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[Cover Illustration]
[Illustration: Standing above him was Jad-bal-ja, the Golden Lion]
TARZAN AND THE
GOLDEN LION
BY
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
AUTHOR OF
THE TARZAN BOOKS,
THE MARS BOOKS,
THE MUCKER, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
J. ALLEN ST. JOHN
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright
Edgar Rice Burroughs
1923
Published March, 1923
_Copyrighted in Great Britain_
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
I The Golden Lion
II The Training of Jad-bal-ja
III A Meeting of Mystery
IV What the Footprints Told
V The Fatal Drops
VI Death Steals Behind
VII “You Must Sacrifice Him”
VIII Mystery of the Past
IX The Shaft of Death
X Mad Treachery
XI Strange Incense Burns
XII The Golden Ingots
XIII A Strange, Flat Tower
XIV The Chamber of Horrors
XV The Map of Blood
XVI The Diamond Hoard
XVII The Torture of Fire
XVIII The Spoor of Revenge
XIX A Barbed Shaft Kills
XX The Dead Return
XXI An Escape and a Capture
ILLUSTRATIONS
Standing above him was Jad-bal-ja, the Golden
Lion
He caught the little lion by the scruff of
its neck
Before him was the body of a giant anthropoid
“Upon the third day Tarzan shall die beneath
my knife”
Tarzan saw a white man, bald and old and
shriveled with a long white beard
The Golden Lion with two mighty bounds was
upon the High Priest
Hunting together, the man and the great lion
trod the paths toward home
With a cry of terror the Spaniard dived into
the river
Tarzan and the Golden Lion
CHAPTER I
THE GOLDEN LION
SABOR, the lioness, suckled her young—a single fuzzy ball, spotted like
Sheeta, the leopard. She lay in the warm sunshine before the rocky
cavern that was her lair, stretched out upon her side with half closed
eyes, yet Sabor was alert. There had been three of these little, fuzzy
balls at first—two daughters and a son—and Sabor and Numa, their sire,
had been proud of them; proud and happy. But kills had not been
plentiful, and Sabor, undernourished, had been unable to produce
sufficient milk to nourish properly three lusty cubs, and then a cold
rain had come, and the little ones had sickened. Only the strongest
survived—the two daughters had died. Sabor had mourned, pacing to and
fro beside the pitiful bits of bedraggled fur, whining and moaning. Now
and again she would nose them with her muzzle as though she would awaken
them from the long sleep that knows no waking. At last, however, she
abandoned her efforts, and now her whole savage heart was filled with
concern for the little male cub that remained to her. That was why Sabor
was more alert than usual.
Numa, the lion, was away. Two nights before he had made a kill and
dragged it to their lair and last night he had fared forth again, but he
had not returned. Sabor was thinking, as she half dozed, of Wappi, the
plump antelope, that her splendid mate might this very minute be
dragging through the tangled jungle to her. Or perhaps it would be
Pacco, the zebra, whose flesh was the best beloved of her kind—juicy,
succulent Pacco. Sabor’s mouth watered.
Ah, what was that? The shadow of a sound had come to those keen ears.
She raised her head, cocking it first upon one side and then the other,
as with up-pricked ears she sought to catch the faintest repetition of
that which had disturbed her. Her nose sniffed the air. There was but
the suggestion of a breeze, but what there was moved toward her from the
direction of the sound she had heard, and which she still heard in a
slightly increasing volume that told her that whatever was making it was
approaching her. As it drew closer the beast’s nervousness increased and
she rolled over on her belly, shutting off the milk supply from the cub,
which vented its disapproval in miniature growls until a low, querulous
whine from the lioness silenced him, then he stood at her side, looking
first at her and then in the direction toward which she looked, cocking
his little head first on one side and then on the other.
Evidently there was a disturbing quality in the sound that Sabor
heard—something that inspired a certain restlessness, if not actual
apprehension—though she could not be sure as yet that it boded ill. It
might be her great lord returning, but it did not sound like the
movement of a lion, certainly not like a lion dragging a heavy kill. She
glanced at her cub, breathing as she did so a plaintive whine. There was
always the fear that some danger menaced him—this last of her little
family—but she, Sabor the lioness, was there to defend him.
Presently the breeze brought to her nostrils the scent spoor of the
thing that moved toward her through the jungle. Instantly the troubled
mother-face was metamorphosed into a bare-fanged, glittering-eyed mask
of savage rage, for the scent that had come up to her through the jungle
was the hated man-scent. She rose to her feet, her head flattened, her
sinuous tail twitching nervously. Through that strange medium by which
animals communicate with one another she cautioned her cub to lie down
and remain where he was until she returned, then she moved rapidly and
silently to meet the intruder.
The cub had heard what its mother heard and now he caught the smell of
man—an unfamiliar smell that had never impinged upon his nostrils
before, yet a smell that he knew at once for that of an enemy—a smell
that brought a reaction as typical as that which marked the attitude of
the grown lioness, bringing the hairs along his little spine erect and
baring his tiny fangs. As the adult moved quickly and stealthily into
the underbrush the small cub, ignoring her injunction, followed after
her, his hind quarters wobbling from side to side, after the manner of
the very young of his kind, the ridiculous gait comporting ill with the
dignified bearing of his fore quarters; but the lioness, intent upon
that which lay before her, did not know that he followed her.
There was dense jungle before the two for a hundred yards, but through
it the lions had worn a tunnel-like path to their lair; and then there
was a small clearing through which ran a well-worn jungle trail, out of
the jungle at one end of the clearing and into the jungle again at the
other. As Sabor reached the clearing she saw the object of her fear and
hatred well within it. What if the man-thing were not hunting her or
hers? What if he even dreamed not of their presence? These facts were as
nothing to Sabor, the lioness, today. Ordinarily she would have let him
pass unmolested, so long as he did not come close enough to threaten the
safety of her cub; or, cubless, she would have slunk away at the first
intimation of his approach. But today the lioness was nervous and
fearful—fearful because of the single cub that remained to her—her
maternal instincts centered threefold, perhaps, upon this lone and
triply loved survivor—and so she did not wait for the man to threaten
the safety of her little one; but instead she moved to meet him and to
stop him. From the soft mother she had become a terrifying creature of
destruction, her brain obsessed by a single thought—to kill.
She did not hesitate an instant at the edge of the clearing, nor did she
give the slightest warning. The first intimation that the black warrior
had that there was a lion within twenty miles of him, was the terrifying
apparition of this devil-faced cat charging across the clearing toward
him with the speed of an arrow. The black was not searching for lions.
Had he known that there was one near he would have given it a wide
berth. He would have fled now had there been anywhere to flee. The
nearest tree was farther from him than was the lioness. She could
overhaul him before he would have covered a quarter of the distance.
There was no hope and there was only one thing to do. The beast was
almost upon him and behind her he saw a tiny cub. The man bore a heavy
spear. He carried it far back with his right hand and hurled it at the
very instant that Sabor rose to seize him. The spear passed through the
savage heart and almost simultaneously the giant jaws closed upon the
face and skull of the warrior. The momentum of the lioness carried the
two heavily to the ground, dead except for a few spasmodic twitchings of
their muscles.
The orphaned cub stopped twenty feet away and surveyed the first great
catastrophe of his life with questioning eyes. He wanted to approach his
dam but a natural fear of the man-scent held him away. Presently he
commenced to whine in a tone that always brought his mother to him
hurriedly; but this time she did not come—she did not even rise and
look toward him. He was puzzled—he could not understand it. He
continued to cry, feeling all the while more sad and more lonely.
Gradually he crept closer to his mother. He saw that the strange
creature she had killed did not move and after a while he felt less
terror of it, so that at last he found the courage to come quite close
to his mother and sniff at her. He still whined to her, but she did not
answer. It dawned on him at last that there was something wrong—that
his great, beautiful mother was not as she had been—a change had come
over her; yet still he clung to her, crying much until at last he fell
asleep, cuddled close to her dead body.
It was thus that Tarzan found him—Tarzan and Jane, his wife, and their
son, Korak the Killer, returning from the mysterious land of Pal-ul-don
from which the two men had rescued Jane Clayton. At the sound of their
approach the cub opened his eyes and rising, flattened his ears and
snarled at them, backing close against his dead mother. At sight of him
the ape-man smiled.
“Plucky little devil,” he commented, taking in the story of the tragedy
at a single glance. He approached the spitting cub, expecting it to turn
and run away; but it did nothing of the sort. Instead it snarled more
ferociously and struck at his extended hand as he stooped and reached
for it.
“What a brave little fellow,” cried Jane. “Poor little orphan!”
“He’s going to make a great lion, or he would have if his dam had
lived,” said Korak. “Look at that back—as straight and strong as a
spear. Too bad the rascal has got to die.”
“He doesn’t have to die,” returned Tarzan.
“There’s not much chance for him—he’ll need milk for a couple of months
more, and who’s going to get it for him?”
“I am,” replied Tarzan.
“You’re going to adopt him?”
Tarzan nodded.
Korak and Jane laughed. “That’ll be fine,” commented the former.
“Lord Greystoke, foster mother to the son of Numa,” laughed Jane.
Tarzan smiled with them, but he did not cease his attentions toward the
cub. Reaching out suddenly he caught the little lion by the scruff of
its neck and then stroking it gently he talked to it in a low, crooning
tone. I do not know what he said; but perhaps the cub did, for presently
it ceased its struggles and no longer sought to scratch or bite the
caressing hand. After that he picked it up and held it against his
breast. It did not seem afraid now, nor did it even bare its fangs
against this close proximity to the erstwhile hated man-scent.
“How do you do it?” exclaimed Jane Clayton.
Tarzan shrugged his broad shoulders. “Your kind are not afraid of
you—these are really my kind, try to civilize me as you will, and
perhaps that is why they are not afraid of me when I give them the signs
of friendship. Even this little rascal seems to know it, doesn’t he?”
“I can never understand it,” commented Korak. “I think I am rather
familiar with African animals, yet I haven’t the power over them or the
understanding that you have. Why is it?”
“There is but one Tarzan,” said Lady Greystoke, smiling at her son
teasingly, and yet her tone was not without a note of pride.
“Remember that I was born among beasts and, raised by beasts,” Tarzan
reminded him. “Perhaps after all my father was an ape—you know Kala
always insisted that he was.”
“John! How can you?” exclaimed Jane. “You know perfectly well who your
father and mother were.”
Tarzan looked solemnly at his son and closed, one eye. “Your mother
never can learn to appreciate the fine qualities of the anthropoids. One
might almost think that she objected to the suggestion that she had
mated with one of them.”
“John Clayton, I shall never speak to you again if you don’t stop saying
such hideous things. I am ashamed of you. It is bad enough that you are
an unregenerate wild-man, without trying to suggest that you may be an
ape into the bargain.”
The long journey from Pal-ul-don was almost completed—inside the week
they should be again at the site of their former home. Whether anything
now remained of the ruins the Germans had left was problematical. The
barns and outhouses had all been burned and the interior of the bungalow
partially wrecked. Those of the Waziri, the faithful native retainers of
the Greystokes, who had not been killed by Hauptman Fritz Schneider’s
soldiers, had rallied to the beat of the war-drum and gone to place
themselves at the disposal of the English in whatever capacity they
might be found useful to the great cause of humanity. This much Tarzan
had known before he set out in search of Lady Jane; but how many of his
warlike Waziri had survived the war and what further had befallen his
vast estates he did not know. Wandering tribes of natives, or raiding
bands of Arab slavers might have completed the demolition inaugurated by
the Hun, and it was likely, too, that the jungle had swept up and
reclaimed its own, covering his clearings and burying amidst its riot of
lush verdure every sign of man’s brief trespass upon its world-old
preserves.
Following the adoption of the tiny Numa, Tarzan was compelled to an
immediate consideration of the needs of his _protégé_ in planning his
marches and his halts, for the cub must have sustenance and that
sustenance could be naught but milk. Lion’s milk was out of the
question, but fortunately they were now in a comparatively well peopled
country where villages were not infrequent and where the great Lord of
the Jungle was known, feared, and respected, and so it was that upon the
afternoon of the day he had found the young lion Tarzan approached a
village for the purpose of obtaining milk for the cub.
At first the natives appeared sullen and indifferent, looking with
contempt upon whites who traveled without a large safari—with contempt
and without fear. With no safari these strangers could carry no presents
for them, nor anything wherewith to repay for the food they would
doubtless desire, and with no askari they could not demand food, or
rather they could not enforce an order, nor could they protect
themselves should it seem worth while to molest them. Sullen and
indifferent the natives seemed, yet they were scarce unconcerned, their
curiosity being aroused by the unusual apparel and ornamentation of
these whites. They saw them almost as naked as themselves and armed
similarly except that one, the younger man, carried a rifle. All three
wore the trappings of Pal-ul-don, primitive and barbaric, and entirely
strange to the eyes of the simple blacks.
“Where is your chief?” asked Tarzan as he strode into the village
amongst the women, the children, and the yapping dogs.
A few dozing warriors rose from the shadows of the huts where they had
been lying and approached the newcomers.
“The chief sleeps,” replied one. “Who are you to awaken him? What do you
want?”
“I wish to speak to your chief. Go and fetch him!”
The warrior looked at him in wide-eyed amaze, and then broke into a loud
laugh.
“The chief must be brought to him,” he cried, addressing his fellows,
and then, laughing loudly, he slapped his thigh and nudged those nearest
him with his elbows.
“Tell him,” continued the ape-man, “that Tarzan would speak with him.”
Instantly the attitude of his auditors underwent a remarkable
transformation—they fell back from him and they ceased laughing—their
eyes very wide and round. He who had laughed loudest became suddenly
solemn. “Bring mats,” he cried, “for Tarzan and his people to sit upon,
while I fetch Umanga the chief,” and off he ran as fast as he could as
though glad of the excuse to escape the presence of the mighty one he
feared he had offended.
It made no difference now that they had no safari, no askari, nor any
presents. The villagers were vying with one another to do them honor.
Even before the chief came many had already brought presents of food and
ornaments. Presently Umanga appeared. He was an old man who had been a
chief even before Tarzan of the Apes was born. His manner was
patriarchal and dignified and he greeted his guest as one great man
might greet another, yet he was undeniably pleased that the Lord of the
Jungle had honored his village with a visit.
When Tarzan explained his wishes and exhibited the lion cub Umanga
assured him that there would be milk a-plenty so long as Tarzan honored
them with his presence—warm milk, fresh from the chief’s own goats. As
they palavered the ape-man’s keen eyes took in every detail of the
village and its people, and presently they alighted upon a large bitch
among the numerous curs that overran the huts and the street. Her udder
was swollen with milk and the sight of it suggested a plan to Tarzan. He
jerked a thumb in the direction of the animal. “I would buy her,” he
said to Umanga.
“She is yours, Bwana, without payment,” replied the chief. “She whelped
two days since and last night her pups were all stolen from her nest,
doubtless by a great snake; but if you will accept them I will give you
instead as many younger and fatter dogs as you wish, for I am sure that
this one would prove poor eating.”
“I do not wish to eat her,” replied Tarzan. “I will take her along with
me to furnish milk for the cub. Have her brought to me.”
Some boys then caught the animal and tying a thong about its neck
dragged it to the ape-man. Like the lion, the dog was at first afraid,
for the scent of the Tarmangani was not as the scent of the blacks, and
it snarled and snapped at its new master; but at length he won the
animal’s confidence so that it lay quietly beside him while he stroked
its head. To get the lion close to it was, however, another matter, for
here both were terrified by the enemy scent of the other—the lion
snarling and spitting and the dog bare-fanged and growling. It required
patience—infinite patience—but at last the thing was an accomplished
fact and the cur bitch suckled the son of Numa. Hunger had succeeded in
overcoming the natural suspicion of the lion, while the firm yet kindly
attitude of the ape-man had won the confidence of the canine, which had
been accustomed through life to more of cuffs and kicks than kindness.
That night Tarzan had the dog tied in the hut he occupied, and twice
before morning he made her lie while the cub fed. The next day they took
leave of Umanga and his people and with the dog still upon a leash
trotting beside them they set off once more toward home, the young lion
cuddled in the hollow of one of Tarzan’s arms or carried in a sack slung
across his shoulder.
They named the lion Jad-bal-ja, which in the language of the
pithecanthropi of Pal-ul-don, means the Golden Lion, because of his
color. Every day he became more accustomed to them and to his foster
mother, who finally came to accept him as flesh of her flesh. The bitch
they called Za, meaning girl. The second day they removed her leash and
she followed them willingly through the jungle, nor ever after did she
seek to leave them, nor was happy unless she was near one of the three.
As the moment approached when the trail should break from the jungle
onto the edge of the rolling plain where their home had been, the three
were filled with suppressed excitement, though none uttered a syllable
of the hope and fear that was in the heart of each. What would they
find? What _could_ they find other than the same tangled mass of
vegetation that the ape-man had cleared away to build his home when
first he had come there with his bride?
At last they stepped from the concealing verdure of the forest to look
out across the plain where, in the distance, the outlines of the
bungalow had once been clearly discernible nestled amidst the trees and
shrubs that had been retained or imported to beautify the grounds.
“Look!” cried Lady Jane. “It is there—it is still there!”
“But what are those other things to the left, beyond it?” asked Korak.
“They are the huts of natives,” replied Tarzan.
“The fields are being cultivated!” exclaimed the woman.
“And some of the outbuildings have been rebuilt,” said Tarzan. “It can
mean but one thing—the Waziri have come back from the war—my faithful
Waziri. They have restored what the Hun destroyed and are watching over
our home until we return.”
[Illustration: He caught the little lion by the scruff of its neck]