Lukedi turned to leave the hut. "Wait," said Tarzan. "Who is Nyuto?"

"He is chief of the Bagegos," said Lukedi.

"Go to him and tell him that I wish to see him. Tell him also that I

cannot eat with my hands tied behind my back."

Lukedi was gone for half an hour. When he returned he brought an old,

rusted slave chain and an ancient padlock.

"Nyuto says that we may chain him to the center pole and then cut the

bonds that secure his hands," he said to the guard.

The three men entered the hut where Lukedi passed one end of the chain

around the center pole, pulling it through a ring on the other end; the

free end he then passed around Tarzan's neck, securing it there with

the old slave padlock.

"Cut the bonds that hold his wrists," said Lukedi to one of the

spearmen.

"Do it yourself," retorted the warrior. "Nyuto sent you to do it. He

did not tell me to cut the bonds."

Lukedi hesitated. It was apparent that he was afraid.

"We will stand ready with our spears," said the guardsman; "then he

cannot harm you."

"I shall not harm him," said Tarzan. "Who are you anyway and who do you

think I am?"

One of the guardsmen laughed. "He asked who we are as though he did not

know!"

"We know who you are, all right," said the other warrior.

"I am Tarzan of the Apes," said the prisoner, "and I have no quarrel

with the Bagegos."

The guardsman who had last spoken laughed again derisively. "That may

be your name," he said. "You men of The Lost Tribe have strange names.

Perhaps you have no quarrel with the Bagegos, but the Bagegos have a

quarrel with you," and still laughing he left the hut followed by his

companion, but the youth Lukedi remained, apparently fascinated by the

prisoner at whom he stood staring as he might have stared at a deity.

Tarzan reached for the gourd and drank the milk it contained, and never

once did Lukedi take his eyes from him.

"What is your name?" asked Tarzan.

"Lukedi," replied the youth.

"And you have never heard of Tarzan of the Apes?"

"No," replied the youth.

"Who do you think I am?" demanded the ape-man.

"We know that you belong to The Lost Tribe."

"But I thought the members of The Lost Tribe were supposed to be the

spirits of the dead," said Tarzan.

"That we do not know," replied Lukedi. "Some think one way, some

another; but you know, for you are one of them."

"I am not one of them," said Tarzan. "I come from a country farther

south, but I have heard of the Bagegos and I have heard of The Lost

Tribe."

"I do not believe you," said Lukedi.

"I speak the truth," said Tarzan.

Lukedi scratched his head. "Perhaps you do," he said. "You do not wear

clothes like the members of The Lost Tribe, and the weapons that we

found with you are different."

"You have seen members of The Lost Tribe?" asked Tarzan.

"Many times," replied Lukedi. "Once a year they come out of the bowels

of the Wiramwazi and trade with us. They bring dried fish, snails, and

iron and take in exchange salt, goats, and cows."

"If they come and trade with you peacefully, why do you make me a

prisoner if you think I am one of them?" demanded Tarzan.

"Since the beginning we have been at war with the members of The Lost

Tribe," replied Lukedi. "It is true that once a year we trade with

them, but they are always our enemies."

"Why is that?" demanded the ape-man.

"Because at other times we cannot tell when they will come with many

warriors and capture men, women, and children whom they take away with

them into the Wiramwazi. None ever returns. We do not know what becomes

of them. Perhaps they are eaten."

"What will your chief, Nyuto, do with me?" asked Tarzan.

"I do not know," said Lukedi. "They are discussing the question now.

They all wish to put you to death, but there are some who believe that

this would arouse the anger of the ghosts of all the dead Bagegos."

"Why should the ghosts of your dead wish to protect me?" demanded

Tarzan.

"There are many who think that you members of The Lost Tribe are the

ghosts of our dead," replied Lukedi.

"What do you think, Lukedi?" asked the ape-man.

"When I look at you I think that you are a man of flesh and blood the

same as I, and so I think that perhaps you are telling me the truth

when you say that you are not a member of The Lost Tribe, because I am

sure that they are all ghosts."

"But when they come to trade with you and when they come to fight with

you, can you not tell whether they are flesh and blood or not?"

"They are very powerful," said Lukedi. "They might come in the form of

men in the flesh or they might come as snakes or lions. That is why we

are not sure."

"And what do you think the council will decide to do with me?" asked

Tarzan.

"I think that there is no doubt but that they will burn you alive, for

thus both you and your spirit will be destroyed so that it cannot come

back to haunt and annoy us."

"Have you seen or heard of another white man recently?" asked Tarzan.

"No," replied the youth. "Many years ago, before I can remember, two

white men came who said that they were not members of The Lost Tribe,

but we did not believe them and they were killed. I must go now. I

shall bring you more milk tomorrow."

After Lukedi had left, Tarzan commenced examining the chain, padlock,

and the center pole of the hut in an effort to discover some means of

escape. The hut was cylindrical and surmounted by a conical roof of

grass. The side walls were of stakes set upright a few inches in the

ground and fastened together at their tops and bottoms by creepers. The

center pole was much heavier and was secured in position by rafters

radiating from it to the top of the wall. The interior of the hut

was plastered with mud, which had been thrown on with force and then

smoothed with the palm of the hand. It was a common type with which

Tarzan was familiar. He knew that there was a possibility that he might

be able to raise the center pole and withdraw the chain from beneath it.

It would, of course, be difficult to accomplish this without attracting

the attention of the guards, and there was a possibility that the

center pole might be set sufficiently far in the ground to render

it impossible for him to raise it. If he were given time he could

excavate around the base of it, but inasmuch as one or the other of

the sentries was continually poking his head into the hut to see that

all was well, Tarzan saw little likelihood of his being able to free

himself without being discovered.

As darkness settled upon the village Tarzan stretched himself upon

the hard dirt floor of the hut and sought to sleep. For some time the

noises of the village kept him awake, but at last he slept. How long

thereafter it was that he was awakened he did not know. From childhood

he had shared with the beasts, among whom he had been raised, the

ability to awaken quickly and in full command of all his faculties. He

did so now, immediately conscious that the noise that had aroused him

came from an animal upon the roof of the hut. Whatever it was, it was

working quietly, but to what end the ape-man could not imagine.

The acrid fumes of the village cook fires so filled the air that

Tarzan was unable to catch the scent of the creature upon the roof. He

carefully reviewed all the possible purposes for which an animal might

be upon the thatched, dry-grass roof of the Bagego hut and through a

process of elimination he could reach but one conclusion. That was that

the thing upon the outside wished to come in and either it did not have

brains enough to know that there was a doorway, or else it was too

cunning to risk detection by attempting to pass the sentries.

But why should any animal wish to enter the hut? Tarzan lay upon his

back, gazing up through the darkness in the direction of the roof above

him as he tried to find an answer to his question. Presently, directly

above his head, he saw a little ray of moonlight. Whatever it was

upon the roof had made an opening that grew larger and larger as the

creature quietly tore away the thatching. The aperture was being made

close to the wall where the radiating rafters were farthest apart, but

whether this was through intent or accident Tarzan could not guess. As

the hole grew larger and he caught occasional glimpses of the thing

silhouetted against the moonlit sky, a broad smile illuminated the face

of the ape-man. Now he saw strong little fingers working at the twigs

that were fastened laterally across the rafters to support the thatch

and presently, after several of these had been removed, the opening

was entirely closed by a furry little body that wriggled through and

dropped to the floor close beside the prisoner.

"How did you find me, Nkima?" whispered Tarzan.

"Nkima followed," replied the little monkey. "All day he has been

sitting in a high tree above the village watching this place and

waiting for darkness. Why do you stay here, Tarzan of the Apes? Why do

you not come away with little Nkima?"

"I am fastened here with a chain," said Tarzan. "I cannot come away."

"Nkima will go and bring Muviro and his warriors," said Nkima.

Of course he did not use these words at all, but what he said in the

language of the apes conveyed the same meaning to Tarzan. Black apes

carrying sharp, long sticks was the expression that he used to describe

the Waziri warriors, and the name for Muviro was one of his own

coining, but he and Tarzan understood one another.

"No," said Tarzan. "If I am going to need Muviro, he could not get here

in time now to be of any help to me. Go back into the forest, Nkima,

and wait for me. Perhaps I shall join you very soon."

Nkima scolded, for he did not want to go away. He was afraid alone in

this strange forest; in fact, Nkima's life had been one long complex of

terror, relieved only by those occasions when he could snuggle in the

lap of his master, safe within the solid walls of Tarzan's bungalow.

One of the sentries heard the voices within the hut and crawled part

way in.

"There," said Tarzan to Nkima, "you see what you have done. Now you had

better do as Tarzan tells you and get out of here and into the forest

before they catch you and eat you."

"Who are you talking to?" demanded the sentry. He heard a scampering in

the darkness and at the same instant he caught sight of the hole in the

roof and almost simultaneously he saw something dark go through it and

disappear. "What was that?" he demanded, nervously.

"That," said Tarzan, "was the ghost of your grandfather. He came to

tell me that you and your wives and all your children would take sick

and die if anything happens to me. He also brought the same message for

Nyuto."

The sentry trembled. "Call him back," he begged, "and tell him that I

had nothing to do with it. It is not I, but Nyuto, the chief, who is

going to kill you."

"I cannot call him back," said Tarzan, "and so you had better tell

Nyuto not to kill me."

"I cannot see Nyuto until morning," wailed the black. "Perhaps then it

will be too late."

"No," said Tarzan. "The ghost of your grandfather will not do anything

until tomorrow."

Terrified, the sentry returned to his post where Tarzan heard him

fearfully and excitedly discussing the matter with his companion until

the ape-man finally dropped off to sleep again.

It was late the following morning before anyone entered the hut in

which Tarzan was confined. Then came Lukedi with another gourd of milk.

He was very much excited.

"Is what Ogonyo says true?" he demanded.

"Who is Ogonyo?" asked Tarzan.

"He was one of the warriors who stood guard here last night, and he

has told Nyuto and all the village that he heard the ghost of his

grandfather talking with you and that the ghost said that he would kill

everyone in the village if you were harmed, and now everyone is afraid."

"And Nyuto?" asked Tarzan.

"Nyuto is not afraid of anything," said Lukedi.

"Not even of ghosts of grandfathers?" asked Tarzan.

"No. He alone of all the Bagegos is not afraid of the men of The Lost

Tribe, and now he is very angry at you because you have frightened his

people and this evening you are to be burned. Look!" And Lukedi pointed

to the low doorway of the hut. "From here you can see them placing the

stake to which you are to be bound, and the boys are in the forest

gathering fagots."

Tarzan pointed toward the hole in the roof. "There," he said, "is the

hole made by the ghost of Ogonyo's grandfather. Fetch Nyuto and let him

see. Then, perhaps, he will believe."

"It will make no difference," said Lukedi. "If he saw a thousand ghosts

with his own eyes, he would not be afraid. He is very brave, but he is

also very stubborn and a fool. Now we shall all die."

"Unquestionably," said Tarzan.

"Can you not save me?" asked Lukedi.

"If you will help me to escape, I promise you that the ghosts shall not

harm you."

"Oh, if I could but do it," said Lukedi, as he passed the gourd of milk

to the ape-man.

"You bring me nothing but milk," said Tarzan. "Why is that?"

"In this village we belong to the Buliso clan and, therefore, we may

not drink the milk nor eat the flesh of Timba, the black cow, so when

we have guests or prisoners we save this food for them."

Tarzan was glad that the totem of the Buliso clan was a cow instead

of a grasshopper, or rainwater from the roofs of houses or one of the

hundred of other objects that are venerated by different clans, for

while Tarzan's early training had not placed grasshoppers beyond the

pale as food for men, he much preferred the milk of Timba.

"I wish that Nyuto would see me and talk with me," said Tarzan of the

Apes. "Then he would know that it would be better to have me for a

friend than for an enemy. Many men have tried to kill me, many chiefs

greater than Nyuto. This is not the first hut in which I have lain a

prisoner, nor is it the first time that black men have prepared fires

to receive me, yet I still live, Lukedi, and many of them are dead. Go,

therefore, to Nyuto and advise him to treat me as a friend, for I am

not from The Lost Tribe of the Wiramwazi."

"I believe you," said Lukedi, "and I shall go and beg Nyuto to hear me,

but I am afraid that he will not."

As the youth reached the doorway of the hut, there suddenly arose a

great commotion in the village. Tarzan heard men issuing orders. He

heard children crying and the pounding of many naked feet upon the hard

ground. Then the war-drums boomed and he heard clashing of weapons upon

shields and loud shouting. He saw the guards before the doorway spring

to their feet and run to join the other warriors and then Lukedi, at

the doorway, shrank back with a cry of terror.

"They come! They come!" he cried, and ran to the far side of the hut

where he crouched in terror.

_Chapter Six_

Erich von Harben looked into the faces of the tall, almost naked, black

warriors whose weapons menaced him across the gunwale of their low

dugout, and the first thing to attract his attention was the nature of

those weapons.

Their spears were unlike any that he had ever seen in the hands of

modern savages. Corresponding with the ordinary spear of the African

savage, they carried a heavy and formidable javelin that suggested to

the mind of the young archaeologist nothing other than the ancient

Roman pike, and this similarity was further confirmed by the appearance

of the short, broad, two-edged swords that dangled in scabbards

supported by straps passing over the left shoulders of the warriors. If

this weapon was not the _gladius Hispanus_ of the Imperial Legionary,

von Harben felt that his studies and researches had been for naught.

"Ask them what they want, Gabula," he directed. "Perhaps they will

understand you."

"Who are you and what do you want of us?" demanded Gabula in the Bantu

dialect of his tribe.

"We wish to be friends," added von Harben in the same dialect. "We have

come to visit your country. Take us to your chief."

A tall black in the stern of the dugout shook his head. "I do not

understand you," he said. "You are our prisoners. We are going to take

you with us to our masters. Come, get into the boat. If you resist or

make trouble we shall kill you."

"They speak a strange language," said Gabula. "I do not understand

them."

Surprise and incredulity were reflected in the expression on von

Harben's face, and he experienced such a sensation as one might who

looked upon a man suddenly resurrected after having been dead for

nearly two thousand years.

Von Harben had been a close student of ancient Rome and its long-dead

language, but how different was the living tongue, which he heard and

which he recognized for what it was, from the dead and musty pages of

ancient manuscripts.

He understood enough of what the black had said to get his meaning, but

he recognized the tongue as a hybrid of Latin and Bantu root words,

though the inflections appeared to be uniformly those of the Latin

language.

In his student days von Harben had often imagined himself a citizen

of Rome. He had delivered orations in the Forum and had addressed his

troops in the field in Africa and in Gaul, but how different it all

seemed now when he was faced with the actuality rather than the figment

of imagination. His voice sounded strange in his own ears and his words

came haltingly as he spoke to the tall black in the language of the

Caesars.

"We are not enemies," he said. "We have come as friends to visit your

country," and then he waited, scarce believing that the man could

understand him.

"Are you a citizen of Rome?" demanded the black.

"No, but my country is at peace with Rome," replied von Harben.

The black looked puzzled as though he did not understand the reply.

"You are from Castra Sanguinarius." His words carried the suggestion of

a challenge.

"I am from Germania," replied von Harben.

"I never heard of such a country. You are a citizen of Rome from Castra

Sanguinarius."

"Take me to your chief," said von Harben.

"That is what I intend to do. Get in here. Our masters will know what

to do with you."

Von Harben and Gabula climbed into the dugout, so awkwardly that they

almost overturned it, much to the disgust of the black warriors, who

seized hold of them none too gently and forced them to squat in the

bottom of the frail craft. This was now turned about and paddled along

a winding canal, bordered on either side by tufted papyrus rising ten

to fifteen feet above the surface of the water.

"To what tribe do you belong?" asked von Harben, addressing the leader

of the blacks.

"We are barbarians of the Mare Orientis, subjects of Validus Augustus,

Emperor of the East; but why do you ask such questions? You know these

things as well as I."

A half hour of steady paddling along winding water-lanes brought them

to a collection of beehive huts built upon the floating roots of the

papyrus, from which the tall plants had been cleared just sufficiently

to make room for the half dozen huts that constituted the village.

Here von Harben and Gabula became the center of a curious and excited

company of men, women, and children, and von Harben heard himself and

Gabula described by their captors as spies from Castra Sanguinarius and

learned that on the morrow they were to be taken to Castrum Mare, which

he decided must be the village of the mysterious "masters" to whom

his captors were continually alluding. The blacks did not treat them

unkindly, though they evidently considered them as enemies.

When they were interviewed by the headman of the village, von Harben,

his curiosity aroused, asked the blacks why they had not been molested

if all of his people believed, as they seemed to, that they were

enemies.

"You are a citizen of Rome," replied the headman, "and this other is

your slave. Our masters do not permit us barbarians to injure a citizen

of Rome even though he may be from Castra Sanguinarius, except in

self-defense or upon the battlefield in time of war."

"Who are your masters?" demanded von Harben.

"Why, the citizens of Rome who live in Castrum Mare, of course, as one

from Castra Sanguinarius well knows."

"But I am not from Castra Sanguinarius," insisted von Harben.

"You may tell that to the officers of Validus Augustus," replied the

headman. "Perhaps they will believe you, but it is certain that I do

not."

"Are these people who dwell in Castrum Mare black men?" asked von

Harben.

"Take them away," ordered the headman, "and confine them safely in a

hut. There they may ask one another foolish questions. I do not care to

listen to them further."

Von Harben and Gabula were led away by a group of warriors and

conducted into one of the small huts of the village. Here they were

brought a supper of fish and snails and a dish concocted of the cooked

pith of papyrus.

When morning dawned the prisoners were again served with food similar

to that which had been given them the previous evening and shortly

thereafter they were ordered from the hut.

Upon the water-lane before the village floated half a dozen dugouts

filled with warriors. Their faces and bodies were painted as for war

and they appeared to have donned all the finery of barbaric necklaces,

anklets, bracelets, arm-bands, and feathers that each could command;

even the prows of the canoes bore odd designs in fresh colors.

There were many more warriors than could have been accommodated in

the few huts within the small clearing, but, as von Harben learned

later, these came from other clearings, several of which comprised the

village. Von Harben and Gabula were ordered into the chief's canoe

and a moment later the little fleet pushed off into the water-lane.

Strong paddlers propelled the dugouts along the winding waterway in a

northeasterly direction.

During the first half hour they passed several small clearings in each

of which stood a few huts from which the women and children came to the

water's edge to watch them as they passed, but for the most part the

water-lane ran between monotonous walls of lofty papyrus, broken only

occasionally by short stretches of more open water.

Von Harben tried to draw the chief into conversation, especially

relative to their destination and the nature of the "masters" into

whose hands they were to be delivered, but the taciturn warrior ignored

his every advance and finally von Harben lapsed into the silence of

resignation.

They had been paddling for hours, and the heat and the monotony had

become almost unbearable, when a turn in the water-lane revealed a

small body of open water, across the opposite side of which stretched

what appeared to be low land surmounted by an earthen rampart, along

the top of which was a strong stockade. The course of the canoe was

directed toward two lofty towers that apparently marked the gateway

through the rampart.

Figures of men could be seen loitering about this gateway, and as they

caught sight of the canoes a trumpet sounded and a score of men sallied

from the gateway and came down to the water's edge.

As the boat drew nearer, von Harben saw that these men were soldiers,

and at the command of one of them the canoes drew up a hundred yards

offshore and waited there while the chief shouted to the soldiers

on shore telling them who he was and the nature of his business.

Permission was then given for the chief's canoe to approach, but the

others were ordered to remain where they were.

"Stay where you are," commanded one of the soldiers, evidently an

under-officer, as the dugout touched the shore. "I have sent for the

centurion."

Von Harben looked with amazement upon the soldiers drawn up at the

landing. They wore the tunics and cloaks of Caesar's legionaries. Upon

their feet were the sandal-like caligae. A helmet, a leather cuirass,

an ancient shield with pike and Spanish sword completed the picture of

antiquity; only their skin belied the suggestion of their origin. They

were not white men; neither were they negroes, but for the most part of

a light-brown color with regular features.

They seemed only mildly curious concerning von Harben, and on the whole

appeared rather bored than otherwise. The under-officer questioned the

chief concerning conditions in the village. They were casual questions

on subjects of no particular moment, but they indicated to von Harben

a seemingly interested and friendly relationship between the blacks of

the outlying villages in the papyrus swamp and the evidently civilized

brown people of the mainland; yet the fact that only one canoe had been

permitted to approach the land suggested that other and less pleasant

relations had also existed between them at times. Beyond the rampart

von Harben could see the roofs of buildings and far away, beyond these,

the towering cliffs that formed the opposite side of the canyon.

Presently two more soldiers emerged from the gateway opposite the

landing. One of them was evidently the officer for whom they were

waiting, his cloak and cuirass being of finer materials and more

elaborately decorated; while the other, who walked a few paces behind

him, was a common soldier, probably the messenger who had been

dispatched to fetch him.

And now another surprise was added to those which von Harben had

already experienced since he had dropped over the edge of the barrier

cliffs into this little valley of anachronisms--the officer was

unquestionably white.

"Who are these, Rufinus?" he demanded of the under-officer.

"A barbarian chief and warriors from the villages of the western

shore," replied Rufinus. "They bring two prisoners that they captured

in the Rupes Flumen. As a reward they wish permission to enter the city

and see the Emperor."

"How many are they?" asked the officer.

"Sixty," replied Rufinus.

"They may enter the city," said the officer. "I will give them a pass,

but they must leave their weapons in their canoes and be out of the

city before dark. Send two men with them. As to their seeing Validus

Augustus, that I cannot arrange. They might go to the palace and ask

the praefect there. Have the prisoners come ashore."

As von Harben and Gabula stepped from the dugout, the expression upon

the officer's face was one of perplexity.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Erich von Harben," replied the prisoner.

The officer jerked his head impatiently. "There is no such family in

Castra Sanguinarius," he retorted.

"I am not from Castra Sanguinarius."

"Not from Castra Sanguinarius!" The officer laughed.

"That is the story he told me," said the black chief, who had been

listening to the conversation.

"I suppose that he will be saying next that he is not a citizen of

Rome," said the officer.

"That is just what he does say," said the chief.

"But wait," exclaimed the officer, excitedly. "Perhaps you are indeed

from Rome herself!"

"No, I am not from Rome," von Harben assured him.

"Can it be that there are white barbarians in Africa!" exclaimed the

officer. "Surely your garments are not Roman. Yes, you must be a

barbarian unless, as I suspect, you are not telling me the truth and

you are indeed from Castra Sanguinarius."

"A spy, perhaps," suggested Rufinus.

"No," said von Harben. "I am no spy nor am I an enemy," and with a

smile, "I am a barbarian, but a friendly barbarian."

"And who is this man?" asked the officer, indicating Gabula. "Your

slave?"

"He is my servant, but not a slave."

"Come with me," directed the officer. "I should like to talk with you,

I find you interesting, though I do not believe you."

Von Harben smiled. "I do not blame you," he said, "for even though I

see you before me I can scarcely believe that you exist."

"I do not understand what you mean," said the officer, "but come with

me to my quarters."

He gave orders that Gabula was to be confined in the guardhouse

temporarily, and then he led von Harben back to one of the towers that

guarded the entrance to the rampart.

The gate lay in a vertical plane at right angles to the rampart with a

high tower at either side, the rampart curving inward at this point to

connect with the tower at the inner end of the gate. This made a curved

entrance that forced an enemy attempting to enter to disclose its right

or unprotected side to the defenders upon the rampart, a form of camp

fortification that von Harben knew had been peculiar to the ancient

Romans.

The officer's quarters consisted of a single, small, bare room directly

off a larger room occupied by the members of the guard. It contained a

desk, a bench, and a couple of roughly made chairs.

"Sit down," said the officer, after they had entered, "and tell me

something about yourself. If you are not from Castra Sanguinarius, from

whence do you come? How did you get into our country and what are you

doing here?"

"I am from Germania," replied von Harben.

"Bah!" exclaimed the officer. "They are wild and savage barbarians.

They do not speak the language of Rome at all; not even as poorly as

you."

"How recently have you come in contact with German barbarians?" von

Harben asked.

"Oh, I? Never, of course, but our historians knew them well."

"And how lately have they written of them?"

"Why, Sanguinarius himself mentions them in the story of his life."

"Sanguinarius?" questioned von Harben. "I do not recall ever having

heard of him."

"Sanguinarius fought against the barbarians of Germania in the 839th

year of Rome."

"That was about eighteen hundred and thirty-seven years ago," von

Harben reminded the officer, "and I think you will have to admit that

there may have been much progress in that time."

"And why?" demanded the other. "There have been no changes in this

country since the days of Sanguinarius and he has been dead over

eighteen hundred years. It is not likely then that barbarians would

change greatly if Roman citizens have not. You say you are from

Germania. Perhaps you were taken to Rome as a captive and got your

civilization there, but your apparel is strange. It is not of Rome. It

is not of any place of which I have ever heard. Go on with your story."

"My father is a medical missionary in Africa," explained von Harben.

"Often when I have visited him I heard the story of a lost tribe that

was supposed to live in these mountains. The natives told strange

stories of a white race living in the depths of the Wiramwazi. They

said that the mountains were inhabited by the ghosts of their dead.

Briefly, I came to investigate the story. All but one of my men,

terrified after we reached the outer slopes of the mountains, deserted

me. That one and I managed to descend to the floor of the canyon.

Immediately we were captured and brought here."

For a while the other sat in silence, thinking.

"Perhaps you are telling me the truth," he said, at last. "Your apparel

is not that of Castra Sanguinarius and you speak our language with such

a peculiar accent and with so great effort that it is evidently not

your mother tongue. I shall have to report your capture to the Emperor,

but in the meantime I shall take you to the home of my uncle, Septimus

Favonius. If he believes your story he can help you, as he has great

influence with the Emperor, Validus Augustus."

"You are kind," said von Harben, "and I shall need a friend here if the

customs of Imperial Rome still prevail in your country, as you suggest.

Now that you know so much about me, perhaps you will tell me something

about yourself."

"There is little to tell," said the officer. "My name is Mallius Lepus.

I am a centurion in the army of Validus Augustus. Perhaps, if you are

familiar with Roman customs, you will wonder that a patrician should be

a centurion, but in this matter as in some others we have not followed

the customs of Rome. Sanguinarius admitted all his centurions to the

patrician class, and since then for over eighteen hundred years only

patricians have been appointed centurions.

"But here is Aspar," exclaimed Mallius Lepus, as another officer

entered the room. "He has come to relieve me and when he has taken over

the gate you and I shall go at once to the home of my uncle, Septimus

Favonius."

_Chapter Seven_

Tarzan of the Apes looked at Lukedi in surprise and then out through

the low doorway of the hut in an effort to see what it was that had so

filled the breast of the black youth with terror.

The little section of the village street, framed by the doorway, showed

a milling mass of brown bodies, waving spears, terrified women and

children. What could it mean?

At first he thought that Lukedi meant that the Bagegos were coming

for Tarzan, but now he guessed that the Bagegos were being beset by

troubles of their own, and at last he came to the conclusion that some

other savage tribe had attacked the village.

But, whatever the cause of the uproar, it was soon over. He saw the

Bagegos turn and flee in all directions. Strange figures passed before

his eyes in pursuit, and for a time there was comparative silence, only

a hurrying of feet, an occasional command and now and then a scream of

terror.

Presently three figures burst into the hut--enemy warriors searching

the village for fugitives. Lukedi, trembling, inarticulate, paralyzed

by fright, crouched against the far wall. Tarzan sat leaning against

the center pole to which he was chained. At sight of him, the leading

warrior halted, surprise written upon his face. His fellows joined

him and they stood for a moment in excited conversation, evidently

discussing their find. Then one of them addressed Tarzan, but in a

tongue that the ape-man could not understand, although he realized that

there was something vaguely and tantalizingly familiar about it.

Then one of them discovered Lukedi and, crossing the hut, dragged him

to the center of the floor. They spoke again to Tarzan, motioning him

toward the door so that he understood that they were ordering him from

the hut, but in reply he pointed to the chain about his neck.

One of the warriors examined the lock that secured the chain, spoke to

his fellows, and then left the hut. He returned very shortly with two

rocks and, making Tarzan lie upon the ground, placed the padlock upon

one of the rocks and pounded upon it with the other until it broke.

As soon as he was released, Tarzan and Lukedi were ordered from the

hut, and when they had come out into the open the ape-man had an

opportunity to examine his captors more closely. In the center of the

village there were about one hundred light-brown warriors surrounding

their Bagego prisoners, of whom there were some fifty men, women and

children.

The tunics, cuirasses, helmets, and sandals of the raiders Tarzan knew

that he had never seen before, and yet they were as vaguely familiar as

was the language spoken by their wearers.

The heavy spears and the swords hanging at their right sides were

not precisely like any spears or swords that he had ever seen, and

yet he had a feeling that they were not entirely unfamiliar objects.

The effect of the appearance of these strangers was tantalizing in

the extreme. It is not uncommon for us to have experiences that are

immediately followed by such a sensation of familiarity that we could

swear we had lived through them before in their minutest detail,

and yet we are unable to recall the time or place or any coincident

occurrences.

It was such a sensation that Tarzan experienced now. He thought that he

had seen these men before, that he had heard them talk; he almost felt

that at some time he had understood their language, and yet at the same

time he knew that he had never seen them. Then a figure approached from

the opposite side of the village--a white man, garbed similarly to the

warriors, but in more resplendent trappings, and of a sudden Tarzan of

the Apes found the key and the solution of the mystery, for the man

who came toward him might have stepped from the pedestal of the statue

of Julius Caesar in the Palazzo dei Conservatori in Rome.

These were Romans! A thousand years after the fall of Rome he had

been captured by a band of Caesar's legionaries, and now he knew why

the language was so vaguely familiar, for Tarzan, in his effort to

fit himself for a place in the civilized world into which necessity

sometimes commanded him, had studied many things and among them Latin,

but the reading of Caesar's Commentaries and scanning Vergil do not

give one a command of the language and so Tarzan could neither speak

nor understand the spoken words, though the smattering that he had of

the language was sufficient to make it sound familiar when he heard

others speaking it.

Tarzan looked intently at the Caesar-like white man approaching him and

at the dusky, stalwart legionaries about him. He shook himself. This

indeed must be a dream, and then he saw Lukedi with the other Bagego

prisoners. He saw the stake that had been set up for his burning and he

knew that as these were realities so were the strange warriors about

him.

Each soldier carried a short length of chain, at one end of which was a

metal collar and a padlock, and with these they were rapidly chaining

the prisoners neck to neck.

While they were thus occupied the white man, who was evidently an

officer, was joined by two other whites similarly garbed. The three

caught sight of Tarzan and immediately approached and questioned him,

but the ape-man shook his head to indicate that he could not understand

their language. Then they questioned the soldiers who had discovered

him in the hut and finally the commander of the company issued some

instructions relative to the ape-man and turned away.

The result was that Tarzan was not chained to the file of black

prisoners, but though he again wore the iron collar, the end of the

chain was held by one of the legionaries in whose keeping he had

evidently been placed.

Tarzan could only believe that his preferential treatment was accorded

him because of his color and the reluctance of the white officers to

chain another white with negroes.

As the raiders marched away from the village one of the officers and a

dozen legionaries marched in advance. These were followed by the long

line of prisoners accompanied by another officer and a small guard.

Behind the prisoners, many of whom were compelled to carry the live

chickens that were a part of the spoils of the raid, came another

contingent of soldiers herding the cows and goats and sheep of the

villagers, and behind all a large rear guard comprising the greater

part of the legionaries under the command of the third officer.

The march led along the base of the mountains in a northerly direction

and presently upward diagonally across the rising slopes at the west

end of the Wiramwazi range.

It chanced that Tarzan's position was at the rear of the line of black

prisoners, at the end of which marched Lukedi.

"Who are these people, Lukedi?" asked Tarzan, after the party had

settled down to steady progress.

"These are the ghost people of the Wiramwazi," replied the young Bagego.

"They have come to prevent the killing of their fellow," said another

black, looking at Tarzan. "I knew Nyuto should not have made him

prisoner. I knew that harm would come from it. It is well for us that

the ghost people came before we had slain him."

"What difference will it make?" said another. "I would rather have been

killed in my own village than to be taken into the country of the ghost

people and killed there."

"Perhaps they will not kill us," suggested Tarzan.

"They will not kill you because you are one of them, but they will kill

the Bagegos because they did dare to take you prisoner."

"But they have taken him prisoner, too," said Lukedi. "Can you see that

he is not one of them? He does not even understand their language."

The other blacks shook their heads, but they were not convinced. They

had made up their minds that Tarzan was one of the ghost people and

they were determined that nothing should alter this conviction.

After two hours of marching the trail turned sharply to the right and

entered a narrow and rocky gorge, the entrance to which was so choked

with trees and undergrowth that it could not have been visible from any

point upon the slopes below.

The gorge soon narrowed until its rocky walls could be spanned by a

man's outstretched arms. The floor, strewn with jagged bits of granite

from the lofty cliffs above, afforded poor and dangerous footing, so

that the speed of the column was greatly reduced.

As they proceeded Tarzan realized that, although they were entering

more deeply into the mountains, the trend of the gorge was downward

rather than upward. The cliffs on either side rose higher and higher

above them until in places the gloom of night surrounded them and, far

above, the stars twinkled in the morning sky.

For a long hour they followed the windings of the dismal gorge. The

column halted for a minute or two and immediately after the march was

resumed Tarzan saw those directly ahead of him filing through an arched

gateway in the man-made wall of solid masonry that entirely blocked the

gorge to a height of at least a hundred feet. Also, when it was the

ape-man's turn to pass the portal, he saw that it was guarded by other

soldiers similar to those into whose hands he had fallen and that it

was further reinforced by a great gate of huge, hand-hewn timbers that

had been swung open to permit the party to pass.

Ahead of him Tarzan saw a well-worn road leading down into a dense

forest in which huge, live oaks predominated, though interspersed with

other varieties of trees, among which he recognized acacias and a

variety of plane tree as well as a few cedars.

Shortly after passing through the gate the officer in charge gave the

command to halt at a small village of conical huts that was inhabited

by blacks not unlike the Bagegos, but armed with pikes and swords

similar to those carried by the legionaries.

Preparations were immediately made to camp in the village, the blacks

turning over their huts to the soldiers, quite evidently, judging from

the expressions on their faces, with poor grace. The legionaries took

possession of whatever they wished and ordered their hosts about with

all the authority and assurance of conquerors.

At this village a ration of corn and dried fish was issued to the

prisoners. They were given no shelter, but were permitted to gather

deadwood and build a fire, around which they clustered, still chained

neck to neck.

Numerous birds, strange to Tarzan, flitted among the branches of the

trees overhead and numerous monkeys chattered and scolded, but monkeys

were no novelty to Tarzan of the Apes, who was far more interested in

noting the manners and customs of his captors.

Presently an acorn fell upon Tarzan's head, but as acorns might be

expected to fall from oak trees he paid no attention to the occurrence

until a second and third acorn in rapid succession struck him squarely

from above, and then he glanced up to see a little monkey perched upon

a low branch above him.

"So-o, Nkima!" he exclaimed. "How did you get here?"

"I saw them take you from the village of the Gomangani. I followed."

"You came through the gorge, Nkima?"

"Nkima was afraid that the rocks would come together and crush him,"

said the little monkey, "so he climbed to the top and came over the

mountains along the edge. Far, far below he could hear the Tarmangani

and the Gomangani walking along the bottom. Away up there the wind

blew and little Nkima was cold and the spoor of Sheeta the leopard was

everywhere and there were great baboons who chased little Nkima, so

that he was glad when he came to the end of the mountain and saw the

forest far below. It was a very steep mountain. Even little Nkima was

afraid, but he found the way to the bottom."

"Nkima had better run home," said Tarzan. "This forest is full of

strange monkeys."

"I am not afraid," said Nkima. "They are little monkeys and they are

all afraid of Nkima. They are homely little monkeys. They are not so

beautiful as Nkima, but Nkima has seen some of the shes looking at

him and admiring him. It is not a bad place for Nkima. What are the

strange Tarmangani going to do with Tarzan of the Apes?"

"I do not know, Nkima," said the ape-man.

"Then Nkima will go back and fetch Muviro and the Waziri."

"No," said the ape-man. "Wait until I find the Tarmangani for whom we

are searching. Then you may go back with a message for Muviro."

That night Tarzan and the other prisoners slept upon the hard ground in

the open and, after it was dark, little Nkima came down and snuggled

in his master's arms and there he lay all night, happy to be near the

great Tarmangani he loved.

As morning dawned, Ogonyo, who had been captured with the other

Bagegos, opened his eyes and looked about him. The camp of the soldiers

was just stirring. Ogonyo saw some of the legionaries emerging from the

huts that they had commandeered. He saw his fellow prisoners huddled

close together for warmth and at a little distance from them lay the

white man whom he had so recently guarded in the prison hut in the

village of Nyuto, his chief. As his eyes rested upon the white man, he

saw the head of a little monkey arise from the encircling arms of the

sleeper. He saw it cast a glance in the direction of the legionaries

emerging from the huts and then he saw it scamper quickly to a near-by

tree and swing quickly into the branches above.

Ogonyo gave a cry of alarm that awakened the prisoners near him.

"What is the matter, Ogonyo?" cried one of them.

"The ghost of my grandfather!" he exclaimed. "I saw him again. He came

out of the mouth of the white man who calls himself Tarzan. He has put

a curse upon us because we kept the white man prisoner. Now we are

prisoners ourselves and soon we shall be killed and eaten." The others

nodded their heads solemnly in confirmation.

Food similar to that given to them the night before was given to the

prisoners, and after they and the legionaries had eaten, the march was

resumed in a southerly direction along the dusty road.

Until noon they plodded through the dust toward the south, passing

through other villages similar to that at which they had camped during

the night, and then they turned directly east into a road that joined

the main road at this point. Shortly afterward Tarzan saw before him

stretching across the road to the right and left as far as he could

see through the forest, a lofty rampart surmounted by palisades and

battlements. Directly ahead the roadway swung to the left just inside

the outer line of the rampart and passed through a gateway that was

flanked by lofty towers. At the base of the rampart was a wide moat

through which a stream of water moved slowly, the moat being spanned by

a bridge where the road crossed it.

There was a brief halt at the gateway while the officer commanding

the company conferred with the commander of the gate, and then the

legionaries and their prisoners filed through and Tarzan saw stretching

before him not a village of native huts, but a city of substantial

buildings.

Those near the gate were one-story stucco houses, apparently built

around an inner courtyard, as he could see the foliage of trees rising

high above the roofs, but at a distance down the vista of a long avenue

he saw the outlines of more imposing edifices rising to a greater

height.

As they proceeded along the avenue they saw many people upon the

streets and in the doorways of the houses--brown and black people,

clothed for the most part in tunics and cloaks, though many of the

blacks were almost naked. In the vicinity of the gateway there were a

few shops, but as they proceeded along the avenue these gave way to

dwellings that continued for a considerable distance until they reached

a section that seemed to be devoted to shops of a better grade and to

public buildings. Here they began to encounter white men, though the

proportion of them of the total population seemed quite small.

The people they passed stopped to look at the legionaries and their

prisoners and at intersections little crowds formed and quite a number

followed them, but there were mostly small boys.

The ape-man could see that he was attracting a great deal of attention

and the people seemed to be commenting and speculating upon him. Some

of them called to the legionaries, who answered them good-naturedly,

and there was considerable joking and chaffing--probably, Tarzan

surmised, at the expense of the unfortunate prisoners.

During the brief passage through the city Tarzan came to the conclusion

that the black inhabitants were the servants, perhaps slaves; the

brown men, the soldiers and shopkeepers, while the whites formed the

aristocratic or patrician class.

Well within the city the company turned to the left into another broad

avenue and shortly afterward approached a great circular edifice

constructed of hewn granite blocks. Arched apertures flanked by

graceful columns rose tier upon tier to a height of forty or fifty

feet, and above the first story all of these arches were open. Through

them Tarzan could see that the enclosure was without a roof and he

guessed that this lofty wall enclosed an arena, since it bore a marked

resemblance to the Colosseum at Rome.

As they came opposite the building the head of the column turned and

entered it beneath a low, wide arch and here they were led through

numerous corridors in the first story of the building and down a flight

of granite steps into gloomy, subterranean chambers, where, opening

from a long corridor, the ends of which were lost in darkness in both

directions, were a series of narrow doorways before which swung heavy

iron gates. In parties of four or five the prisoners were unchained and

ordered into the dungeons that lay behind.

Tarzan found himself with Lukedi and two other Bagegos in a small room

constructed entirely of granite blocks. The only openings were the

narrow, grated doorway, through which they entered, and a small, grated

window in the top of the wall opposite the door, and through this

window came a little light and air. The grating was closed upon them,

the heavy padlock snapped, and they were left alone to wonder what fate

lay in store for them.

_Chapter Eight_

Mallius Lepus conducted von Harben from the quarters of the captain

of the gate in the south wall of the island city of Castrum Mare and,

summoning a soldier, bade him fetch Gabula.

"You shall come with me as my guest, Erich von Harben," announced

Mallius Lepus, "and, by Jupiter, unless I am mistaken, Septimus

Favonius will thank me for bringing such a find. His dinners lag for

want of novelty, for long since has he exhausted all the possibilities

of Castrum Mare. He has even had a black chief from the Western forest

as his guest of honor, and once he invited the aristocracy of Castrum

Mare to meet a great ape.

"His friends will be mad to meet a barbarian chief from Germania--you

are a chief, are you not?" and as von Harben was about to reply,

Mallius Lepus stayed him with a gesture. "Never mind! You shall be

introduced as a chief and if I do not know any different I cannot be

accused of falsifying."

Von Harben smiled as he realized how alike was human nature the world

over and in all periods of time.

"Here is your slave now," said Mallius. "As the guest of Septimus

Favonius you will have others to do your bidding, but doubtless you

will want to have your own body-servant as well."

"Yes," said von Harben. "Gabula has been very faithful. I should hate

to part with him."

Mallius led the way to a long shed-like building beneath the inner face

of the rampart. Here were two litters and a number of strapping black

bearers. As Mallius appeared eight of these sprang to their stations

in front and behind one of the litters and carried it from the shed,

lowering it to the ground again before their master.

"And tell me, if you have visited Rome recently, does my litter compare

favorably with those now used by the nobles?" demanded Mallius.

"There have been many changes, Mallius Lepus, since the Rome of which

your historian, Sanguinarius, wrote. Were I to tell you of even the

least of them, I fear that you would not believe me."

"But certainly there could have been no great change in the style of

litters," argued Mallius, "and I cannot believe that the patricians

have ceased to use them."

"Their litters travel upon wheels now," said von Harben.

"Incredible!" exclaimed Mallius. "It would be torture to bump over

the rough pavements and country roads on the great wooden wheels of

ox-carts. No, Erich von Harben, I am afraid I cannot believe that

story."

"The city pavements are smooth today and the countryside is cut in

all directions by wide, level highways over which the litters of the

modern citizens of Rome roll at great speed on small wheels with soft

tires--nothing like the great wooden wheels of the ox-carts you have in

mind, Mallius Lepus."

The officer called a command to his carriers, who broke into a smart

run.

"I warrant you, Erich von Harben, that there be no litters in all Rome

that move at greater speed than this," he boasted.

"How fast are we traveling now?" asked von Harben.

"Better then eighty-five hundred paces an hour," replied Mallius.

"Fifty thousand paces an hour is nothing unusual for the wheeled

litters of today," said von Harben. "We call them automobiles."

"You are going to be a great success," cried Mallius, slapping von

Harben upon the shoulder. "May Jupiter strike me dead if the guests of

Septimus Favonius do not say that I have made a find indeed. Tell them

that there be litter-carriers in Rome today who can run fifty thousand

paces in an hour and they will acclaim you the greatest entertainer as

well as the greatest liar Castrum Mare has ever seen."

Von Harben laughed good-naturedly, "But you will have to admit, my

friend, that I never said that there were litter-bearers who could run

fifty thousand paces an hour," he reminded Mallius.

"But did you not assure me that the litters traveled that fast? How

then may a litter travel unless it is carried by bearers? Perhaps the

litters of today are carried by horses. Where are the horses that can

run fifty thousand paces in an hour?"

"The litters are neither carried nor drawn by horses or men, Mallius,"

said von Harben.

The officer leaned back against the soft cushion of the carriage,

roaring with laughter. "They fly then, I presume," he jeered. "By

Hercules, you must tell this all over again to Septimus Favonius. I

promise you that he will love you."

They were passing along a broad avenue bordered by old trees. There

was no pavement and the surface of the street was deep with dust. The

houses were built quite up to the street line and where there was space

between adjacent houses a high wall closed the aperture, so that each

side of the street presented a solid front of masonry broken by arched

gateways, heavy doors, and small unglazed windows, heavily barred.

"These are residences?" asked von Harben, indicating the buildings they

were passing.

"Yes," said Mallius.

"From the massive doors and heavily barred windows I should judge that

your city is overrun with criminals," commented von Harben.

Mallius shook his head. "On the contrary," he said, "we have few

criminals in Castrum Mare. The defenses that you see are against the

possible uprising of slaves or invasions by barbarians. Upon several

occasions during the life of the city such things have occurred, and so

we build to safeguard against disaster in the event that there should

be a recurrence of them, but, even so, doors are seldom locked, even

at night, for there are no thieves to break in, no criminals to menace

the lives of our people. If a man has done wrong to a fellow man he may

have reason to expect the dagger of the assassin, but if his conscience

be clear he may live without fear of attack."

"I cannot conceive of a city without criminals," said von Harben. "How

do you account for it?"

"That is simple," replied Mallius. "When Honus Hasta revolted and

founded the city of Castrum Mare in the 953rd year of Rome, Castra

Sanguinarius was overrun with criminals, so that no man dared go abroad

at night without an armed body-guard, nor was anyone safe within his

own home, and Honus Hasta, who became the first Emperor of the East,

swore that there should be no criminals in Castrum Mare and he made

laws so drastic that no thief or murderer lived to propagate his kind.

Indeed, the laws of Honus Hasta destroyed not only the criminal, but

all the members of his family, so that there was none to transmit to

posterity the criminal inclinations of a depraved sire.

"There are many who thought Honus Hasta a cruel tyrant, but time has

shown the wisdom of many of his acts and certainly our freedom from

criminals may only be ascribed to the fact that the laws of Honus Hasta

prevented the breeding of criminals. So seldom now does an individual

arise who steals or wantonly murders that it is an event of as great

moment as any that can occur, and the entire city takes a holiday to

see the culprit and his family destroyed."

Entering an avenue of more pretentious homes, the litter-bearers halted

before an ornate gate where Lepus and Erich descended from the litter.

In answer to the summons of the former, the gate was opened by a slave

and von Harben followed his new friend across a tiled forecourt into an

inner garden, where beneath the shade of a tree a stout, elderly man

was writing at a low desk. It was with something of a thrill that von

Harben noted the ancient Roman inkstand, the reed pen, and the roll of

parchment that the man was using as naturally as though they had not

been quite extinct for a thousand years.

"Greetings, Uncle!" cried Lepus, and as the older man turned toward

them, "I have brought you a guest such as no citizen of Castrum Mare

has entertained since the founding of the city. This, my uncle, is

Erich von Harben, barbarian chief from far Germania." Then to von

Harben, "My revered uncle, Septimus Favonius."

Septimus Favonius arose and greeted von Harben hospitably, yet with

such a measure of conscious dignity as to carry the suggestion that a

barbarian, even though a chief and a guest, could not be received upon

a plane of actual social equality by a citizen of Rome.

Very briefly Lepus recounted the occurrences leading to his meeting

with von Harben. Septimus Favonius seconded his nephew's invitation to

be their guest, and then, at the suggestion of the older man, Lepus

took Erich to his apartments to outfit him with fresh apparel.

An hour later, Erich, shaved and appareled as a young Roman patrician,

stepped from the apartment, which had been placed at his disposal, into

the adjoining chamber, which was a part of the suite of Mallius Lepus.

"Go on down to the garden," said Lepus, "and when I am dressed I shall

join you there."

As von Harben passed through the home of Septimus Favonius on his way

to the garden court, he was impressed by the peculiar blending of

various cultures in the architecture and decoration of the home.

The walls and columns of the building followed the simplest Grecian

lines of architecture, while the rugs, hangings, and mural decorations

showed marked evidence of both oriental and savage African influences.

The latter he could understand, but the source of the oriental designs

in many of the decorations was quite beyond him, since it was obvious

that The Lost Tribe had had no intercourse with the outside world,

other than with the savage Bagegos, for many centuries.

And when he stepped out into the garden, which was of considerable

extent, he saw a further blending of Rome and savage Africa, for

while the main part of the building was roofed with handmade tile,

several porches were covered with native grass thatch, while a small

outbuilding at the far end of the garden was a replica of a Bagego hut

except that the walls were left unplastered, so that the structure

appeared in the nature of a summer-house. Septimus Favonius had left

the garden and von Harben took advantage of the fact to examine his

surroundings more closely. The garden was laid out with winding,

graveled walks, bordered by shrubs and flowers, with an occasional

tree, some of which gave evidence of great age.

The young man's mind, his eyes, his imagination were so fully occupied

with his surroundings that he experienced a sensation almost akin to

shock as he followed the turning of the path around a large ornamental

shrub and came face to face with a young woman.

That she was equally surprised was evidenced by the consternation

apparent in her expression as she looked wide-eyed into the eyes of von

Harben. For quite an appreciable moment of time they stood looking at

one another. Von Harben thought that never in his life had he seen so

beautiful a girl. What the girl thought, von Harben did not know. It

was she who broke the silence.

"Who are you?" she asked, in a voice little above a whisper, as one

might conceivably address an apparition that had arisen suddenly and

unexpectedly before him.

"I am a stranger here," replied von Harben, "and I owe you an apology

for intruding upon your privacy. I thought that I was alone in the

garden."

"Who are you?" repeated the girl. "I have never seen your face before

or one like yours."

"And I," said von Harben, "have never seen a girl like you. Perhaps

I am dreaming. Perhaps you do not exist at all, for it does not seem

credible that in the world of realities such a one as you could exist."

The girl blushed. "You are not of Castrum Mare," she said. "That I can

see." Her tone was a trifle cold and slightly haughty.

"I have offended you," said von Harben. "I ask your pardon. I did not

mean to be offensive, but coming upon you so unexpectedly quite took my

breath away."

"And your manners, too?" asked the girl, but now her eyes were smiling.

"You have forgiven me?" asked von Harben.

"You will have to tell me who you are and why you are here before I can

answer that," she replied. "For all I know you might be an enemy or a

barbarian."

Von Harben laughed. "Mallius Lepus, who invited me here, insists that

I am a barbarian," he said, "but even so I am the guest of Septimus

Favonius, his uncle."

The girl shrugged. "I am not surprised," she said. "My father is

notorious for the guests he honors."

"You are the daughter of Favonius?" asked von Harben.

"Yes, I am Favonia," replied the girl, "but you have not yet told me

about yourself. I command you to do so," she said, imperiously.

"I am Erich von Harben of Germania," said the young man.

"Germania!" exclaimed the girl. "Caesar wrote of Germania, as did

Sanguinarius. It seems very far away."

"It never seemed so far as now," said von Harben; "Yet the three

thousand miles of distance seem nothing by comparison with the

centuries of time that intervene."

The girl puckered her brows. "I do not understand you," she said.

"No," said von Harben, "and I cannot blame you."

"You are a chief, of course?" she asked.

He did not deny the insinuation, for he had been quick to see from the

attitude of the three patricians he had met that the social standing of

a barbarian in Castrum Mare might be easily open to question, unless

his barbarism was somewhat mitigated by a title. Proud as he was of

his nationality, von Harben realized that it was a far cry from the

European barbarians of Caesar's day to their cultured descendants of

the twentieth century and that it would probably be impossible to

convince these people of the changes that have taken place since their

history was written; and, also, he was conscious of a very definite

desire to appear well in the eyes of this lovely maiden of bygone age.

"Favonia!" exclaimed von Harben. He scarcely breathed the name.

The girl looked up at him questioningly. "Yes!" she said.

"It is such a lovely name," he said. "I never heard it spoken before."

"You like it?" she asked.

"Very much, indeed."

The girl puckered her brows in thought. She had beautiful penciled

brows and a forehead that denoted an intelligence that was belied by

neither her eyes, her manner, nor her speech. "I am glad that you like

my name, but I do not understand why I should be glad. You say that

you are a barbarian. Your appearance and your manner are those of a

patrician, though perhaps you are overbold with a young woman you have

never met before, but that I ascribe to the ignorance of the barbarian

and so I forgive it."

"Being a barbarian has its compensations," laughed von Harben, "and

perhaps I am a barbarian. I may be again forgiven if I say you

are quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and the only

one--I--could--," he hesitated.

"You could what?" she demanded.

"Even a barbarian should not dare to say what I was about to say to one

whom I have known scarce half a dozen minutes."

"Whoever you may be, you show rare discrimination," came in a sarcastic

tone in a man's voice directly behind von Harben.

The girl looked up in surprise and von Harben wheeled about

simultaneously, for neither had been aware of the presence of another.

Facing him von Harben saw a short, dark, greasy-looking young man in

an elaborate tunic, his hand resting upon the hilt of the short sword

that hung at his hip. There was a sarcastic sneer upon the face of the

newcomer.

"Who is your barbarian friend, Favonia?" he demanded.

"This is Erich von Harben, a guest in the home of Septimus Favonius,

my father," replied the girl, haughtily; and to von Harben, "This is

Fulvus Fupus, who accepts the hospitality of Septimus Favonius so often

that he feels free to criticize another guest."

Fupus flushed. "I apologize," he said, "but one may never know when to

honor or when to ridicule one of Septimus Favonius's guests of honor.

The last, if I recall correctly, was an ape, and before that there

was a black barbarian from some outer village--but they are always

interesting and I am sure that the barbarian, Erich von Harben, will

prove no exception to the rule." The man's tone was sarcastic and

obnoxious to a degree, and it was with difficulty that von Harben

restrained his mounting temper.

Fortunately, at this moment, Mallius Lepus joined them and von Harben

was formally presented to Favonia. Fulvus Fupus thereafter paid little

attention to von Harben, but devoted his time assiduously to Favonia.

Von Harben knew from their conversation that they were upon friendly

and intimate terms and he guessed that Fupus was in love with Favonia,

though he could not tell from the girl's attitude whether or not she

returned his affection.

There was something else that von Harben was sure of--that he too was

in love with Favonia. Upon several occasions in life he had thought

that he was in love, but his sensations and reactions upon those other

occasions had not been the same in either kind or degree as those which

he now experienced. He found himself hating Fulvus Fupus, whom he had

known scarce a quarter of an hour and whose greatest offense, aside

from looking lovingly at Favonia, had been a certain arrogant sarcasm

of speech and manner--certainly no sufficient warrant for a sane man

to wish to do murder, and yet Erich von Harben fingered the butt of

his Luger, which he had insisted upon wearing in addition to the slim

dagger with which Mallius Lepus had armed him.

Later, when Septimus Favonius joined them, he suggested that they all

go to the baths and Mallius Lepus whispered to von Harben that his

uncle was already itching to exhibit his new find.

"He will take us to the Baths of Caesar," said Lepus, "which are

patronized by the richest patricians only, so have a few good stories

ready, but save your best ones, like that you told me about the

modern Roman litters, for the dinner that my uncle is sure to give

tonight--for he will have the best of Castrum Mare there, possibly even

the Emperor himself."

The Baths of Caesar were housed in an imposing building, of which

that portion facing on the avenue was given over to what appeared to

be exclusive shops. The main entrance led to a large court where the

warmth with which the party was greeted by a number of patrons of

the Baths already congregated there attested to the popularity of

Favonius, his daughter, and his nephew, while it was evident to von

Harben that there was less enthusiasm manifested for Fulvus Fupus.

Servants conducted the bathers to the dressing-rooms, the men's and

women's being in different quarters of the building.

After his clothes were removed, von Harben's body was anointed with

oils in a warm room and then he was led into a hot room and from there

with the other men he passed where both the men and women gathered.

About the plunge were seats for several hundred people, and in the

Baths of Caesar these were constructed of highly polished granite.

While von Harben enjoyed the prospect of a swim in the clear,

cold water of the frigidarium, he was much more interested by the

opportunity it afforded him to be with Favonia again. She was swimming

slowly around the pool when he entered the room and, making a long,

running dive, von Harben slipped easily and gracefully into the water,

a few strokes bringing him to her side. A murmur of applause that

followed meant nothing to von Harben, for he did not know that diving

was an unknown art among the citizens of Castrum Mare.

Fulvus Fupus, who had entered the frigidarium behind von Harben,

sneered as he saw the dive and heard the applause. He had never

seen it done before, but he could see that the thing was very easy,

and realizing the advantages of so graceful an accomplishment, he

determined at once to show the assembled patricians, and especially

Favonia, that he was equally a master of this athletic art as was the

barbarian.

Running, as he had seen von Harben run, toward the edge of the pool,

Fulvus Fupus sprang high into the air and came straight down upon his

belly with a resounding smack that sent the wind out of him and the

water splashing high in all directions.

Gasping for breath, he managed to reach the side of the pool, where

he clung while the laughter of the assembled patricians brought the

scarlet of mortification to his face. Whereas before he had viewed von

Harben with contempt and some slight suspicion, he now viewed him with

contempt, suspicion, and hatred. Disgruntled, Fupus clambered from the

pool and returned immediately to the dressing-room, where he donned his

garments.

"Going already, Fupus?" demanded a young patrician who was disrobing in

the apodyterium.

"Yes," growled Fupus.

"I hear you came with Septimus Favonius and his new find. What sort may

he be?"

"Listen well, Caecilius Metellus," said Fupus. "This man who calls

himself Erich von Harben says that he is a chief from Germania, but I

believe otherwise."

"What do you believe?" demanded Metellus, politely though evidently

with no considerable interest.

Fupus came close to the other. "I believe him to be a spy from Castra

Sanguinarius," he whispered, "and that he is only pretending that he is

a barbarian."

"But they say that he does not speak our language well," said Metellus.

"He speaks it as any man might speak it who wanted to pretend that he

did not understand it or that it was new to him," said Fupus.

Metellus shook his head. "Septimus Favonius is no fool," he said. "I

doubt if there is anyone in Castra Sanguinarius sufficiently clever to

fool him to such an extent."

"There is only one man who has any right to judge as to that," snapped

Fupus, "and he is going to have the facts before I am an hour older."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Metellus.

"Validus Augustus, Emperor of the East--I am going to him at once."

"Don't be a fool, Fupus," counseled Metellus. "You will only get

yourself laughed at or possibly worse. Know you not that Septimus

Favonius is high in favor of the Emperor?"

"Perhaps, but is it not also known that he was friendly with Cassius

Hasta, nephew of the Emperor, whom Validus Augustus accused of treason

and banished. It would not take much to convince the Emperor that this

Erich von Harben is an emissary of Cassius Hasta, who is reputed to be

in Castra Sanguinarius."

Caecilius Metellus laughed. "Go on then and make a fool of yourself,

Fupus," he said. "You will probably bring up at the end of a rope."

"The end of a rope will terminate this business," agreed Fupus, "but

von Harben will be there, not I."

_Chapter Nine_

As night fell upon the city of Castra Sanguinarius, the gloom of the

granite dungeons beneath the city's Colosseum deepened into blackest

darkness, which was relieved only by a rectangular patch of starlit sky

where barred windows pierced the walls.

Squatting upon the rough stone floor, his back against the wall,

Tarzan watched the stars moving in slow procession across the window's

opening. A creature of the wild, impatient of restraint, the ape-man

suffered the mental anguish of the caged beast--perhaps, because of his

human mind, his suffering was greater than would have been that of one

of the lower orders, yet he endured with even greater outward stoicism

than the beast that paces to and fro seeking escape from the bars that

confine it.

As the feet of the beast might have measured the walls of its dungeon,

so did the mind of Tarzan, and never for a waking moment was his mind

not occupied by thoughts of escape.

Lukedi and the other inmates of the dungeon slept, but Tarzan still sat

watching the free stars and envying them, when he became conscious of

a sound, ever so slight, coming from the arena, the floor of which was

about on a level with the sill of the little window in the top of the

dungeon wall. Something was moving, stealthily and cautiously, upon

the sand of the arena. Presently, framed in the window, silhouetted

against the sky, appeared a familiar figure. Tarzan smiled and

whispered a word so low that a human ear could scarce have heard it,

and Nkima slipped between the bars and dropped to the floor of the

dungeon. An instant later the little monkey snuggled close to Tarzan,

its long, muscular arms clasped tightly about the neck of the ape-man.

"Come home with me," pleaded Nkima. "Why do you stay in this cold, dark

hole beneath the ground?"

"You have seen the cage in which we sometimes keep Jad-Bal-Ja, the

Golden Lion?" demanded Tarzan.

"Yes," said Nkima.

"Jad-Bal-Ja cannot get out unless we open the gate," explained Tarzan.

"I too am in a cage. I cannot get out until they open the gate."

"I will go and get Muviro and his Gomangani with the sharp sticks,"

said Nkima. "They will come and let you out."

"No, Nkima," said Tarzan. "If I cannot get out by myself, Muviro could

not get here in time to free me, and if he came many of my brave Waziri

would be killed, for there are fighting men here in far greater numbers

than Muviro could bring." After awhile Tarzan slept, and curled up

within his arms slept Nkima, the little monkey, but when Tarzan awoke

in the morning Nkima was gone.

Toward the middle of the morning soldiers came and the door of the

dungeon was unlocked and opened to admit several of them, including a

young white officer, who was accompanied by a black slave. The officer

addressed Tarzan in the language of the city, but the ape-man shook his

head, indicating that he did not understand; then the other turned to

the black slave with a few words and the latter spoke to Tarzan in the

Bagego dialect, asking him if he understood it.

"Yes," replied the ape-man, and through the interpreter the officer

questioned Tarzan.

"Who are you and what were you, a white man, doing in the village of

the Bagegos?" asked the officer.

"I am Tarzan of the Apes," replied the prisoner. "I was looking for

another white man who is lost somewhere in these mountains, but I

slipped upon the cliffside and fell and while I was unconscious the

Bagegos took me prisoner, and when your soldiers raided the Bagego

village they found me there. Now that you know about me, I presume that

I shall be released."

"Why?" demanded the officer. "Are you a citizen of Rome?"

"Of course not," said Tarzan. "What has that to do with it?"

"Because if you are not a citizen of Rome it is quite possible that you

are an enemy. How do we know that you are not from Castrum Mare?"

Tarzan shrugged. "I do not know," he said, "how you would know that

since I do not even know what Castrum Mare means."

"That is what you would say if you wished to deceive us," said the

officer, "and you would also pretend that you could not speak or

understand our language, but you will find that it is not going to be

easy to deceive us. We are not such fools as the people of Castrum Mare

believe us to be."

"Where is this Castrum Mare and what is it?" asked Tarzan.

The officer laughed. "You are very clever," he said.

"I assure you," said the ape-man, "that I am not trying to deceive you.

Believe me for a moment and answer one question."

"What is it you wish to ask?"

"Has another white man come into your country within the last few

weeks? He is the one for whom I am searching."

"No white man has entered this country," replied the officer, "since

Marcus Crispus Sanguinarius led the Third Cohort of the Tenth Legion in

victorious conquest of the barbarians who inhabited it eighteen hundred

and twenty-three years ago."

"And if a stranger were in your country you would know it?" asked

Tarzan.

"If he were in Castra Sanguinarius, yes," replied the officer, "but

if he had entered Castrum Mare at the east end of the valley I should

not know it; but come, I was not sent here to answer questions, but to

fetch you before one who will ask them."

At a word from the officer, the soldiers who accompanied him conducted

Tarzan from the dungeon, along the corridor through which he had come

the previous day and up into the city. The detachment proceeded for

a mile through the city streets to an imposing building, before the

entrance to which there was stationed a military guard whose elaborate

cuirasses, helmets, and crests suggested that they might be a part of a

select military organization.

The metal plates of their cuirasses appeared to Tarzan to be of gold,

as did the metal of their helmets, while the hilts and scabbards of

their swords were elaborately carved and further ornamented with

colored stones ingeniously inlaid in the metal, and to their gorgeous

appearance was added the final touch of scarlet cloaks.

The officer who met the party at the gate admitted Tarzan, the black

interpreter, and the officer who had brought him, but the guard of

soldiery was replaced by a detachment of resplendent men-at-arms

similar to those who guarded the entrance to the palace.

Tarzan was taken immediately into the building and along a wide

corridor, from which opened many chambers, to a large, oblong room

flanked by stately columns. At the far end of the apartment a large man

sat in a huge, carved chair upon a raised dais.

There were many other people in the room, nearly all of whom were

colorfully garbed in bright cloaks over colored tunics and ornate

cuirasses of leather or metal, while others wore only simple flowing

togas, usually of white. Slaves, messengers, officers were constantly

entering or leaving the chamber. The party accompanying Tarzan withdrew

between the columns at one side of the room and waited there.

"What is this place?" asked Tarzan of the Bagego interpreter, "and who

is the man at the far end of the room?"

"This is the throne-room of the Emperor of the West and that is

Sublatus Imperator himself."

For some time Tarzan watched the scene before him with interest. He

saw people, evidently of all classes, approach the throne and address

the Emperor, and though he could not understand their words, he judged

that they were addressing pleas to their ruler. There were patricians

among the supplicants, brown-skinned shopkeepers, black barbarians

resplendent in their savage finery, and even slaves.

The Emperor, Sublatus, presented an imposing figure. Over a tunic of

white linen, the Emperor wore a cuirass of gold. His sandals were of

white with gold buckles, and from his shoulders fell the purple robe of

the Caesars. A fillet of embroidered linen about his brow was the only

other insignia of his station.

Directly behind the throne were heavy hangings against which were

ranged a file of soldiers bearing poles surmounted by silver eagles

and various other devices, and banners, of the meaning and purpose of

which Tarzan was ignorant. Upon every column along the side of the wall

were hung shields of various shapes over crossed banners and standards

similar to those ranged behind the Emperor. Everything pertaining to

the embellishment of the room was martial, the mural decorations being

crudely painted scenes of war.

Presently a man, who appeared to be an official of the court,

approached them and addressed the officer who had brought Tarzan from

the Colosseum.

"Are you Maximus Praeclarus?" he demanded.

"Yes," replied the officer.

"Present yourself with the prisoner."

As Tarzan advanced toward the throne surrounded by the detachment of

the guard, all eyes were turned upon him, for he was a conspicuous

figure even in this assemblage of gorgeously appareled courtiers

and soldiers, though his only garments were a loin-cloth and a

leopard-skin. His sun-tanned skin, his shock of black hair, and his

gray eyes might not alone have marked him especially in such an

assemblage, for there were other dark-skinned, black-haired, gray-eyed

men among them, but there was only one who towered inches above them

all and he was Tarzan. The undulating smoothness of his easy stride

suggested even to the mind of the proud and haughty Sublatus the fierce

and savage power of the king of beasts, which perhaps accounted for

the fact that the Emperor, with raised hand, halted the party a little

further from the throne than usual.

As the party halted before the throne, Tarzan did not wait to be

questioned, but, turning to the Bagego interpreter, said: "Ask Sublatus

why I have been made a prisoner and tell him that I demand that he free

me at once."

The black quailed. "Do as I tell you," said Tarzan.

"What is he saying?" asked Sublatus of the interpreter.

"I fear to repeat such words to the Emperor," replied the black.

"I command it," said Sublatus.

"He asked why he has been made a prisoner and demands that he be

released at once."

"Ask him who he is," said Sublatus, angrily, "that he dares issue

commands to Sublatus Imperator."

"Tell him," said Tarzan, after the Emperor's words had been translated

to him, "that I am Tarzan of the Apes, but if that means as little to

him as his name means to me, I have other means to convince him that I

am as accustomed to issuing orders and being obeyed as is he."

"Take the insolent dog away," replied Sublatus with trembling voice

after he had been told what Tarzan's words had been.

The soldiers laid hold of Tarzan, but he shook them off. "Tell him,"

snapped the ape-man, "that as one white man to another I demand an

answer to my question. Tell him that I did not approach his country as

an enemy, but as a friend, and that I shall look to him to see that I

am accorded the treatment to which I am entitled, and that before I

leave this room."

When these words were translated to Sublatus, the purple of his enraged

face matched the imperial purple of his cloak.

"Take him away," he shrieked. "Take him away. Call the guard. Throw

Maximus Praeclarus into chains for permitting a prisoner to thus

address Sublatus."

Two soldiers seized Tarzan, one his right arm, the other his left,

but he swung them suddenly together before him and with such force

did their heads meet that they relaxed their grasps upon him and sank

unconscious to the floor, and then it was that the ape-man leaped with

the agility of a cat to the dais where sat the Emperor, Sublatus.

So quickly had the act been accomplished and so unexpected was it that

there was none prepared to come between Tarzan and the Emperor in time

to prevent the terrible indignity that Tarzan proceeded to inflict upon

him.

Seizing the Emperor by the shoulder, he lifted him from his throne and

wheeled him about and then grasping him by the scruff of the neck and

the bottom of his cuirass, he lifted him from the floor just as several

pikemen leaped forward to rescue Sublatus. But when they were about

to menace Tarzan with their pikes, he used the body of the screaming

Sublatus as a shield so that the soldiers dared not to attack for fear

of killing their Emperor.

"Tell them," said Tarzan to the Bagego interpreter, "that if any man

interferes with me before I have reached the street, I shall wring the

Emperor's neck. Tell him to order them back. If he does, I shall set

him free when he is out of the building. If he refuses, it will be at

his own risk."

When this message was given to Sublatus, he stopped screaming orders

to his people to attack the ape-man and instead warned them to permit

Tarzan to leave the palace. Carrying the Emperor above his head, Tarzan

leaped from the dais and as he did so the courtiers fell back in

accordance with the commands of Sublatus, who now ordered them to turn

their backs that they might not witness the indignity that was being

done their ruler.

Down the long throne-room and through the corridors to the outer court

Tarzan of the Apes carried Sublatus Imperator above his head and at

the command of the ape-man the black interpreter went ahead, but there

was no need for him, since Sublatus kept the road clear as he issued

commands in a voice that trembled with a combination of rage, fear, and

mortification.

At the outer gate the members of the guard begged to be permitted to

rescue Sublatus and avenge the insult that had been put upon him, but

the Emperor warned them to permit his captor to leave the palace in

safety, provided he kept his word and liberated Sublatus when they had

reached the avenue beyond the gate.

The scarlet-cloaked guard fell back grumbling, their eyes filled with

anger because of the humiliation of their Emperor. Even though they

had no love for him, yet he was the personification of the power

and dignity of their government, and the scene that they witnessed

filled them with mortification as the half-naked barbarian bore their

commander-in-chief through the palace gates out into the tree-bordered

avenue beyond, while the black interpreter marched ahead, scarce

knowing whether to be more downcast by terror or elated through pride

in this unwonted publicity.

The city of Castra Sanguinarius had been carved from the primeval

forest that clothed the west end of the canyon, and with unusual

vision the founders of the city had cleared only such spaces as were

necessary for avenues, buildings, and similar purposes. Ancient trees

overhung the avenue before the palace and in many places their foliage

over-spread the low house-tops, mingling with the foliage of the trees

in inner courtyards.

Midway of the broad avenue the ape-man halted and lowered Sublatus to

the ground. He turned his eyes in the direction of the gateway through

which the soldiers of Sublatus were crowding out into the avenue.

"Tell them," said Tarzan to the interpreter, "to go back into the

palace grounds; then and then only shall I release their Emperor,"

for Tarzan had noted the ready javelins in the hands of many of the

guardsmen and guessed that the moment his body ceased to be protected

by the near presence of Sublatus it would be the target and the goal of

a score of the weapons.

When the interpreter delivered the ape-man's ultimatum to them, the

guardsmen hesitated, but Sublatus commanded them to obey, for the

barbarian's heavy grip upon his shoulder convinced him that there was

no hope that he might escape alive or uninjured unless he and his

soldiers acceded to the creature's demand. As the last of the guardsmen

passed back into the palace courtyard Tarzan released the Emperor and

as Sublatus hastened quickly toward the gate, the guardsmen made a

sudden sally into the avenue.

They saw their quarry turn and take a few quick steps, leap high into

the air and disappear amidst the foliage of an overhanging oak. A dozen

javelins hurtled among the branches of the tree. The soldiers rushed

forward, their eyes strained upward, but the quarry had vanished.

Sublatus was close upon their heels. "Quick!" he cried. "After him! A

thousand denarii to the man who brings down the barbarian."

"There he goes!" cried one, pointing.

"No," cried another. "I saw him there among the foliage. I saw the

branches move," and he pointed in the opposite direction.

And in the meantime the ape-man moved swiftly through the trees along

one side of the avenue, dropped to a low roof, crossed it and sprang

into a tree that rose from an inner court, pausing there to listen for

signs of pursuit. After the manner of a wild beast hunted through his

native jungle, he moved as silently as the shadow of a shadow, so that

now, although he crouched scarce twenty feet above them, the two people

in the courtyard below him were unaware of his presence.

But Tarzan was not unaware of theirs and as he listened to the noise of

the growing pursuit, that was spreading now in all directions through

the city, he took note of the girl and the man in the garden beneath

him. It was apparent that the man was wooing the maid, and Tarzan

needed no knowledge of their spoken language to interpret the gestures,

the glances, and the facial expressions of passionate pleading upon the

part of the man or the cold aloofness of the girl.

Sometimes a tilt of her head presented a partial view of her profile to

the ape-man and he guessed that she was very beautiful, but the face of

the young man with her reminded him of the face of Pamba the rat.

It was evident that his courtship was not progressing to the liking

of the youth and now there were evidences of anger in his tone. The

girl rose haughtily and with a cold word turned away, and then the man

leaped to his feet from the bench upon which they had been sitting and

seized her roughly by the arm. She turned surprised and angry eyes upon

him and had half voiced a cry for help when the rat-faced man clapped

a hand across her mouth and with his free arm dragged her into his

embrace.

Now all this was none of Tarzan's affair. The shes of the city of

Castra Sanguinarius meant no more to the savage ape-man than did the

shes of the village of Nyuto, chief of the Bagegos. They meant no more

to him than did Sabor the lioness and far less than did the shes of the

tribe of Akut or of Toyat the king ape--but Tarzan of the Apes was

often a creature of impulses; now he realized that he did not like the

rat-faced young man, and that he never could like him, while the girl

that he was maltreating seemed to be doubly likeable because of her

evident aversion to her tormentor.

The man had bent the girl's frail body back upon the bench. His lips

were close to hers when there was a sudden jarring of the ground beside

him and he turned astonished eyes upon the figure of a half-naked

giant. Steel-gray eyes looked into his beady black ones, a heavy hand

fell upon the collar of his tunic, and he felt himself lifted from the

body of the girl and then hurled roughly aside.

He saw his assailant lift his victim to her feet and his little eyes

saw, too, another thing: the stranger was unarmed! Then it was that the

sword of Fastus leaped from its scabbard and that Tarzan of the Apes

found himself facing naked steel. The girl saw what Fastus would do.

She saw that the stranger who protected her was unarmed and she leaped

between them, at the same time calling loudly, "Axuch! Sarus! Mpingu!

Hither! Quickly!"

Tarzan seized the girl and swung her quickly behind him, and

simultaneously Fastus was upon him. But the Roman had reckoned without

his host and the easy conquest over an unarmed man that he had expected

seemed suddenly less easy of accomplishment, for when his keen Spanish

sword swung down to cleave the body of his foe, that foe was not there.

Never in his life had Fastus witnessed such agility. It was as though

the eyes and body of the barbarian moved more rapidly than the sword of

Fastus, and always a fraction of an inch ahead.

Three times Fastus swung viciously at the stranger, and three times

his blade cut empty air, while the girl, wide-eyed with astonishment,

watched the seemingly unequal duel. Her heart filled with admiration

for this strange young giant, who, though he was evidently a barbarian,

looked more the patrician than Fastus himself. Three times the blade

of Fastus cut harmlessly through empty air--and then there was a

lightning-like movement on the part of his antagonist. A brown hand

shot beneath the guard of the Roman, steel fingers gripped his

wrist, and an instant later his sword clattered to the tile walk of

the courtyard. At the same moment two white men and a negro hurried

breathlessly into the garden and ran quickly forward--two with daggers

in their hands and one, the black, with a sword.

They saw Tarzan standing between Fastus and the girl. They saw the

man in the grip of a stranger. They saw the sword clatter to the

ground, and naturally they reached the one conclusion that seemed

possible--Fastus was being worsted in an attempt to protect the girl

against a stranger.

Tarzan saw them coming toward him and realized that three to one are

heavy odds. He was upon the point of using Fastus as a shield against

his new enemies when the girl stepped before the three and motioned

them to stop. Again the tantalizing tongue that he could almost

understand and yet not quite, as the girl explained the circumstances

to the newcomers while Tarzan still stood holding Fastus by the wrist.

Presently the girl turned to Tarzan and addressed him, but he only

shook his head to indicate that he could not understand her; then, as

his eyes fell upon the black, a possible means of communicating with

these people occurred to him, for the negro resembled closely the

Bagegos of the outer world.

"Are you a Bagego?" asked Tarzan in the language of that tribe.