid, my brother-in-law to be, that we shall succumb to their tortures, their spears, their fires. Unless Tarzan appears."

Norton turned in a fury. "Tarzan? And what would he do?"

* * *

There was no scream from the queen's apartment. Magra Taask had raised his dagger to strike, when he was seized, indeed: who had been stationed behind drapes. Queen Nirva sat up in bed, a bitter smile upon her lips. A smile, nevertheless, that was a smile of triumph. "The one-eyed one feeds the lions tomorrow," she exclaimed. "Not one. Nor two. Tomorrow, we shall feed three lions. And he shall have company. Akamen, also. Also, the guards outside my doors. See to it!"

In moments, all were in custody.

Nirva lay back upon her couch of furs. Thus, she thought, die traitors and overambitious ones. For a fleeting second she mourned the certain death of Akamen. He was a handsome warrior, and a noble one, certainly more worthy of her favors than was the slightly potbellied and certainly depraved king, Nanda. Unfortunately, he had sold out to the wrong side of the intrigue.

She smiled, thinking of Tarzan as a mate. Of course, there was the king to be disposed of, but that could be arranged. Yes, that could certainly be arranged!

Chapter Eleven

The Decision

Tarzan chose freedom. Despite the word that had reached him, the distressing news of the capture of Basuli and at least half the Waziri, the ape-man had decided to invade Bamo, and, if possible, to wreak such destruction that the cave city would never recover. He also wished to save Lord Pembroke. He explained his intent to Nanda, king of Ondo.

"I have no warriors to spare. They outnumber us. And your warriors have been killed or captured, along with your friends."

"There are other ways," Tarzan said. "By all and any means, I must liberate my Waziri, such of them as may be left."

"I will give you warriors!" Nanda exclaimed. "Such as I may."

Tarzan shook his head. "Not needed. I shall find a way. I am not inexperienced in warfare, Nanda. You offered me my freedom. This is all I seek. This and the woman, Marcia."

"The woman? Ah, that is a ... different matter."

"I see. Then you do not value the great emerald, the 'Light of the Night'?"

Nanda laughed. "It is an emerald, as you say. It has little value here, in my city. Here my people barter with fat cows, fat women."

"Then why do the Bamo seek it so assiduously?"

"A religious thing, purely. At one time, our race was the same. We lived in peace among ourselves. Then, some of our males started to develop black plumes. At one time, we were all Ondo. With white plumes. Black plumes became a sign of unclean blood, evil, bad habits. Of course, this was many years ago. The details are not really known. Still, the race split into two parts, the white plumes and the black plumes. They greatly outnumber us now. And the emerald became a symbol of strength. That we have it in our possession is a major triumph. That they want it back is clearly understood."

Tarzan nodded. "Then the Bamo outnumber your warriors?"

Nanda fingered his ceremonial robes, nervously. "Yes," he admitted. "There are two of them to each one of us."

"Good. I will take the girl. Now. This way you may have a kingdom tomorrow. I alone can save your kingdom. I believe it to be, after all, a fair and just one. Certainly, with your queen, you have balances and counter balances."

The ruler stared at the ape-man. "You make many promises. How do I know you will keep them?"

"Tarzan does not lie. Yes or no? Free me and the woman, or fight the Bamo tomorrow. You may be sure they will tire of their sport before this night is over, and then resume their attack cm your city."

"Aha!" the king said, triumphantly. "You wish the woman for yourself, is it not so?"

Tarzan shook his massive, fierce head. "No. The she is not mine, neither do I desire or need her. I have my mate. It is a debt of honor to a blood-brother, nothing more, nothing less. With your word, I will devastate the cave city of the Bamo, and protect your city and the sacred emerald. I have nothing more to say."

The king sat back, rubbing his chin. "I offered you nobility," he finally said. "You reject this?"

"I am a noble already among my own people," he responded. "You make a hallow offer. I do not intend to discuss the matter further. I offer you your kingdom, such as it is. As you well know, the queen, Nirva, will have the life of this woman Marcia within a matter of days—even hours. Give her to me now, and I will save your empire, which, need I remind you once again, is on the verge of toppling."

"You will devastate Bamo?"

"I have said so."

Nanda leaned back in his throne. "So shall it be," he cried, impulsively. "Guards!"

The royal guards sprang instantly into the chamber, their spears at the ready. The king waved a weary hand. "No need for the show of force. Conduct this warrior to the apartment of the Englishwoman. Thence, to the surface. If anything happens to either, in the meanwhile, heads will roll. Let it be dearly understood. The woman is to be released in his care and custody. May your way be easy, Tarzan—as easy as is possible."

Thus, with the blessing of King Nanda, did Tarzan and Professor Norton's fiancée pass from the cave city to the surface of the earth. The ape-man and Marcia walked some distance from the entrance of the city of Ondo; she chattered excitedly of her imprisonment, of her relief to once again see daylight, of her amazement at men—if one could call them that—that had white plumes growing from their heads and who stood seven feet in height. She talked on and on, until Tarzan, weary of her conversation, began to feel a bit sorry for the professor who had claimed her for his own. The pair came upon the edge of the forest, and Tarzan stilled his companion.

"It is necessary," he told her, "that you be very, very quiet for some time. I do not know how long I must enter the forest. To do so, I must leave you alone, for you could not possibly travel with me. We must find you a fairly comfortable and safe place to wait for my return, which may be hours, or even a day or so, although I trust it will not be that long."

She opened her large blue eyes wide. "Why do you go?"

"To raise an army. So that I may rescue my Waziri, and free Lord Pembroke and your fiancé, who are prisoners of the Bamo. This tree should do nicely."

The girl looked at it in dismay. "I could never climb it, if that's what you have in mind."

"Stand behind me, lock your arms about my neck." The girl, wondering, obeyed, and Tarzan's lithe body sprang, bearing her weight along with his own, into the lower branches. From there, he worked his way without difficulty to the upper terrace.

"He looked for, and found, a convenient branching, where he deposited Marcia Malley. With his knife, he swiftly cut some boughs, making a sort of platform on which she could recline and rest. When he had things arranged for her comfort, he warned her again. "You must be quiet. Beasts which climb into the trees to make their kill do so only at night, and never in this high terrace. Nevertheless, should I not return before darkness falls, you must remain quiet, for there are some that would brave even this height to make a kill if they knew you were here."

"I ...I understand. Tarzan, could I not accompany you?"

The ape-man shook his head. "Impossible, as you can see. I travel through the trees, and I must travel swiftly. No, you will be safe enough, if only you are quiet. Far safer than you were in the cave-cities. I go now." Without further preamble, Tarzan swiftly swung off through the branches and out of sight. He allowed himself a brief smile as he thought of the long days and nights of conversation, mostly one-sided, that awaited the professor. Women!

* * *

The wily Magra Taask, under sentence of death— a death, moreover, which was imminent—was not one to give up so easily. It was not the first time he had been in danger, nor the first time he had been sentenced to death. There was always a way out, if only one could discover it. He called a guard. "I seek another audience with the queen," he said. "It is urgent."

The guard grunted, unfeelingly. "Surely, your last audience should have sufficed. You're going to be thrown to three lions tomorrow. Is that not enough?"

The lascar shook his head impatiently. "You do not understand. This is important. It has to do with the safety of the queen."

"Is that indeed so?" asked the guard, politely. "One would hardly think you, of all people, would be connected with her safety. You, whom we captured with a dagger poised over her form."

For that, thank Akamen. It was his suggestion, his advice, indeed, his orders. I had no choice in the matter. Surely you can see that. But now, all I ask is to be taken again before the queen. Surely, nothing worse can befall me. And the news I bear is important. Take me yourself, bound, and you will win high honors. Perhaps you will even succeed Akamen."

"Ridiculous. Still..."

"Your city is in grievous peril. Surely you are aware of that."

"Your message," the guard said, cunningly, "why not give it to me, and I will pass it along? In that fashion—"

"In that fashion," Taask replied, "I will feed three lions tomorrow and you will become a hero. No, thank you. Well, it matters little, I suppose. One death seems to cancel another. This is interesting, in a grim way, to think upon. Will you feed the spears of three black- plumes before I feed three lions? We shall discover this shortly."

"If I take you to the queen, you will mention me favorably?"

"Assuredly. Yes, you may count upon receiving your just reward." The white-plumed warrior called another sentinel.

"Bind him," he ordered, indicating the lascar. "I take him for an audience."

Nirva was not pleased at being called upon by her attempted assassin, even though he was still tightly bound. "Why do you bring this ... this lion food before me?" she demanded of the quaking warrior.

"The prisoner, the condemned one, has, informed .me that he has a message of great import, meant for your ears alone."

The queen raged about the apartment, viciously knocking over and breakmg priceless objects of art. She whirled, looking at the trembling guard. "Hope, then, that his message is important. Vastly important, or you shall be a head shorter by tomorrow!"

"Yes, majesty. Shall I unbind him?"

"Fool, the last time I saw this one, he held a dagger poised over my breast. You think he has recanted? Nonsense! Let him speak now, with you and my guards in attendance. Not," she added bitterly, "that I completely trust my so-called guards. Still, I would hear what the one-eyed one has to say. It might even be amusing. And I could use some laughter."

Taask bowed his head under the verbal blows, waiting his opportunity to spin his own web of deception. Still large in his mind loomed the 'Light of the Night,' certainly the most massive of all emeralds. "Majesty," he started, persuasively, "I have been a victim of circumstances. A prisoner, condemned to death, I was offered life and wealth if I did but slay you. On the word of Akamen, now a prisoner who, like myself, is condemned to death." He shrugged. "So be it. I am resigned to my fate. Yet, there is news that you should know. An invasion of your cave city is planned by the Bamo. Indeed, they are even now mounting their attack. I can save Ondo. Only I. I was sent here by the rulers, Margad and L'/al."

"You .dare speak those names in my presence," the queen spat at him.

"I must. Now, majesty," the lascar added, "it occurs to me that you are presently enjoying a happy, fruitful life, with many pleasures. This will not be so by this very hour on the morrow. The Bamo, with superior forces, will arrive. Already they have wiped out your elite guard. Only a small diversion has saved your duty. The Waziri, Tarzan's warriors. They have been captured, and are being put to the death. When this is over, surely by the morning, the Bamo will think again of this city, and having thought, will attack, as they are in all readiness for battle."

"And you, one man, would stop this?" The queen was scornful.

Taask bobbed his head. He sensed he was winning this particular battle of wits, as he had won so many in the past. "I, alone, can stop this invasion. They want one thing. They sent me for it. Others seek it as well. The emerald. It is, after all, but a stone. Sacred, yes, but still —just a stone. I do not know how many of your subjects have actually seen it. Very few, I should imagine. This is equally true of the Bamo. Yet, should I carry this worthless stone back to Bamo, the war would be called off. The rulers, the priests know this stone. Not the people, the populace. In a word, that is my proposition. I will now return to my cell, still bound, still awaiting the jaws of the lions. It is the least I could do for you after the terrible attempt upon your life, which was not my doing. Guard!"

"Wait!" The queen commanded. "I would think upon this for a second or so." She turned, paced to her table and took up a flagon of wine, pouring herself a cupful. Sipping, she turned again, staring measuredly at the lascar. "Why," she said finally, "why would you do this?"

"For my life. If I stay here, I die. If I could escape, return to Bamo without the emerald, I die. If I try to carry the stone with me to any other place, I would surely be overtaken and die. By one tribe or the other. I could not carry such a huge thing by myself." his words held a ring of truth, although truth was not in him. "As you well know, the gem weighs almost as much as I."

And how will you carry it to Bamo? If I give my consent?."

Taask shrugged. "Alone? I fear I cannot. But give me two of your guards, and it shall he done. And your city will be spared the terrible invasion of the Bamo. You wish continue to reign, as indeed you should, and I shall be free with my life. Believe me, this latter is a much more valuable commodity than a piece of rock, precious or no. To me, that is. Here is no Tarzan, your majesty. I am a coward. I wish to remain so. A live coward."

"And Nanda, my king, who ordered my death? What of him?"

Taask, sensing victory, smiled. "You have shown no hesitation heretofore. I am sure you will he able to handle such small details. A simple incident. A drink that disagrees with his delicate stomach. A jealous slave girl. The opportunities are endless, boundless."

"You are free!"

"Strike my bonds!" Taask ordered the guard. He rubbed his arms as the order was carried out. "Now," he said to Nirva, sinking beside the queen on her couch of furs,"now as to details. How do I acquire the 'Light of the Night,' when and how? This I must know."

"First," Nirva answered...

* * *

Tarzan spent almost an hour seeking a. tribe of the great apes, before scenting them. Cautiously, he circled in the area in which they were taking a sunbathed siesta. It was Jedak's band, his old childhood friend and enemy, for both were possible under the system of the apes. Tarzan dropped from the tree to the swale, in the midst of the huge, hairy forms. "I am Tarzan," he boasted, "mightiest beast of the jungle. I kill. I seek Jedak!"

With a roar of rage, a savage, lumbering figure detached itself from among the sleeping apes and stomped into the middle of the glade. "I am Jedak. I kill!"

In the ancient ritual of the bull apes, both stomped about, tearing up grass and small shrubs, emitting fearful curses and shouts at each other. Suddenly, the bull ape charged, fearful yellow fangs showing. Tarzan evaded the first charge easily, taunting his foe with accusations of cowardice. The she apes among the band, together with the new litter of pups, took to the trees, while the bulls stood growling in fascination. One or two made a threatening charge and were turned back by Jedak's command, Again, Jedak charged, and this time made the mistake Tarzan had been waiting for. He had fought Jedak many times, since both were pups, and always Tarzan had won. This was not a fight to the death, although the noise was frightening. Both were aware of it. Tarzan and Jedak were, in a fashion, blood brothers. Both had been suckled at the breasts of Kala, the giant she-ape, who had mothered most of this tribe. Tarzan almost laughed aloud as Jedak, in his clumsy fashion, dodged to the left. Tarzan, anticipating the move, swung swiftly to one side, and clamped a full nelson on the ape from behind. The roaring Jedak ran several strides before falling to the ground, snarling savagely. Tarzan applied a minimum of pressure, but even so could hear the great muscles in the ape's neck and shoulders creak dangerously.

"I yield," Jedak said, sullenly. "As always, you best me with that trick." Tarzan released his grip, slapping the ape on the back.

"This was not for sport," Tarzan told him, seriously. ''I have need of you and your bulls."

Jedak saw a beetle crawling before him, picked it up, popped it into his mouth and spat it out hurriedly. "Ptah! Sour. You say you have need of me and my bulls?"

"Yes. Tell me, Jedak, who has conquered you, in battle beside me?"

"No one. If I desired, I could lead a tribe of a hundred apes. Or many times that figure. This is truth I speak."

"I believe you. Are their other bands nearby?"

"Yes. There is good feeding in this area. Will you teach me that trick? The trick with which you defeat me so easily?"

Tarzan wisely ignored the question. "I need a hundred bulls. Two hundred. As many as possible. And I need them before darkness. Can you do this thing?"

"Yes."

"Good. Shall I go with you, to help?"

Jedak glared at the ape-man. "No need of that. I have said I will do it, and I will do it. You have beaten me, but only you. Otherwise, I reign supreme. It is a simple matter. Where is your mate?"

"Away. She will return."

Jedak shook his great head. "it is dangerous to let a she wander around by herself. Their minds do not work m a logical manner. This is a great truth. Well, I go to collect the others. If you have nothing else to do," the bull ape added, carelessly, "you might look in on my she. You will find her in the tree just over our heads. She whelped two days ago." Tarzan noted a tone of pride in the leader's voice.

"The pup?" The bull ape stopped in his tracks, scowling at Tarzan. "'Do not ask. A male, but a very small one."

Tarzan grinned. "Your get? Small? I cannot believe it"

Jedak thought about it. "Do you remember your old playmate, Neeta?"

"Neeta? Certainly. How could I forget. He was a huge pup. Bigger than you, even, at the same age."

Jedak grinned in his turn, a wonderful grimace that turned his face into the caricature of a fierce beast. "My pup is only a little larger than was Neeta. It is a shame, such a mighty sire as myself. I shall have a long discussion with his mother. After I beat her for presenting me with such a weakling!"

Tarzan nodded. "I understand. Now go and fetch the others, as many as you can. I will go up into the tree and personally look over this poor, frail offspring of yours, and ask his mother how she dare do such a thing to you! I will not ask your son, however. It may be that he will remember my asking, and grow up to resent it, and one day, perhaps, use my own 'trick' on me. No, I think 3 shall remain friends with him."

Jedak clapped a paw on Tarzan's shoulder. "That might be wise. We have named him. I hope you do not mind. It was my mate's idea. His name is 'Tarzan' " The bull ape swung into the nearest tree and disappeared.

Tarzan, mouth agape, climbed swiftly into the tree inst over his head to examine his "godchild."

Chapter Twelve

The Charge Of The Bull Apes

Jedak triumphantly led back almost five hundred apes to Tarzan. Variously, they swung through the trees, walked along the ground, grunting, growling, chattering among themselves. Of the various tribes, there were perhaps two hundred and fifty bulls. The rest were shes and pups, a small number in comparison, but it had been a difficult year for the apes. The fruit had not matured as yet. They had raided plantations, filling their bellies, yet starving on a diet of beans and bamboo sprouts. Both were tasty, but neither was high in muscle-building strength. Many pups had died, quite a few females, and even a few bulls. A tribe cannot live on grubs and caterpillars alone. In dire straits, an ape might kill a harte-beest or a topi for its food, but animal meat was not a staple. In a pinch, the bulls would pull clown another beast and devour it. The females would occasionally indulge. The pups would almost never touch fresh meat even if they were starving. And so it was. The survival of the fittest. Tarzan did not have a great band of apes, but a toughened one, ready for almost anything, which, he reflected as he looked at them, was probably Just as well.

Jedak waddled up, squatting beside the ape-man. "You saw my pup?"

"A shame it is so small," Tarzan replied, gravely.

"Only twice as big as other pups. Still, there maybe another time, and you will perhaps be more fortunate."

Jedak was pleased. Pleased with the comment about the size of his new pup, pleased with the army of apes he had assembled on such short notice. He brushed his muzzle with ill-concealed pleasure, glancing about in search of a tidbit, a grub or worm he could share with Tarzan.

"I command many apes," he told Tarzan. "Indeed, the name of Jedak is known and feared,"

Jedak scratched his belly, unhurriedly, as befitted such an ape. "Your pup?" he asked, at last.

"In the land of the white-skinned great apes. A name I have mentioned to you before, Jedak. England."

Jedak nodded, wisely. "Ah, yes. It must be a very fierce land."

"On occasion," Tarzan said. "When needed. At other times, a pleasant place. Now, to business. We must leave guards. A few, only. The shes and the pups will remain in safety out here, of course."

"We have some very savage shes. Perhaps we should ..."

"No," the ape-man said, firmly. "Not even those too old to bear pups. I want only bulls. This is a command. How many times must I defeat you to prove that I give the orders which you execute so well and ably?" This last was cunningly meant and well-accepted.

"I hear you. No shes. This will be dangerous?"

"Yes." Tarzan was honest. "Apes will die."

Jedak scratched his great hairy chest again, yawned to show horrible yellow fangs. "All beings die, mangani. That is the way things are. Sooner or later, we all die. I do not know what to do about this. I regret watching my friends die, yet they die. One kind kills another. This is a law." He turned surprisingly intelligent eyes to Lord Greystoke. "You know of this?"

Tarzan nodded. "Yes. Beings who walk upright devour each other. This is a law, although not, in my sight, a good one. You are very . ."

Jedak looked at his tribe with a certain amount of pride. "I can anticipate your words, although I mean no offense. You mean to say that I am very intelligent for an ape. For a mere ape, not quite a mangani. I do not know. I feel a great love for these apes. I would protect them, make their lives better. The pups should have enough to eat. They should be fat, and prosper. The shes should bear even more. We bulls --well, we can take care of ourselves. But we have no command over the forces of the gods. So." He heaved a very un-apelike sigh. "That is that. My head hurts from my thoughts."

"Yes. Now, shall we plan the attack in more detail? You know of these strange mangani, these Bamo?"

Jedak raised his eves to Tarzan and the pair, man-ape and ape, studied each other carefully. Jedak finally lowered his gaze. No being could out-face Tarzan, but for a moment Tarzan was startled at the intelligence in the eyes of the hairy being, "I know of them," he replied to the Englishman's question. "Black plumes. They carry spears. There are many of them, and they torture their captives. That is all my knowledge of them."

"Many of them," Tarzan agreed. "We must charge them without fear or mercy, killing all we contact. Your bulls must scream, to strike terror in their breasts. Now. Two of my people, white-skins, are imprisoned there, and they must not be harmed."

Jedak looked up from the ground." This will not be easy. My bulls kills all in their path when aroused."

"As do both you and I," Tarzan reassured him. "So this part of the plan is simple. You and I, old friend, will enter together, killing the guards, for they have without a doubt left guards at the entrances to the underground city. Then we shall free the prisoners. And then, and only then, you shall summon the apes to enter and kill. Many of my tribes, the Waziri,are still alive down there, although I am sure they are putting them to the torture as speedily as they can. Even as we talk."

Jedak got to his feet. "We talk too much and too long, then." He called a deputy, a leader of another tribe, to whom he issued the necessary commands, then turned again to the ape-man. "So much for the talk. Now we move, yes?"

"Yes," Lord Greystoke answered. "Now we move. I am amazed at you."

The pair approached the cave entrance. Jedak stopped, once they were there. "We progress, lord," he said gravely to Tarzan. "Even we can think and plan. Perhaps my pup ... well, who can say?"

"Who indeed!" Tarzan answered. Evolution may have slowed over the civilized world as Tarzan knew it, but certainly not here. In a few more generations, the bull apes would be ... well, who could say? Tarzan unsheathed his knife, stepped into the tunnel, and silently killed the first guard.

Jedak raced past him, ripped the next guard's jugular with his mighty paws, leaving the dead Bamo upon the cave floor. Tarzan came up on the double, saw the dead guard and the giant ape standing there. "You did not give the victory cry of the bull ape," he said to Jedak. "I do not understand." nor did he. Never before in his memory had an ape failed to do just that after a kill.

Jedak made a grimace that might have been a smile, "I told you, tarmangani--we learn. Now where? Do you know the trail?"

"Yes. But listen ... there are others coming this way. Quickly, into the shadows." The giant ape and Tarzan faded almost magically from sight. It was still another guard, apparently a relief for one or the other that Tarzan and Jedak had slain. As the black-plumed warrior passed, a giant paw reached from the shadow and grasped the Bamo by the neck, crushing and breaking it with one savage grip. The body dropped lifeless. Jedak looked at the corpse with contempt. "They die easily," he remarked, almost casually. "I shall lose only a few apes this day. Lead the way, Tarzan."

Tarzan and Jedak padded silently down the darkened corridor carved from the living rock. Faintly now came the sound of savage cries of delight, yells of exultation. Tarzan quickened his stride. Those were Waziri dying.

* * *

Professor Norton and Lord Freddie Pembroke stood at the bars of their cell, listening with unadulterated horror to the screams of the tortured and dying Waziri. To make matters worse, the only thing that stood between them and freedom was the guard outside their cell. It had been designed to keep animals, possibly lions. Certainly not men. It would have been extremely easy to simply reach through the bars and release the bolt that kept the massive door shut, except for the presence of the giant Bamo who, spear at the ready, awaited just such a maneuver.

"Um," Professor Norton remarked to Lord Pembroke. "If there were just some way to attract his attention, or distract it, rather."

Freddie looked at his companion with surprise, "You startle me, old boy," he said, "I thought you were resigned to your fate. In fact, I thought you'd even placed the blame for it squarely upon the shoulders of Lord Greystoke. In any case, I cannot speak the language of these abominable persons, and I'm sure you can't. I'm afraid we've had it. We may as well make up our minds to die like British gentlemen."

"I don't propose to die like anyone or anything," Norton said with vigor. "I propose to escape this hellish trap. These are most primitive natives, and I've had a bit of experience along these lines. I have a sort of scheme. It may or may not work, but we could give it a go. You see these small rocks scattered about? Gather up a handful. Say, ten. I'll do the same. Then come to the edge of the cage, near the door. I'll show you what to do."

Pembroke shrugged. "As you say. We've definitely nothing to lose."

The two men gathered up pebbles, then sat down on the floor next to the bars, directly under the eyes of their guard. "Now," Norton said, "let's take a rock each and scratch out sort of a checkerboard. You know, as if we were going to play a game."

"Shouldn't we have twelve rocks apiece?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, man! What's the difference? We just want the semblance of a game, something with which to intrigue the guard. Now, place your rocks in the squares on your side. In a moment or so, cry out 'hah!' and I'll take off my shirt and hand it to you. Look very angry. D'you see what we're trying to accomplish?"

"I think I read you, loud and clear. Very well."

They played out their charade. Norton "lost" the first move, and Lord Pembroke uttered a cry of triumph. The native watched with interest as Norton took off a shoe and passed it to Pembroke. The English noble "lost" the second move, and Norton said, quickly, "Your belt, man!"

Now it resolved itself. Articles of clothing, socks, handkerchiefs, shirts exchanged hands. Both studied their rocks in the small squares scratched on the ground with interest, and the native, utterly fascinated, came closer and closer to the bars of the cage. Finally, with high drama, after losing his undershirt, Norton jumped to his feet and stomped about the cave, shouting his disapproval and indicating that Pembroke had been guilty of cheating. Pembroke and the Bamo guard smiled at each other. Losers always squeal like pigs. Pembroke pointed to the makeshift gaming-board, and the native leaned over to look. Professor Norton, swift as lightning, reached through the bars, looming over the kneeling guard and whipped the belt about his neck, pulling savagely. The native threshed about for a few seconds, then spread out on the floor outside the cage. Norton held to the belt for another few minutes.

"He's dead now, all right," Lord Pembroke whispered. "By Jove, I wouldn't have believed it!"

"These natives," Norton said, "have basically rather simple minds."

"Damned deadly dispositions, however," Pembroke told the professor. "Let's get out of here, shall we? I'll just take the blighter's spear."

In a trice, they were out of the cell.

Fortunately, they encountered Tarzan before they encountered any of the bull apes, because the apes had started their charge. Anything in their path died, and died quickly, horribly!

* * *

Wong Feng was angry and upset. The usually placid Oriental had received word by the mysterious means of communication commonly called "bush telegraph," that his henchman, Taask, had disappeared and the small army the lascar had taken with him had been destroyed. Had Taask been definitely dead, Wong would have shrugged philosophically, writing off his loss, and hoping for a happier day. As it was, he was infuriated. If the lascar had indeed run off with the "Light of the Night," he, Wong, would seek him even to the ends of the earth and there have his death in a fashion most horrible. Wong Feng sat, sipping his kirsch, listening with absent ears to the wailings of a flageolet and drums, watching with idle, nonseeing eyes as the belly-dancers undulated teasingly before him. None of this meant anything to Wong. Money. Power. Aye, these were the things of pleasure, far more lasting than the fleeting joy to be found in the arms of one of these common women. . Although, to be honest, some of them were attractive. Wong dismissed such idle thoughts from his mind as unworthy of a man of wealth, culture and, yes, greed. He thumped his glass on the table, summoning the waiter. "Take the kirsch away," he ordered. "Bring me arrack. And a pitcher of water." Moodily, he waited until the waiter's return, then poured the liquid into a glass, adding water, watching with hooded eyes as the water turned white. He picked it up and sniffed it. It was not bad arrack, although bad arrack could certainly be had here. Sipping it, he reflected that it was indeed good to be Wong Feng, to whom no proprietor would dare serve an inferior arrack.

Now, to Magra Taask. He allowed his mind to dwell on the problem. Immediately, such was his concentration, he no longer heard the music, no longer saw the swaying dancing girls. Rather, he envisioned the death of Magra Taask. The guillotine? Too good for him. Death by strangulation, perhaps the bastinado. That gave him more pleasure to think upon. There were more exquisite forms of torture he could devise. Flaying, perhaps. There were others, of course. Wong, his eyes closed to mere slits in concentration, thought with pleasure upon them. No. This was not what was needed. First, the "Light of the Night," the giant emerald. But an agent--an agent was needed. Who? Wong sat in silent meditation, pursing his lips in thought. There was no one, he suddenly realized. No one he could trust, except himself. So be it. He was fat, but the fat was deceptive, covering a great deal of solid, enduring muscle. Well, that was it, that was the answer. Wong Feng, himself, would set out to cut the trail of Magra Taask, to recover the fantastically huge emerald. And, he reflected with a smile, when he caught up with the lascar he would have the pleasure of personally strangling him. Just to feel the neck under his hands! He opened his sleepy-looking eyes, staring at his massive hands with the thick nails and the huge calluses that marked the professional killer in his own country. Yes, it would be good to kill again! He finished the bitter arrack, carelessly tossed a gold piece onto the table top and walked out of the bazaar.

The music continued to wail its mysterious message behind him, and the bejewelled dancers continued their undulations. He was pulled by a stronger urge, one he hadn't felt for many years.

Chapter Thirteen

The Death Of Bamo

Norton and Lord Pembroke returned, perforce, to the entrance of the tunnel leading to the cave city of Bamo in company with the bull ape, Jedak, who had been sent by Tarzan to summon his army. Left in safety there, they sat on the ground, breathing the fresh air, glad and even surprised to be alive, staring with amazement at the mighty assemblage of apes that answered Jedak's call to war. They dropped from trees, and it was startling to the pair of Englishmen. Never before had so many apes assembled on one occasion!

By twos and fives and tens they streamed by, following the call of their leader, Jedak, who stood beside the cave mouth, urging them on and screaming "Kill! Kill!" as they passed him.

Below ground, the sight was even more awesome as the huge bulls lumbered down the winding passageways screaming "Kill! Kill!," and even Tarzan was shaken when the first of the horde rounded a turn, yellow fangs bared, eyes wild, pelting with reckless abandon to the very heart of the city, where the Waziri were being put to death by the Bamo priests.

The Bamo warriors had little chance. The bull apes were berserk, killing without discretion, without mercy. Released from their pens, the Waziri joined them in wreaking havoc on the cave city. Soon, all was a shambles, Tarzan and Jedak stood in a small cleft, overlooking the scene of the slaughter, for such it was. Those Bamo who could; fled. Most died swiftly, in their tracts. The warrior ranks were being almost completely decimated.

"I think," Tarzan told Jedak, "you had better start rounding up your apes. It will take some time to calm them down and get them out."

"It will not be easy," Jedak agreed, which was certainly the understatement of all time. The bull apes were almost virtually mad. Several of their number had been killed and they sought revenge. "And your Waziri," Jedak hinted to Tarzan. "They were equally berserk, and, more cunning than the apes, were literally destroying even the furnishings, crude though they were, of the Bamo. In another hour, nothing would he left of the cave city. While Tarzan, raised as an animal, could feel no pity, he could see no point in further, futile destruction.

Both Tarzan and Jedak started rounding up their warriors, and a most strange sight was presented as Waziri and bull apes made their way to the surface of the ground, arms about each other, each assisting the other's wounded.

Eerily, a fire still flickered in the midst of the city "square," and as the last straggling ape, the last straggling Waziri passed him, the ruler of the forest surveyed the scene. Dozens of recumbent figures lay without moving on the hard-packed earth. A few apes, a few Waziri dead. Many Bamo.

Tarzan shook his head. Never had he seen such utter devastation accomplished in such a short time. Now, with the fighting stopped, one could hear faint cries, the wailing of the women and children. Jedak came up and stood at the side of the English lord. "Is it a good thing we have one here?" the ape wanted to know.

"It was a thing," he replied, "that had to be done,. Good? How can I answer? Killing, I think, is never good, except when one kills for food, as is natural."

"Or to become a chief," Jedak added, wisely, "as is natural."

Tarzan took a last, long look around the scene with is grey eyes. There were other things he wished to say to Jedak, but he also knew that they were beyond communication on certain matters of philosophy. "Come," he said to Jedak, "let us return to the surface and to our trees. There is nothing more to be done here."

* * *

Magra Taask, outside the cave entrance to-the city of Ondo, staggered under the weight of the emerald. It was indisputably, beyond any shadow of a doubt an emerald, but it was embarrassingly heavy. The guards bade him farewell and turned back into the mouth of the cave. He had no provisions, no water, no bearers. He had, instead, an emerald that weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred pounds. It represented wealth if only he could reach civilization with it. Certainly, he had no intent of returning it to its former owners, the Bamo. He tried to recall the route by which he and his now-extinct safari, that little band of cut-throats and thieves, had reached this part of the mysterious continent. With despair, he remembered that the last waterhole they'd passed was some fifty miles away. Impossible! He would never live to see it. For a he was tempted to carry the emerald to the city of Bamo, there to seek, perhaps to receive a suitable reward. He quickly discarded this idea with a shudder. His reward, he knew, from the evil queen L'al, would be only death, a reward he did not seek. No, he had the emerald, and was a matter of miles from making a fortune for himself. Too many miles, but still, there had to be a way. Grunting, he walked a few hundred yards from the entrance of the cave, realizing more than ever that he could not possibly carry this giant stone more than a few hundred yards at a try, and that at such a pace he would be dead, from thirst and starvation, long before he could reach the coastal cities with it, those same cities which were his goal. He dropped the stone, and sat beside it, wearily mopping his brow. Food. Water. Bearers. He was still sitting there when Wong Feng struck! His last thought was a yearning for a drink of water, and then he died, the "Light of the Night" there at his feet.

The stiletto stuck out at a sharp angle from his back. Wong regretted the incident. It would have been much more pleasurable to have subjected the lascar to prolonged torture. Still, he reflected, one could not have everything. He smiled with grim satisfaction, motioned to the emerald. He did not even bother to examine it, it was so unquestionably genuine. Two of the native porters picked it up and placed it on a prepared sling, much in the fashion one carried a dead lion. The small safari turned about and started to retrace its steps.

The number one boy was an evil-looking native, scarred and tattooed with tribal markings. To the native who might see his markings, he was an unmitigated killer. The warning was there for all eyes to see, and his name was famous, or infamous. Gar. One of the dreaded clan of leopard men. "Quickly," he told the two bearers ho were carrying the "Light of the Night."

"Pick up your pace. March faster. We leave the Oriental behind us."

"They started to trot, and Wong Feng grew alarmed. "What happens?"

Gar, watching with satisfaction, said, "Nothing. They seek a waterhole."

"I heard you clacking away in your language. What did you tell them to do?"

"I told them that the heat of the day was upon us, and that we must find water, and that the quicker this could be accomplished, the sooner would our thirst be assuaged. Is this not a good thing?"

Wong found himself panting to keep up the pace. The number one boy increased to a trot, then a run. Wong, sensing what was afoot, gave pursuit. His avarice for the giant emerald, like that of many men, bordered upon madness. That, and the frustrations he had so far suffered.

Other eyes saw both the Oriental and his native bearer, in hot chase. The eyes of Jedak, the great bull ape, who, with his fellows, was hunting for lizards among the great rocks farther up the hillside. The sight of the two men, plus the excited screaming of the Oriental, Wong Feng, excited him.

He recalled, rather vaguely, that Tarzan had instructed him that they must not attack men unless he were attacked, but there had been no interdiction against joining in their play, and this looked like play to Jedak. It was thus that playful apes chased one another. Of course, Jedak was a little old for play, being an old bull, but he remembered his cub days, and he was still imitative, and what the tarmangani did, he desired to do. His fellows were imbued with the same urge toward emulation.

The great apes, jabbering with excitement, came pouring down the hillside. The two bearers of the giant emerald were their targets. There was no desire to kill, only a desire to continue this game, which was such a welcome relief after the fight they'd had. Wong stopped in his tracks, more than a little terrified of the pursuing, jabbering apes who were charging down the slope, and the two bearers abruptly dropped their burden and ran as fast as they could. Seeing the emerald drop, Wong sprang after it, and this delighted Jedak. A new game. He bounded easily after the screaming Oriental, whom he easily overtook. The man, thinking death was upon him, tried to beat off the ape with one hand while he clung tenaciously to the emerald with the other; that he would not give up, even in death. Killing, however, was not in the mind of the anthropoid. It was the delightful new game in which he was interested, so he snatched the huge emerald from the now-screaming man as easily as one man takes another's wife in Hollywood, and went bounding off, hoping that someone would pursue him that the game might continue.

Wong Feng, running away, glanced back over his shoulder, only to see his dream of riches irremediably shattered by the whim of an ape, leaving nothing now in life for him but his desire for revenge against Magra Taask, a revenge that could not be fulfilled because the lascar was already dead at his hands.

Apelike, Jedak tired of the bauble, if such an enormous jewel could be so called, and tossed it carelessly to the ground, his thoughts again reverting to the matter of lizards and other dainty articles of food. A maddened Wong had followed, with his native porters, as closely as he dared. Instantly on guard, Jedak and his tribe, which had been about to lead forth on a search for sustenance, stood watching the approach of the maniacal Wong Feng. Nervous, irritable beasts, it was a question whether- hey would run away or attack the tiny group, as Wong ran amongst them, throwing himself to the ground and clutching the "Light of the Night" to his breast, crooning as if over a beautiful woman. For a moment they stood there undecided, their little, red-trimmed eyes blazing; then they moved slowly away, their menacing growls lost upon the poor maniac.

"It is mine, it is mine!" he howled. "I am rich. In all the world, no one is richer than I"

The apes lumbered down the hillside, their short tempers upset by the screaming and jabbering of Wong, so upset, indeed, that Jedak was on the verge of returning and silencing the Oriental forever.

Jedak held back his fellow apes. Whatever the brilliant, sparkling stone might be, it was not worth losing a life for. Look how much blood had been spilled for it so far! And now, here was a mangani who had obviously lost his mind over it. No, the stone was most obviously an accursed, thing. Jedak thought upon the dead apes in the cave-city of Bamo, and suddenly wished the death of all mangani. Well, almost all mangani. Tarzan, he reflected, might be the exception. But then Tarzan was not truly of the mangani. Tarzan was king of the bull apes, and this was a fact which was indisputable.

At any rate, Jedak was tired of the whole thing. He searched for and found a succulent grub beneath the bark of a fallen tree, ate it with relish, and promptly forgot his anger. Apes have notoriously short memories, which is probably Just as well.

Chapter Fourteen

The Judgment

Tarzan counted his Waziri. Basuli stood by his side. They had indeed been decimated. A little more than half of the tribe of fierce warriors were still alive. Tarzan shook his head. "Not good," he observed. "There will be many young, fat wives without mates. Many youngsters, children, without fathers to guide their footsteps"

"It is so," declared the chieftain of the Waziri. "Yet, I think my people are trained--is that the word?--in this fashion. Death comes to all."

"For an emerald?"

Basuli shrugged. "Who can say? Man fights for many reasons. Emeralds or apes. Food. A cool cave, a warm glade. Even for the pleasure of fighting. Who is to say? Why do you fight, tarmangani?"

Lord Greystoke thought upon it. An honest answer was hard to come upon. "I suppose," he said, slowly, "I suppose I fight because I am a mangani. A man. Reasons are easy to find. One can always find a reason for death."

"Yes," Basuli responded. "This is it. As I said: emeralds or apes, there is always a reason. Or if not, a reason can be found. I think man is made to fight, Tarzan."

"You are wise, Basuli. Wise beyond your years."

"Yet I have lost many men."

"They fought bravely."

Gravely, Basuli indicated assent. The Waziri, lord, always fight bravely. We go single-handed into combat against Simba, the lion, he whom you call 'Numa.' Is this not true? Yet, is it not a wasteful thing? I have lost many promising warriors this way, in this fashion, simply because the lion did not move as he was supposed to move, as our ancients assured the fledgling warriors he must move. And then what? Another lion skin? Another lion tail to tie to a spear? I like it not" The chieftain of the Waziri shook his head. "Still, I see no answer. Death moves quickly here, in the forest. It is a matter of who strikes first. I believe this."

"And I. Still, it is the way things are. In the civilized world, it is worse. There, one can be destroyed, obliterated, without knowledge of one's foe. Here, in the jungle, we know the smell, the breath, the size of our killers, Somehow, it does not seem as fearful to me. So much for that. Bring the Englishmen to this spot. I go to fetch the woman, whom I left in a tree several hours ago. The mate of the professor."

"A cowardly man," observed Basuli, "and one hardly worth the trouble. Still, I will do as you bid, Lord."

Tarzan looked about. The scene, he reflected, was as peaceful as a warm summer day in Sussex. A few antelope grazed in the distance. "Is Jedak still about?"

"The leader of the great apes? No, lord. He left some minutes ago, going in that direction, toward the sun." Basuli pointed to the west, where the sun was almost leaking. "Toward Ondo. He took his tribe with him. I shall still fetch the English mangani to this spot?"

"Yes," Tarzan answered, swinging into the trees. ''Then we also trek the west. To home!"

Marcia Malley was crouched in the nest Tarzan had built for her, quivering with terror. Actually, the entire action had taken only a few hours, but she was entirely out other element and made rather a poor showing.

Strangely enough, she was not alone in her tree. In the lower terrace, contentedly munching upon a bit of fruit which had come from no one knows where, sat a member of Jedak's harem, one of the bull ape's younger wives. As Tarzan climbed through the branches, he slowed, came to a halt. "Who are you?" he asked in the language of the apes.

Then she identified herself. "Jedak told, me to stay here," she snuffled, spitting out a seed. "Until you came for the white-skinned she-ape, who does not climb very well. Now you have come. Do I have your permission to leave?"

Tarzan hesitated. He knew well of the jungle "telegraph," whereby, by some mysterious means of communication, such creatures as the great apes knew what was going on at all times."Jedak. Where is he now?"

"He waits for me. To the west. By the entrance to the cave city of Ondo." The she-ape was anxious, worried, wanting to be away now that her sentinel duty was done. As a matter of fact, her actions had been highly commendable. Few apes could remember anything so long. It was a tribute, in a way, to the stern discipline and intelligence of Jedak, that the she had so ably stood guard for even this brief time. Tarzan dismissed her with a nod. Then she licked her sticky fingers, swung into the middle terrace of the tree and disappeared from sight, heading for home and husband. Tarzan, starting to spring to the upper terrace, paused in thought. What was Jedak doing close to the entrance of Ondo? He called the she-ape, but too late. She had already swung her great shaggy body out of sight and, presumably, out of hearing. The ape-man shrugged, climbed higher and smiled at the English she cowered in her branchy balcony. "Well, he said, reassuringly, "that's all right, isn't it?" He reached a hand for her, and she began to weep, uncontrollably.

"I've been so terribly frightened," she said. "Is Robert... Is he all right?"

"Right as rain, my dear," Tarzan assured her. "Now, if you'll just put your arms about my neck and hold on tightly, we'll join your fiancé and your brother-in-law in a moment or two."

The girl trustingly did as he requested and Tarzan swiftly descended to the ground. Marcia unclasped her arms."Are they near?" she asked, trotting to keep up with the giant strides of the ape-man.

"A few moments, only. I'm afraid we have along trek to civilization, however."

"That's all right. So long as Robbie and Freddie are all right."

They're right as rain," Tarzan assured her. "We'd best move a bit faster. I'm afraid there's a bit of unfinished business I have to tend to. You'll be perfectly safe, however."

The girl looked at Lord Greystoke with almost adoring eyes."I have been safe," she murmured, "thanks to you, Tarzan."

"There are many roots hereabouts," the ape-man replied. "Be careful of your footing. It is easy to stumble when one does not watch where he treads."

Blushing, the girl accepted the remark for what it was, a thinly concealed rebuke. She said no more on the way back to the encampment. The arrival was greeted with what amounted to cheers. Professor Norton, who had single-handedly slain a formidable Bamo guard, took off his glasses and wiped them, while Lord Pembroke kept repeating: "I say-well, it's been an experience, hasn't it?" Wouldn't have missed it for anything, you know!"

"Well, then," Norton added, "it's all over. Still, I'd give a great deal to look at the true inside of one of those cave-cities. Yes, indeed."

Tarzan smiled. "The Waziri will escort you to my plantation. You can leave from there any time you wish for England. You will excuse me now? There's just a bit of unfinished business to attend to, which will tidy up this affair. I had a rumor from an ape which I should really look into."

"My word," Norton said, "Truly? A rumor? From an ape? You can't be serious, old boy!"

Lord Pembroke slapped the professor on the shoulder. "If John says it's so, then that's the way it is. Remember, we're on the darkest continent!"

"Yes, but really --from an ape, no less."

"I'll join you in an hour or so'' Tarzan said. ignoring the comments of the professor. "Basuli," he called the chieftain of the Waziri, "there maybe nothing in this, and I know you and your warriors are tired unto death. Still, I have a rumor which must be checked out. Jedak, leader of the apes, has been acting in a strange fashion. This is not an order, but a request. Will you bring ten of your best men and follow me? But is but a short distance to the west, near the entrance to the other cave city, that of the white plumes, the Ondo."

"Yes, lord. We know of it."

"Good. I take to the trees, for I would intercept Jedak. As soon as you can gather your men." it was spoken in the Waziri dialect, and Tarzan turned to his European guests. "Instructions, only," he explained. " We shall be gone only a little while. There is no danger. The remainder of the Waziri will accompany you now, and Basuli and I shall rejoin you in a very short time." With this, Tarzan sprang swiftly to the trees, climbing to the middle terrace, where he sped rapidly toward the entrance of Ondo. Basuli and his fierce warriors followed at a trot.

"Quite a man," Lord Freddie remarked to no one in particular. "Yes, by George, quite a man." When he had uttered the last word neither Tarzan, in the trees, nor the Waziri, racing through the forest, could be seen. "I suppose we may as well push on!"

* * *

Tarzan intercepted Jedak in a matter of moments. The bull ape was only a quarter-mile or so away from the entrance to the second cave city, and had apparently stopped for the afternoon. There was much fruit to be found in the area, and his small tribe, now by itself, was busy feeding. Streams of juice from the ripe fruit were running down Jedak's jowls when Tarzan called out to him.

Now this must be understood about Jedak. He was not only extraordinarily intelligent for an ape, but he was inordinately proud of being a leader. The moment he heard Tarzan's call, he was ready to do battle with tarmangani all over again, just in case Tarzan offered to threaten his leadership. So it was that several moments passed, during which time the pair hurled challenges at each other. Finally, the preliminaries over, the two came cheek to jowl. Tarzan's primal impulse was to close in for combat, as was Jedak's, but the ape-man's common sense won out. The insults the. pair growled at each other were almost intolerable, but ultimately Tarzan got in a word.

"I ask of you, Jedak--you were by the entrance to other cave city. Ondo. Did you see aught?"

Jedak growled deep in his throat. "Only more mangani foolishness. One who treasured a piece of rock. Who kissed it when I dropped it Is this the direction in which my tribe progresses? If so, if we are to be turned into a race of rock-kissers, then I think we had best stay as we are!"

"How many other mangani were with him? This rock- kisser?"

Jedak held up one paw, looking at the fingers. "This many. Or a few more. Now, I go back to my eating. Such things are foolishness."

Without a word, Tarzan swung away through the trees. He raced through the branches, finally locating the small safari of Wong Feng. He peered through the branches of the tree. It was apparent that they were preparing to camp for the night. The evil Wong Feng was obviously in command of the small safari, but Tarzan liked the number one boy no better. It was a toss-up as to which man was the more evil-looking of the pair. Tarzan reflected that Jedak was not only better tempered but actually the more civilized-looking. Well, so much for philosophy. Tarzan swung back through the trees, dropping out at the feet of his band of Waziri. He explained what was ahead to Basuli. "I don't want you to lose men, he said. ''This stone, whatever it may be, is not worth death. No stone is worth death. Still, these are evil people, and they trespass on Tarzan's domain. Your men are ready?"

"Yes, lord. At your command."

"Let us fall upon them!"

With a cry, the Waziri, led by Basuli and Tarzan, burst from the underbrush. The terrified bearers of Wong's safari took one look and fled, although a pair of them including the number one boy. Gar, fell under the assegai of the attackers, Wong Feng, also, was a casualty, striving to run while staggering under the burden of the "Light of the Night." When he dropped, it lay squarely upon his body. From the trees, a beady, red-rimmed pair of eyes watched the short battle, the eyes of Jedak.

Tarzan, once the short struggle ended in a complete rout, walked over to the giant emerald. Unbelievingly, he shook his head. He motioned to Basuli, who came up. "Look well," he said, "at what so many have died for. A piece of quartz. Worthless in any market. Would anyone believe this?"

"The value was in the belief, lord," Basuli remarked, wisely."Only in the belief. For who is to say that one rock is more valuable than another?"

"Yes," Tarzan replied. "Who is to say. We may as well rejoin the party."

They set off through the growth of the jungle.

Jedak climbed down from the tree, after Tarzan's party had gone, waddled over to look at the object of so much death and grueling battles. Cautiously, he reached out a huge paw and touched the piece of quartz. It did nothing. Nothing happened. He had half-expected at least a tingle through his fingers.

With some puzzlement, he rubbed his muzzle. "Men are strange beasts," he said aloud.

Then he took to the trees, back to his mates, back to his tribe, not so sure that he wished his kind to ever become civilized.

The End