Her wrists and ankles bound, Doria, the daughter of Thudos, lay on a
pile of skins in a room upon the third floor of the Temple of Thoos.
Diffused moonlight entered the single window, relieving the darkness of
the interior of her prison. She had seen her father seized and dragged
away; she was in the power of one so ruthless that she knew she could
expect no mercy and that either death or cruel disfigurement awaited
her, yet she did not weep. Above her grief rose the pride of the noble
blood of the house of Thudos, the courage of a line of warriors that
stretched back into the forgotten ages; and she was brave.
She thought of Gemnon; and then the tears almost came, not for herself
but for him because of the grief that would be his when he learned of
her fate. She did not know that he too had fallen into the clutches of
the enemies of her father.
Presently she heard the sound of footsteps approaching along the
corridor, heard them stop before the door behind which she was locked.
The door swung open and the room was illuminated by the light of a
torch held in the hand of a man who entered and closed the door behind
him.
The girl lying upon the pile of skins recognized Erot. She saw him
place the blazing torch in a wall socket designed for the purpose and
turn toward her.
"Ah, the lovely Doria!" he exclaimed. "What ill fate has brought you
here?"
"Doubtless the noble Erot could answer that question better than I,"
she replied.
"Yes, I believe that he could; in fact I know it. It was I who
caused you to be brought here; it was I who caused your father to be
imprisoned; it was I who sent Gemnon to the same cell with the noble
Thudos."
"Gemnon imprisoned!" cried the girl.
"Yes, with many other conspirators against the throne. Behind his back
they used to sneer at Erot because he was not a lion man; they will not
sneer for long. Erot has answered them; now they know that Erot is more
powerful than they."
"And what is to be done with me?" asked the girl.
"Nemone has decreed Xarator for you," replied Erot. "You are even
now lying upon the skins in which you are to be sewn. It is for that
purpose that I am here. My good friend Tomos, the councillor, sent me
to sew you into the bag; but first let us enjoy together your last
night on earth. Be generous, and perhaps I can avert the doom that
Nemone will doubtless decree for your father and your lover. She is
permitting them to live through tomorrow at least, that they may
witness your destruction, for thus runs the kindly mind of sweet
Nemone." He laughed harshly. "The hell-cat! May the devil get her in
the end!"
"You have not even the decency of gratitude," said Doria
contemptuously. "The Queen has lavished favors upon you, given you
power and riches; it is inconceivable that one can be so vile an
ingrate as you."
Erot laughed. "Tomorrow you will be dead," he said; "so what difference
does it make what you think of me? Tonight you shall give me love,
though your heart be filled with hate. There is nothing in the world
but love and hate, the two most pleasurable emotions that great Thoos
has given us; let us enjoy them to the full!" He came and kneeled at
her side and took her in his arms, covering her face and lips with
kisses. She struggled to repulse him, but in her bonds she was helpless
to protect herself.
He was panting with passion as he untied the thongs that secured her
ankles. "You are more beautiful than Nemone," he cried huskily as he
strained her to him.
A low growl sounded from the direction of the window. Erot raised his
face from the soft neck of Doria and looked. He went ashy white as he
leaped to his feet and fled toward the door upon the opposite side of
the room, his craven heart pounding in terror.
* * * * *
It was early in the morning as the _cortège_ formed that was to
accompany the doomed Doria to Xarator, for Xarator lies sixteen miles
from the city of Cathne in the mountains at the far end of the valley
of Onthar; and the procession could move no faster than the lions
drawing the chariot of the Queen would walk, which was not fast. Bred
for generations for this purpose, the lions of Cathne had far greater
endurance than forest-bred lions, yet it would be well into the night
before it could be hoped to make the long journey to Xarator and
return; therefore hundreds of slaves bore torches with which to light
the homeward journey after night had fallen.
Nemone entered her chariot. She was wrapped in woolen robes and the
skins of animals, for the morning air was still chill. At her side
walked Tomos, nervous and ill at ease. He knew that M'duze was dead
and wondered if he would be next. The Queen's manner was curt and
abrupt, filling him with dread, for now there was no M'duze to protect
him from the easily aroused wrath of Nemone.
"Where is Tarzan?" she demanded.
"I do not know, majesty," replied Tomos. "I have not seen him."
She looked at him sharply. "Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "You do know
where he is; and if any harm has befallen him, you go to the lion pit."
"But, majesty," cried Tomos, "I know nothing about him. I have not seen
him since we left the temple yesterday."
"Produce him," commanded Nemone sullenly. "It grows late, and Nemone is
not accustomed to wait upon any."
"But, majesty--" began Tomos again.
"Produce him!" interrupted Nemone.
"But--"
"Here he comes now!" exclaimed Nemone as Tarzan strode up the avenue
toward her.
Tomos breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead. He did not like Tarzan, but in all his life he had never
before been so glad to see anyone alive and well.
"You are late," said Nemone as Tarzan stopped beside her chariot.
The lord of the jungle made no reply.
"We are not accustomed to being delayed," she continued a little
sharply.
"Perhaps if you placed me in the custody of Erot, as I suggested, he
would deliver me on time in future."
Nemone ignored this and turned to Tomos. "We are ready," she said.
At a word from the councillor a trumpeter at his side raised his
instrument to his lips and sounded a call. Slowly the long procession
began to move, and like a huge serpent crawled toward the Bridge of
Gold. The citizens lining the avenue moved with it, men, women, and
children. The women and children carried packages in which food was
wrapped, the men bore arms. A journey to Xarator was an event; it
took them the length of Onthar where wild lions roamed and where
Athnean raiders might set upon them at any moment of the day or night,
especially of the night; so the march took on something of the aspects
of both a pageant and a military excursion.
Behind the golden chariot of the Queen rolled a second chariot on the
floor of which lay a bundle sewn in the skins of lions. Chained to
this chariot were Thudos and Gemnon. Following were a hundred chariots
driven by nobles in gold and ivory, while other nobles on foot entirely
surrounded the chariot of the Queen.
There were columns of marching warriors in the lead; and in the rear
were the war lions of Cathne, the royal fighting lions of the Queen.
Keepers held them on leashes of gold, and proud nobles of ancient
families marched beside them--the lion men of Cathne.
The barbaric splendor of the scene impressed even the ape-man who cared
little for display, though he gave no outward sign of interest as he
strode at the wheel of Nemone's chariot drawn by its eight great lions
held in leash by twenty-four powerful blacks in tunics of red and gold.
The comments of the crowd came to the ears of Tarzan as they marched
through the city and out across the Bridge of Gold onto the road that
runs north through the Field of the Lions. "There is the stranger who
defeated Phobeg." "Yes, he has taken Erot's place in the council." "He
is the Queen's favorite now." "Where is Erot?" "I hope he is dead; this
other is better." "He will soon be as bad; they all get alike when
they get rich and powerful." "Had you heard the rumor that M'duze is
dead?" "She is dead; my cousin's husband is a palace guard. He told
my cousin." "What is that?" "M'duze is dead!" "May Thoos be praised!"
"Have you heard? M'duze is dead!" and so it ran through the two streams
of citizens that hemmed the royal pageant on either side, and always
above the other comment rose the half exultant cry, "M'duze is dead!"
Nemone appeared preoccupied; she sat staring straight ahead; if she
heard the comments of her people she gave no sign. What was passing
behind that beautiful mask that was her face? Chained to the chariot
behind her were two enemies; others were in her prisons. A girl who
dared vie with her in beauty lay insensible in a sack of skins jolting
over the rough road in the dust of the Queen's chariot. Her Nemesis was
dead. The man she loved walked at her side. Nemone should have been
happy; but she was not.
The sun, climbing into the heavens, was bringing heat. Slaves carrying
an umbrella over the Queen adjusted it to fend the hot rays from her;
others waved lions' tails attached to the ends of long poles to and fro
about her to drive the insects away; a gentle breeze carried the dust
of the long column lazily toward the west.
Nemone sighed and turned to Tarzan. "Why were you late?" she asked.
"Would it be strange that I overslept?" he asked. "It was late when I
left the palace, and there was no keeper to awaken me since you took
Gemnon away."
"Had you wished to see me again as badly as I wished to see you, you
would not have been late."
"I was as anxious to be here as you," he replied.
"You have never seen Xarator?" she asked.
"No."
"It is a holy mountain, created by Thoos for the enemies of the kings
and queens of Cathne; in all the world there is nothing like it."
"I am going to enjoy seeing it," replied the ape-man grimly.
They were approaching a fork in the road. "That road leading to the
right runs through the Pass of the Warriors into the valley of Thenar,"
she explained. "Some day I shall send you on a raid to Thenar, and you
shall bring me back the head of one of Athne's greatest warriors."
Tarzan thought of Valthor and wondered if he had reached Athne in
safety. He glanced back at Thudos and Gemnon. He had not spoken to
them, but it was because of them that he was here. He might easily
have escaped had he not determined to remain until he was certain that
he could not aid these friends. Their case appeared hopeless, yet the
ape-man had not given up hope.
At noon the procession stopped for lunch. The populace scattered about
seeking the shade of the trees that dotted the plain and that had not
already been selected by the Queen and the nobles. The lions were
led into shade, where they lay down to rest. Warriors, always on the
lookout for danger, stood guard about the temporary encampment. There
was always danger on the Field of the Lions.
The halt was brief; in half an hour the cavalcade was on the march
again. There was less talking now; silence and the great heat hung over
the dusty column. The hills that bounded the valley upon the north
were close, and soon they entered them, following a canyon upward to a
winding mountain road that led into the hills above.
Presently the smell of sulphur fumes came plainly to the nostrils of
the ape-man, and a little later the column turned the shoulder of a
great mass of volcanic rock and came upon the edge of a huge crater.
Far below, molten rock bubbled, sending up spurts of flame, geysers
of steam, and columns of yellow smoke. The scene was impressive and
awe-inspiring. Before Cathne, before Rome, before Athens, before
Babylon, before Egypt, Xarator had towered in lonely majesty above the
lesser peaks. Beside that mighty cauldron queen and noble shrank to
pitiful insignificance though perhaps there was but one in that great
throng that realized this. Tarzan stood with folded arms and bent head
gazing down into the seething inferno until the Queen touched him on
the shoulder. "What do you think of Xarator?" she asked.
He shook his head. "There are some emotions," he answered slowly, "for
which no words have yet been coined."
"It was created by Thoos for the kings of Cathne," she explained
proudly.
Tarzan made no reply; perhaps he was thinking that here again the
lexicographers had failed to furnish words adequate to the occasion.
On either side of the royal party the people crowded close to the
edge of the crater that they might miss nothing of what was about to
transpire. The children laughed and played, or teased their mothers
for the food that was being saved for the evening meal upon the return
journey to Cathne.
Tarzan saw Thudos and Gemnon standing beside the chariot in which lay
the still form of the victim. Of what emotions were passing within
their minds none appeared through the masks of stern pride that sat
upon their countenances, yet Tarzan well knew the suffering of their
torn and bleeding hearts. He had not spoken to them once this day, for
he had not had an opportunity to speak to them except in the presence
of others; and whatever he might have to say to them must be for their
ears only. He had not given up the hope of helping them, but he could
not conceive that open and unnecessary familiarity with them at this
time might accomplish anything more than to still further arouse the
suspicions of Nemone and increase the watchfulness of all their enemies.
If Gemnon or Thudos noticed the neglect of their former friend and
guest they gave no sign, for neither gave him any greater attention as
he walked beside the chariot of the Queen a few paces in advance of
them than they gave to the lions drawing the car to which they were
secured. Their thoughts were upon the poor, dumb thing jolting upon the
hard planks that formed the floor of the springless chariot bearing
it to its doom. Not once had they seen the girl move, not once had
she uttered a sound; and they hoped that she was either insensible or
dead, for thus would she be saved the anguish of these last moments and
Nemone be robbed of the essence of her triumph.
The ceremony at Xarator, though it bore the authority of so-called
justice, was of a semi-religious nature that required the presence and
active participation of priests, two of whom lifted the sack containing
the victim from the chariot and placed it at the edge of the crater at
the feet of the Queen.
About it, then, gathered a dozen priests, some of whom carried musical
instruments; and as they chanted in unison, the beating of their drums
rose and fell while the wailing notes of their wind instruments
floated out across the inferno of the seething pit like the plaint of a
lost soul.
Thudos and Gemnon had been brought nearer the spot that Nemone might
enjoy their agony to the full, for this was not only a part of their
punishment but a considerable portion of the pleasure of the Queen.
She saw that they were giving no evidences of grief, thus robbing
her of much of the satisfaction she had hoped to derive from the
destruction of the daughter of one, the sweetheart of the other; and
she was vexed. But she was not entirely discouraged; a new plan to
further try their fortitude had occurred to her.
As two of the priests lifted the body from the ground and were about
to hurl it into the crater, she stopped them with a curt command.
"Wait!" she cried. "We would look upon the too great beauty of Doria,
the daughter of Thudos, the traitor; we would permit her father and her
lover to see her once again that they may better visualize her anguish
and appreciate their own; that all may long remember that it is not
well to conspire against Nemone. Cut the bag, and expose the body of
the sacrifice!"
All eyes were upon the priest who drew his dagger and ripped open the
bag along one loosely sewn seam. The eyes of Thudos and Gemnon were
fixed upon the still figure outlined beneath the tawny skins of lions;
beads of perspiration stood upon their foreheads; their jaws and their
fists were clenched. The eyes of Tarzan turned from the activities
of the priest to the face of the Queen; between narrowed lids, from
beneath stern brows they watched her.
The priests, gathering the bag by one side, raised it and let the body
roll out upon the ground where all could see it. There was a gasp of
astonishment. Nemone cried out in a sudden fit of rage. The body was
that of Erot, and he was dead!