Tarzan and Phobeg were back in their little stone cell; the ape-man had
not escaped. He had had no opportunity to escape on the way back to his
prison, for the warriors who guarded him had redoubled their vigilance,
having been cautioned to do so by Erot, and the points of two spears
had been kept constantly against his body.
Phobeg was moody and thoughtful. The attitude of his fellow prisoner
during their examination by the nobles, his seeming indifference to
the majesty and power of Nemone, had tended to alter Phobeg's former
estimate of the ape-man's courage. He realized now that the fellow was
either a very brave man or a very great fool; and he hoped that he was
the latter, for Phobeg was to be pitted against him upon the Field of
the Lions, possibly on the morrow.
Phobeg was stupid, but past experience had taught him something of the
psychology of mortal combat. He knew that when a man went into battle
fearing his antagonist he was already handicapped and partly defeated.
Now Phobeg did not fear Tarzan; he was too stupid and too ignorant to
anticipate fear. Facing probable defeat and death, he could be overcome
by fear and even cowardice; but he was of too low an order, mentally,
to visualize either in imagination, except in a rather vague and hazy
way.
Tarzan, on the other hand, was of an entirely different temperament;
and though he never knew fear it was for a very different reason. Being
intelligent and imaginative, he could visualize all the possibilities
of an impending encounter; but he could never know fear, because death
held no terrors for him; and he had learned to suffer physical pain
without the usually attendant horrors of mental anguish. Therefore, if
he thought about the coming combat at all, he was not overconfident nor
fearful nor nervous. Could he have known what was in the fellow's mind
when he commenced to speak he would have been amused.
"It will doubtless be tomorrow," said Phobeg grimly.
"What will be tomorrow?" inquired the ape-man.
"The combat in which I shall kill you," explained the cheerful Phobeg.
"Oh, so you are going to kill me! Phobeg, I am surprised. I thought
that you were my friend." Tarzan's tone was serious, though a brighter
man than Phobeg might have discovered in it a note of banter; but
Phobeg was not bright at all, and he thought that Tarzan was already
commencing to throw himself upon his mercy.
"It will soon be over," Phobeg assured him. "I promise that I shall not
let you suffer long."
"I suppose that you will twist my neck like this," said Tarzan,
pretending to twist something with his two hands.
"M-m-m, perhaps," admitted Phobeg; "but I shall have to throw you about
a bit first. We must amuse Nemone, you know."
"Surely, by all means!" asserted Tarzan. "But suppose you should not be
able to throw me about? Suppose that I should throw you about? Would
that amuse Nemone? Or perhaps it would amuse you!"
Phobeg laughed. "It amuses me very much just to think about it," he
said, "and I hope that it amuses you to think about it, for that is as
near as you will ever come to throwing Phobeg about; have I not told
you that I am the strongest man in Cathne?"
"Oh, of course," admitted Tarzan. "I had forgotten that for the moment."
"You would do well to try to remember it," advised Phobeg, "or
otherwise our combat will not be interesting at all."
"And Nemone would not be amused! That would be sad. We should make it
as interesting and exciting as possible, and you must not conclude it
too soon."
"You are right about that," agreed Phobeg. "The better it is the more
generous will Nemone feel toward me when it is over; she may even give
me a donation in addition to my liberty if we amuse her well.
"By the belly of Thoos!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "We must
make a good fight of it and a long one. Now listen! How would this be?
At first we shall pretend that you are defeating me; I shall let you
throw me about a bit. You see? Then I shall get the better of it for
a while, and then you. We shall take turns up to a certain point, and
then, when I give you the cue, you must pretend to be frightened, and
run away from me. I shall then chase you all over the arena, and that
will give them a good laugh. When I catch you at last (and you must let
me catch you right in front of Nemone) I shall then twist your neck and
kill you, but I will do it as painlessly as possible."
"You are very kind," said Tarzan grimly.
"Do you like the plan?" demanded Phobeg. "Is it not a splendid one?"
"It will certainly amuse them," agreed Tarzan, "if it works."
"If it works! Why should it not work? It will, if you do your part."
"But suppose _I_ kill _you_?" inquired the lord of the jungle.
"There you go again!" exclaimed Phobeg. "I must say that you are a good
fellow after all, for you will have your little joke; and I can tell
you that there is no one who enjoys a little joke more than Phobeg."
"I hope that you are in the same mood tomorrow," remarked Tarzan.
When the next day dawned the slave and the guard came with a large
breakfast for the two prisoners, the best meal that had been served
them since they had been imprisoned.
"Eat well," advised one of the warriors, "that you may have strength
to fight a good fight for the entertainment of the Queen. For one of
you it is the last meal; so you had both better enjoy it to the full,
since there is no telling for which one of you it is the last."
"It is the last for him," said Phobeg, jerking a thumb in the direction
of Tarzan.
"It is thus that the betting goes," said the warrior, "but even so
one cannot always be sure. The stranger is a large man, and he looks
strong."
"There is none so strong as Phobeg," the former temple guard reminded
them.
The warrior shrugged. "Perhaps," he admitted, "but I am not betting any
money on either of you."
"Twenty drachmas to ten that he runs away from me before the fight is
over," offered Phobeg.
"And if he kills you, who will pay me?" demanded the warrior. "No, that
is not a good bet," and he went out and closed and locked the door
behind him.
An hour later a large detachment of warriors came and took Tarzan
and Phobeg from the prison. They led them through the palace grounds
and out into an avenue bordered by old trees. It was a lovely avenue
flanked by the white and gold homes of the nobles and the great
two-storied palace surmounted by its golden domes.
Here were throngs of people waiting to see the start of the pageant and
companies of warriors standing at ease, leaning upon their spears. It
was an interesting sight to Tarzan who had been so long confined in the
gloomy prison. He noted the dress of the civilians and the architecture
of the splendid houses that could be glimpsed between the trees. He
saw that the men wore short tunics or jerkins that were quite similar
to the habergeons worn by the warriors, except that they were of a
solid piece of cloth or light leather rather than of discs of elephant
hide. The women wore short skirts of hair or cloth or leather, scant,
clinging skirts that terminated just above the knees; a band to confine
the breasts, sandals, and ornaments completed their simple attire.
Tarzan and Phobeg were escorted west along the avenue; and as they
passed, the crowd commented upon them. There were many who knew Phobeg;
some shouted encouragement to him; others taunted and insulted him. It
appeared that Phobeg's popularity was not city wide. They discussed
Tarzan freely but with no malice. He interested them, and there was
much speculation as to his chances in a fight against the burly temple
guard. The ape-man heard many wagers offered and taken; some were on
him and some against; but it was evident that Phobeg was the favored of
the bettors.
At the end of the avenue Tarzan saw the great bridge of gold that
spanned the river. It was a splendid structure built entirely of the
precious metal. Two golden lions of heroic size flanked the approach
from the city, and as he was led across the bridge the ape-man saw two
identical lions guarding the western end.
Out upon the plain that is called the Field of the Lions a crowd of
spectators was filing toward a point about a mile from the city where
many people were congregated, and toward this assemblage the detachment
escorted the two gladiators. Here was a large, oval arena excavated
to a depth of twenty or thirty feet in the floor of the plain. Upon
the excavated earth piled symmetrically around the edges of the pit,
and terraced from the plain level to the top, were arranged slabs of
stone to serve as seats. At the east end of the arena was a wide ramp
descending into it. Spanning the ramp was a low arch surmounted by the
loges of the Queen and high nobility.
As Tarzan passed beneath the arch and descended the ramp toward the
arena, he saw that nearly half the seats were already taken. The people
were eating food that they had brought with them, and there was much
laughter and talking. Evidently it was a gala day. He asked Phobeg.
"This is part of the celebration that annually follows the ending of
the rainy season," explained the Cathnean. "There is entertainment
of some sort here at least once a month and oftener when the weather
permits. You will have an opportunity to see all the events before I
kill you, as our combat will undoubtedly be the last event upon the
program."
The warriors conducted the two men to the far end of the arena where
a terrace had been cut part way up the sloping side of the arena, a
wooden ladder leaning against the wall giving access to it. Here, upon
this terrace, Tarzan and Phobeg were installed with a few warriors to
serve as guards.
Presently, from the direction of the city, Tarzan heard the music of
drums and trumpets.
"Here they come!" cried Phobeg.
"Who?" asked Tarzan.
"The Queen and the lion men," replied his adversary.
"What are the lion men?" inquired Tarzan.
"They are the nobles," explained Phobeg. "Really only the hereditary
nobles are members of the clan of lions, but we usually speak of all
nobles as lion men. Erot is a noble because Nemone has created him one;
but he is not a lion man, as he was not born a noble."
"Cleave my skull! but I bet he hates that," commented one of the guard.
"He'd give a right eye to be a lion man," said Phobeg.
"It's too late now," observed the warrior; "he should have picked his
parents more carefully."
"He claims that he did pick a noble father," explained Phobeg, "but his
mother denies it."
Another warrior laughed. "Son of a noble!" he scoffed. "I know old
Tibdos, the husband of Erot's mother; I know him well. He cleans the
lions' cages at the breeding farm. Erot looks just like him. Son of a
noble!"
"Son of a she-jackal!" growled Phobeg. "I wish I were to fight him
today instead of this poor fellow."
"You feel sorry for him?" inquired a warrior.
"Yes, in a way," replied Phobeg. "He is not a half bad fellow, and I
have nothing against him except that he is stupid. He cannot seem to
understand the simplest things. He does not seem to realize that I
am the strongest man in Cathne and that I am going to kill him this
afternoon, unless they get through with the other events early and I
kill him this morning."
"How do you know that he does not realize these things?" demanded the
warrior.
"Because he has never given any sign that he is very much afraid."
"Possibly he does not believe that you can kill him," suggested the
warrior.
"Then that proves that he is very stupid; but stupid or not, I am going
to kill him. I am going to twist his neck until his spine breaks. I
can scarcely wait to get my hands on him; of all the things that I
love there is no sensation equal to that of killing a man. I love that
better than I love women."
Tarzan glanced at the great hulk squatting beside him. "The French have
a word for that," he remarked.
"I do not know what you are talking about," growled Phobeg.
"I am not surprised."
"There he goes again!" exclaimed Phobeg. "What sense is there to that?
Did I not tell you that he is stupid?"
Now the blaring of the trumpets and the beating of the drums burst with
increased volume upon their ears, and Tarzan saw that the musicians
were marching down the ramp into the arena at the far end of the great
oval. At the same time the tumult in the stands increased as now
thousands surged over the rim of the stadium and sought seats among the
thousands already there.
Behind the music marched a company of warriors, and from each spear
head fluttered a colored pennon. It was a stirring and colorful
picture, but nothing to what followed.
A few yards in rear of the warriors came a chariot of gold drawn by
four maned lions, where, half reclining upon a couch draped with furs
and gaily colored cloths, rode Nemone, the Queen. Sixteen black slaves
held the lions in leash; and at either side of the chariot marched six
nobles resplendent in gold and ivory, while a huge black, marching
behind, held a great, red parasol over the Queen. Squatting upon little
seats above the rear wheels of the chariot were two small blackamoors
wielding feathered fans above her.
At sight of the chariot and its royal occupant, the people in the
stands arose and then kneeled down in salute to their ruler, while wave
after wave of applause rolled round the amphitheater as the pageant
slowly circled the arena.
Behind Nemone's chariot marched another company of warriors; these were
followed by a number of gorgeously decorated wooden chariots, each
drawn by two lions and driven by a noble; following these marched a
company of nobles on foot, while a third company of warriors brought up
the rear.
When the column had circled the arena Nemone quit her chariot and
ascended to her loge above the ramp amid the continued cheering of the
populace, the chariots driven by the nobles lined up in the center of
the arena, the royal guard formed across the entrance to the stadium,
and the nobles who had no part in the games went to their private loges.
There followed then in quick succession contests in dagger throwing and
in the throwing of spears, feats of strength and skill, and foot races.
Upon every event wagers were laid and the whole stadium was a bedlam
of shouted wagers and odds, of curses, groans, hoots, laughter, and
applause.
In the loges of Nemone and the nobles great sums changed hands upon
every event. The Queen was an inveterate gambler, winning or losing a
fortune upon the cast of a single dagger. When she won she smiled, and
she smiled too when she lost; but men knew that contestants upon whom
Nemone won regularly through the year were the recipients of royal
favors, while those upon whom she consistently lost often disappeared.
When the minor sports were completed the chariot races began; and upon
these the betting dwarfed all the other betting of the day, and men
and women acted like maniacs as they encouraged a favorite driver,
applauded a winner, or berated an unfortunate loser.
Two drivers raced in each event, the distance being always the same,
one lap of the arena, for lions cannot maintain high speed for great
distances. After each race the winner received a pennon from the
Queen, while the loser drove up the ramp and out of the stadium amid
the hoots of those who had lost money on him. Then two more raced, and
when the last pair had finished the winners paired off for new events.
Thus, by elimination, the contestants were eventually reduced to two,
winners in each event in which they had contested. This, then, was the
première racing event of the day, and the noise and the betting that
it engendered surpassed all that had gone before.
The winner of this final race was acclaimed champion of the day and was
presented with a golden helmet by Nemone herself, and even those who
had bet upon his rival and lost their money added their voices to the
ovation that the noisy throng accorded him as he drove proudly around
the arena and disappeared up the ramp beneath the arch of the Queen;
his golden helmet shining bravely in the sun.
"Now," said Phobeg in a loud voice, "the people are going to see
something worth while. It is what they have been waiting for, and they
will not be disappointed. If you have a god, fellow, pray to him, for
you are about to die."
"Are you not going to permit me to run around the arena first while you
chase me?" demanded Tarzan.