Wayne Colt. According to the plan the blacks were to have followed
closely behind these two, with the rest of the whites bringing up
the rear, where they might rally and encourage the negroes, or if
necessary, force them on at the points of their pistols. But the blacks
would not even enter the opening of the outer wall, so demoralized
were they by the uncanny warning screams which their superstitious
minds attributed to malignant demons, against which there could be no
defense and whose animosity meant almost certain death for those who
disregarded their wishes.
"In with you, you dirty cowards!" cried Zveri, menacing the blacks with
his revolver in an effort to force them into the opening.
One of the warriors raised his rifle threateningly. "Put away your
weapon, white man," he said. "We will fight men, but we will not fight
the spirits of the dead."
"Lay off, Peter," said Dorsky. "You will have the whole bunch on us in
a minute and we shall all be killed. Every nigger in the outfit is in
sympathy with these men."
Zveri lowered his pistol and commenced to plead with the warriors,
promising them rewards that amounted to riches to them if they
would accompany the whites into the city; but the volunteers were
obdurate--nothing could induce them to venture into Opar.
Seeing failure once again imminent and with a mind already obsessed
by the belief that the treasures of Opar would make him fabulously
wealthy and insure the success of his secret scheme of empire, Zveri
determined to follow Romero and Colt with the remainder of his aides,
which consisted only of Dorsky, Ivitch and the Filipino boy. "Come on,"
he said, "we will have to make a try at it alone, if these yellow dogs
won't help us."
By the time the four men had passed through the outer wall, Romero and
Colt were already out of sight beyond the inner wall. Once again the
warning scream broke menacingly upon the brooding silence of the ruined
city.
"God!" ejaculated Ivitch. "What do you suppose it could be?"
"Shut up," exclaimed Zveri irritably. "Stop thinking about it, or
you'll go yellow like those damn niggers."
Slowly they crossed the court toward the inner wall, nor was there much
enthusiasm manifest among them other than for the evident desire in the
breast of each to permit one of the others the glory of leading the
advance. Tony had reached the opening when a bedlam of noise from the
opposite side of the wall burst upon their ears--a hideous chorus of
war cries, mingled with the sound of rushing feet. There was a shot,
and then another and another.
Tony turned to see if his companions were following him. They had
halted and were standing with blanched faces, listening.
Then Ivitch turned. "To hell with the gold!" he said, and started back
toward the outer wall at a run.
"Come back, you lousy cur," cried Zveri, and took after him with Dorsky
at his heels. Tony hesitated for a moment and then scurried in pursuit,
nor did any of them halt until they were beyond the outer wall. There
Zveri overtook Ivitch and seized him by the shoulder. "I ought to kill
you," he cried in a trembling voice.
"You were as glad to get out of there as I was," growled Ivitch. "What
was the sense of going in there? We should only have been killed like
Colt and Romero. There were too many of them. Didn't you hear them?"
"I think Ivitch is right," said Dorsky. "It's all right to be brave,
but we have got to remember the cause--if we are killed everything is
lost."
"But the gold!" exclaimed Zveri. "Think of the gold!"
"Gold is no good to dead men," Dorsky reminded him.
"How about our comrades?" asked Tony. "Are we to leave them to be
killed?"
"To hell with the Mexican," said Zveri, "and as for the American I
think his funds will still be available as long as we can keep the news
of his death from getting back to the Coast."
"You are not even going to try to rescue them?" asked Tony.
"I cannot do it alone," said Zveri.
"I will go with you," said Tony.
"Little good two of us can accomplish," mumbled Zveri, and then in one
of his sudden rages, he advanced menacingly upon the Filipino, his
great figure towering above that of the other.
"Who do you think you are anyway?" he demanded. "I am in command here.
When I want your advice I'll ask for it."
When Romero and Colt passed through the inner wall, that part of the
interior of the temple which they could see appeared deserted, and
yet they were conscious of movement in the darker recesses and the
apertures of the ruined galleries that looked down into the courtway.
Colt glanced back. "Shall we wait for the others?" he asked.
Romero shrugged. "I think we are going to have this glory all to
ourselves, comrade," he said with a grin.
Colt smiled back at him. "Then let's get on with the business," he
said. "I don't see anything very terrifying yet."
"There is something in there though," said Romero. "I've seen things
moving."
"So have I," said Colt.
With their rifles ready, they advanced boldly into the temple; but they
had not gone far when, from shadowy archways and from numerous gloomy
doorways there rushed a horde of horrid men, and the silence of the
ancient city was shattered by hideous war cries.
Colt was in advance and now he kept on moving forward, firing a shot
above the heads of the grotesque warrior priests of Opar. Romero saw a
number of the enemy running along the side of the great room which they
had entered, with the evident intention of cutting off their retreat.
He swung about and fired, but not over their heads. Realizing the
gravity of their position, he shot to kill, and now Colt did the same,
with the result that the screams of a couple of wounded men mingled now
with the war cries of their fellows.
Romero was forced to drop back a few steps to prevent the Oparians from
surrounding him. He shot rapidly now and succeeded in checking the
advance around their flank. A quick glance at Colt showed him standing
his ground, and at the same instant he saw a hurled club strike the
American on the head. The man dropped like a log, and instantly his
body was covered by the terrible little men of Opar.
Miguel Romero realized that his companion was lost, and even if not now
already dead, he, single-handed, could accomplish nothing toward his
rescue. If he escaped with his own life he would be fortunate, and so,
keeping up a steady fire, he fell back toward the aperture in the inner
wall.
Having captured one of the invaders, seeing the other falling back, and
fearing to risk further the devastating fire of the terrifying weapon
in the hand of their single antagonist, the Oparians hesitated.
Romero passed through the inner wall, turned and ran swiftly to the
outer and a moment later had joined his companions upon the plain.
"Where is Colt?" demanded Zveri.
"They knocked him out with a club and captured him," said Romero. "He
is probably dead by this time."
"And you deserted him?" asked Zveri.
The Mexican turned upon his chief in fury. "You ask me that?" he
demanded. "You turned pale and ran even before you saw the enemy. If
you fellows had backed us up Colt might not have been lost, but to let
us go in there alone the two of us didn't have a Chinaman's chance with
that bunch of wild men. And you accuse me of cowardice?"
"I didn't do anything of the kind," said Zveri sullenly. "I never said
you were a coward."
"You meant to imply it though," snapped Romero, "but let me tell you,
Zveri, that you can't get away with that with me or anyone else who has
been to Opar with you."
From behind the walls rose a savage cry of victory; and while it still
rumbled through the tarnished halls of Opar, Zveri turned dejectedly
away from the city. "It's no use," he said. "I can't capture Opar
alone. We are returning to camp."
The little priests, swarming over Colt, stripped him of his weapons and
secured his hands behind his back. He was still unconscious, and so
they lifted him to the shoulder of one of their fellows and bore him
away into the interior of the temple.
When Colt regained consciousness he found himself lying on the floor of
a large chamber. It was the throne room of the temple of Opar, where he
had been fetched that Oah, the high priestess, might see the prisoner.
Perceiving that their captive had regained consciousness, his guards
jerked him roughly to his feet and pushed him forward toward the foot
of the dais upon which stood Oah's throne.
The effect of the picture bursting suddenly upon him imparted to Colt
the definite impression that he was the victim of an hallucination or a
dream. The outer chamber of the ruin, in which he had fallen, had given
no suggestion of the size and semi-barbaric magnificence of this great
chamber, the grandeur of which was scarcely dimmed by the ruin of ages.
He saw before him, upon an ornate throne, a young woman of exceptional
physical beauty, surrounded by the semi-barbaric grandeur of an ancient
civilization. Grotesque and hairy men and beautiful maidens formed
her entourage. Her eyes, resting upon him, were cold and cruel; her
mien haughty and contemptuous. A squat warrior, more ape-like in his
conformation than human, was addressing her in a language unfamiliar to
the American.
When he had finished, the girl rose from the throne and, drawing a
long knife from her girdle, raised it high above her head as she spoke
rapidly and almost fiercely, her eyes fixed upon the prisoner.
From among a group of priestesses at the right of Oah's throne, a girl,
just come into womanhood, regarded the prisoner through half-closed
eyes, and beneath the golden plates that confined her smooth, white
breasts, the heart of Nao palpitated to the thoughts that contemplation
of this strange warrior engendered within her.
When Oah had finished speaking, Colt was led away, quite ignorant of
the fact that he had been listening to the sentence of death imposed
upon him by the high priestess of the Flaming God. His guards conducted
him to a cell just within the entrance of a tunnel leading from the
sacrificial court to the pits beneath the city, and because it was not
entirely below ground, fresh air and light had access to it through a
window and the grated bars of its doorway. Here the escort left him,
after removing the bonds from his wrists.
Through the small window in his cell Wayne Colt looked out upon the
inner court of the Temple of the Sun at Opar. He saw the surrounding
galleries rising tier upon tier to the summit of a lofty wall. He saw
the stone altar standing in the center of the court, and the brown
stains upon it and upon the pavement at its foot told him what the
unintelligible words of Oah had been unable to convey. For an instant
he felt his heart sink within his breast, and a shudder passed through
his frame as he contemplated his inability to escape the fate which
confronted him. There could be no mistaking the purpose of that altar
when viewed in connection with the grinning skulls of former human
sacrifices which stared through eyeless sockets upon him from their
niches in the surrounding walls.
Fascinated by the horror of his situation, he stood staring at the
altar and skulls, but presently he gained control of himself and shook
the terror from him, yet the hopelessness of his situation continued
to depress him. His thoughts turned to his companion. He wondered what
Romero's fate had been. There, indeed, had been a brave and gallant
comrade, in fact, the only member of the party who had impressed Colt
favorably, or in whose society he had found pleasure. The others had
seemed either ignorant fanatics or avaricious opportunists, while the
manner and speech of the Mexican had stamped him as a light-hearted
soldier of fortune, who might gayly offer his life in any cause which
momentarily seized his fancy with an eye more singly for excitement and
adventure than for any serious purpose. He did not know, of course,
that Zveri and the others had deserted him; but he was confident that
Romero had not before his cause had become utterly hopeless, or until
the Mexican himself had been killed or captured.
In lonely contemplation of his predicament, Colt spent the rest of the
long afternoon. Darkness fell, and still there came no sign from his
captors. He wondered if they intended leaving him there without food or
water, or if, perchance, the ceremony that was to see him offered in
sacrifice upon that grim, brown-stained altar was scheduled to commence
so soon that they felt it unnecessary to minister to his physical needs.
He had lain down upon the hard cement-like surface of the cell floor
and was trying to find momentary relief in sleep, when his attention
was attracted by the shadow of a sound coming from the courtyard where
the altar stood. As he listened he was positive that someone was
approaching, and rising quietly he went to the window and looked out.
In the shadowy darkness of the night, relieved only by the faint light
of distant stars, he saw something moving across the courtyard toward
his cell, but whether man or beast he could not distinguish; and then,
from somewhere high up among the lofty ruins, there pealed out upon the
silent night the long-drawn scream, which seemed now to the American
as much a part of the mysterious city of Opar as the crumbling ruins
themselves.
* * * * *
It was a sullen and discouraged party that made its way back to the
camp at the edge of the forest below the barrier cliffs of Opar, and
when they arrived it was to find only further disorganization and
discouragement.
No time was lost in narrating to the members of the returning
expedition the story of the sentry who had been carried off into the
jungle at night by a demon, from whom the man had managed to escape
before being devoured. Still fresh in their minds was the uncanny
affair of the death of Raghunath Jafar, nor were the nerves of those
who had been before the walls of Opar inclined to be at all steadied by
that experience, so that it was a nervous company that bivouacked that
night beneath the dark trees at the edge of the gloomy forest and, with
sighs of relief, witnessed the coming of dawn.
Later, after they had taken up the march toward the base camp, the
spirit of the blacks gradually returned to normal and presently the
tension under which they had been laboring for days was relieved by
song and laughter, but the whites were gloomy and sullen. Zveri and
Romero did not speak to one another, while Ivitch, like all weak
characters, nursed a grievance against every one because of his own
display of cowardice during the fiasco at Opar.
From the interior of a hollow tree in which he had been hiding, little
Nkima saw the column pass; and after it was safely by he emerged from
his retreat and, dancing up and down upon a limb of the tree, shouted
dire threats after them and called them many names.
Tarzan of the Apes lay stretched upon his belly upon the back of
Tantor, the elephant, his elbows upon the broad head, his chin resting
in his cupped hands. Futile had been his search for the spoor of La
of Opar. Had the Earth opened and swallowed her she could not more
effectually have disappeared.
Today Tarzan had come upon Tantor and, as had been his custom from
childhood, he had tarried for that silent communion with the sagacious
old patriarch of the forest, which seemed always to impart to the
man something of the beast's great strength of character and poise.
There was an atmosphere of restful stability about Tantor that filled
the ape-man with a peace and tranquillity that he found restful; and
Tantor, upon his part, welcomed the companionship of the Lord of the
Jungle, whom, alone, of all two legged creatures, he viewed with
friendship and affection.
The beasts of the jungle acknowledge no master, least of all the cruel
tyrant that drives civilized man throughout his headlong race from the
cradle to the grave--Time, the master of countless millions of slaves.
Time, the measurable aspect of duration, was measureless to Tarzan
and Tantor. Of all the vast resources that Nature had placed at their
disposal, she had been most profligate with Time, since she had awarded
to each all that he could use during his life-time, no matter how
extravagant of it he might be. So great was the supply of it that it
could not be wasted, since there was always more, even up to the moment
of death, after which it ceased, with all things, to be essential to
the individual. Tantor and Tarzan, therefore, were wasting no time as
they communed together in silent meditation; but though Time and space
go on forever, whether in curves or straight lines, all other things
must end; and so the quiet and the peace that the two friends were
enjoying were suddenly shattered by the excited screams of a diminutive
monkey in the foliage of a great tree above them.
It was Nkima. He had found his Tarzan, and his relief and joy aroused
the jungle to the limit of his small, shrill voice. Lazily Tarzan
rolled over and looked up at the jabbering simian above him; and
then Nkima, satisfied now beyond peradventure of a doubt that this
was, indeed, his master, launched himself downward to alight upon the
bronzed body of the ape-man. Slender, hairy little arms went around
Tarzan's neck as Nkima hugged close to this haven of refuge which
imparted to him those brief moments in his life when he might enjoy the
raptures of a temporary superiority complex. Upon Tarzan's shoulder he
felt almost fearless and could, with impunity, insult the entire world.
"Where have you been, Nkima?" asked Tarzan.
"Looking for Tarzan," replied the monkey.
"What have you seen since I left you at the walls of Opar?" demanded
the ape-man.
"I have seen many things. I have seen the great Mangani dancing in the
moonlight around the dead body of Sheeta. I have seen the enemies of
Tarzan marching through the forest. I have seen Histah, gorging himself
on the carcass of Bara."
"Have you seen a Tarmangani she?" demanded Tarzan.
"No," replied Nkima. "There were no shes among the Gomangani and
Tarmangani enemies of Tarzan. Only bulls, and they marched back toward
the place where Nkima first saw them."
"When was this?" asked Tarzan.
"Kudu had climbed into the heavens but a short distance out of the
darkness when Nkima saw the enemies of Tarzan marching back to the
place where he first saw them."
"Perhaps we had better see what they are up to," said the ape-man. He
slapped Tantor affectionately with his open palm in farewell, leaped
to his feet and swung nimbly into the overhanging branches of a tree;
while far away Zveri and his party plodded through the jungle toward
their base camp.
Tarzan of the Apes follows no earth-bound trails where the density of
the forest offers him the freedom of leafy highways, and thus he moves
from point to point with a speed that has often been disconcerting to
his enemies.
Now he moved in an almost direct line so that he overtook the
expedition as it made camp for the night. As he watched them from
behind a leafy screen of high-flung foliage, he noticed, though with no
surprise, that they were not burdened with any treasure from Opar.
As the success and happiness of jungle dwellers, nay, even life itself,
is largely dependent upon their powers of observation, Tarzan had
developed his to a high degree of perfection. At his first encounter
with this party he had made himself familiar with the faces, physiques
and carriages of all of its principals and of many of its humble
warriors and porters, with the result that he was immediately aware
that Colt was no longer with the expedition. Experience permitted
Tarzan to draw a rather accurate picture of what had happened at Opar
and of the probable fate of the missing man.
Years ago he had seen his own courageous Waziri turn and flee upon the
occasion of their first experience of the weird warning screams from
the ruined city, and he could easily guess that Colt, attempting to
lead the invaders into the city, had been deserted and found either
death or capture within the gloomy interior. This, however, did not
greatly concern Tarzan. While he had been rather drawn toward Colt
by that tenuous and invisible power known as personality, he still
considered him as one of his enemies, and if he were either dead or
captured Tarzan's cause was advanced by that much.
From Tarzan's shoulder Nkima looked down upon the camp, but he kept
silent as Tarzan had instructed him to do. Nkima saw many things that
he would have liked to have possessed, and particularly he coveted a
red calico shirt worn by one of the askaris. This, he thought, was very
grand, indeed, being set off as it was by the unrelieved nakedness of
the majority of the blacks. Nkima wished that his master would descend
and slay them all, but particularly the man with the red shirt; for, at
heart, Nkima was bloodthirsty, which made it fortunate for the peace of
the jungle that he had not been born a gorilla. But Tarzan's mind was
not set upon carnage. He had other means for thwarting the activities
of these strangers. During the day he had made a kill, and now he
withdrew to a safe distance from the camp and satisfied his hunger,
while Nkima searched for birds' eggs, fruit, and insects.
And so night fell and when it had enveloped the jungle in impenetrable
darkness, relieved only by the beast fires of the camp, Tarzan returned
to a tree where he could overlook the activities of the bivouacked
expedition. He watched them in silence for a long time, and then
suddenly he raised his voice in a long scream that perfectly mimicked
the hideous warning cry of Opar's defenders.
The effect upon the camp was instantaneous. Conversation, singing, and
laughter ceased. For a moment the men sat as in a paralysis of terror.
Then, seizing their weapons, they came closer to the fire.
With the shadow of a smile upon his lips, Tarzan melted away into the
jungle.
X
THE LOVE OF A PRIESTESS
Ibn Dammuk had bided his time and now, in the camp by the swollen river
at the edge of the Galla country, he at last found the opportunity
he had so long awaited. The surveillance over the two prisoners had
somewhat relaxed, due largely to the belief entertained by Abu Batn
that the women would not dare to invite the perils of the jungle by
attempting to escape from captors who were, at the same time, their
protectors from even greater dangers. He had, however, reckoned without
a just estimation of the courage and resourcefulness of his two
captives, who, had he but known it, were constantly awaiting the first
opportunity for escape. It was this fact, as well, that played into the
hands of Ibn Dammuk.
With great cunning he enlisted the services of one of the blacks who
had been forced to accompany them from the base camp and who was
virtually a prisoner. By promising him his liberty Ibn Dammuk had
easily gained the man's acquiescence in the plan that he had evolved.
A separate tent had been pitched for the two women, and before it sat a
single sentry, whose presence Abu Batn considered more than sufficient
for this purpose, which was, perhaps, even more to protect the women
from his own followers than to prevent a very remotely possible attempt
at escape.
This night, which Ibn Dammuk had chosen for his villainy, was one for
which he had been waiting, since it found upon duty before the tent of
the captives one of his own men, a member of his own tribe, who was
bound by laws of hereditary loyalty to serve and obey him. In the
forest, just beyond the camp, waited Ibn Dammuk, with two more of his
own tribesmen, four slaves that they had brought from the desert and
the black porter who was to win his liberty by this night's work.
The interior of the tent that had been pitched for Zora and La was
illuminated by a paper lantern, in which a candle burned dimly; and in
this subdued light the two sat talking in La's newly acquired English,
which was at best most fragmentary and broken. However, it was far
better than no means of communication and gave the two girls the only
pleasure that they enjoyed. Perhaps it was not a remarkable coincidence
that this night they were speaking of escape and planning to cut a hole
in the back of their tent through which they might sneak away into the
jungle after the camp had settled down for the night and their sentry
should be dozing at his post. And while they conversed, the sentry
before their tent rose and strolled away, and a moment later they heard
a scratching upon the back of the tent. Their conversation ceased, and
they sat with eyes riveted upon the point where the fabric of the tent
moved to the pressure of the scratching without.
Presently a voice spoke in a low whisper. "Memsahib Drinov!"
"Who is it? What do you want?" asked Zora in a low voice.