New Tarzan - Tarzan And The Silver Globe Part 4

"Beasts," helpfully added the skillful Waziri chieftain.

ABeasts! Just so. What think you will happen when the work here finishes, as it surely must do in a few moments?"

Although he'd primed the pump, Basuli was startled to hear even this much forethought retained in the mind of a great ape. Surely this was a leader among his own kind! "I fear they may turn upon each other; and upon us. Our kind are fearless, Nendat, but we are few in number. Think you we could survive?"

Nendat thoughtfully picked an insect from his fur, sniffed it, then popped it into his muzzle. He face was a study in earnest but futile concentration.

"I'm sure you have thought of this as have I, and that you have arrived at the same conclusion, O wise Nendat," Basuli went on, slyly.

"Doubtless," offered the ape, to Basuli's secret amus.e.m.e.nt, "but first I would hear your plan."

"Well, then, if you ask. Opar has long been a sore spot in our jungle. And never before have so many of the great beasts been a.s.sembled in one place. Ill-tempered, angry great beasts, that might turn upon us unless we can find something more interesting for them to do. Your pardon for this plan, which I am sure you have already decided upon. To pa.s.s the word that now is the time to killa to wipe out Opar and the ugly little men, the evil priests! To kill, kill, kill and destroy, until Opar is no more!"

Nendat enthusiastically sprang to his feet, stomping and shouting, beating his breast with mighty paws, giving forth a drumming noise that made the Waziri chieftain's blood run cold. "Kill!" the bull ape screamed. "Kill, kill, kill!"

Work on the tunnel mouth stopped, as others took up the frenzied cry. Silently, Basuli cursed himself, for now the great heads were turning slowly, uneasily, and here and there the cough could be heard as the tawny-eyed beasts started to echo the cry. Basuli feared for the lives of his warriors-and- himself-as Tantor and Buto took up the challenge, each in his own language, yet a language common to the forest dwellers. Nendat continued to bay his approval of the plan still flailing his mighty chest and, indeed, turned reddened eyes upon Basuli, himself. Basuli, attempting to stave off disaster, waved his spear on high. "To Opar," he cried in the language of the great apes, "to the evil place of Opar! Nendat will lead you. Kill - kill in Opar. Destroy, smash the green ones!"

Basuli stood behind his rock, a.s.segai at hand, as the thirst-maddened beasts flowed past him in a tide that seemed never-ending. Huge clouds of dust rose from the plain as the enraged animals first followed, then overtook, the prancing, bellowing figure of the leader of the great apes. He hoped his warriors had taken to the high ground, as they had been so carefully schooled to do, and, still bitterly cursing his own stupidity, vowed never again to treat an ape as an equal - a lesson Tarzan had learned long ago.

Jane Clayton lay, bound and helpless - and barely conscious - upon the altar of the sacrificial chamber of the priests of Opar. It was a place, this chamber, which would strike fear to the heart of the bravest man. Evil-smelling torches illuminated the scene and filled the cave-like room with smoke, despite the tunnels that led both into and out of it.

All was in readiness. The priests were filing in, taking their places, with the high priests standing near at hand. One held the bowl which was to receive the still-pulsating heart as it was torn from Lady Greystoke's breast, three more with urns which were designed to catch the blood from the victim which would be pa.s.sed among the monstrous descendants of the once-great race of Atlantis.

Jane Clayton, Lady Greystoke, mate of the mighty Tarzan, opened her eyes slowly and looked with horror at the setting. Where was her mate, he who never before had failed her? She turned her head the other way as far as her bonds would allow her, and met the icy smile and glittering eyes of Marda, or "La," who stood calmly, hands pressed to her breast. "But why?" Jane whispered. "Why? What purpose does it serve?" Her voice, faint as it was, was almost lost entirely amidst the wild chanting of the a.s.sembled Oparians, who were by now working themselves into a veritable frenzy of blood l.u.s.t.

The answer came, Jane realized with a shock, not in spoken words, but in words directly implanted into her brain by a mental force so powerful, so dripping with hatred, that she almost swooned again.

"You are his mate," was the message. "Were it not for you, he would have been mine. Heave this savage world after a desolate stay here that could have been pleasant were it not for Tarzan's love for you. And to leave it, I must have a sacrifice for thesea these animals. Who better than you, who has dared deprive Marda, a member of the aristocracy of her own planet?"

"Then," Jane said aloud, not knowing how to communicate telepathically, "I am glad to die, because I have known him and you have not." She closed her eyes, her brain almost outraged by the venom that flowed from the Venusian woman.

Marda smiled cruelly, viciously, then called Glamo aboard the Silver Globe. There was no response. What was wrong? A gnarled little Oparian priest offered her the sacrificial obsidian blade, and she waved him contemptuously aside, frantically trying to establish mental contact with her own mate, Glamo. The little priest whimpered in frustration, but still she paid him no heed. Indeed, her ears were closed to the noise, else she might have heard the a.s.sembled priests urge the High Priest to kill, kill, killa to strike, and to tear the heart from La, the high priestess - the high Priestess who bad refused her duty!

A moan of antic.i.p.ation went up from the a.s.semblage as the High Priest backed off a step and raised the sacrificial blade on high.

"Glamo?" Marda tried again to reach him. "Glamo? What has happened? You must answer me, Glamo!"

Tarzan little knew the forces he had unleashed when he'd pressed, unwittingly, it is true, the many studs on the golden belt that had been the property of Glamo. The Lord from Venus perhaps had a better idea. When Tarzan had seen the glittering eyes of Glamo fixed upon him, he had swiftly sprung to the kill, his knife at the Venusian's throat.

"One word," the mighty white ape commanded, "and you die. One attempt to control me, and this blade shall surely saw through your neck, letting your life-blood loose!"

While Glamo might not have understood the words, for they were spoken in Lord Greystoke's native tongue, English, there was no mistaking the underlying intent. It was, both realized, something of an impa.s.se.

If Glamo attempted to speak, either physically or mentally, his life would be immediately forfeit. If there was no communication between the pair, Glamo's life would be likely forfeit anyway. Tarzan realized the situation as speedily as did the Venusian.

He pressed the keen blade even closer against the other's throat. "Well," he said, hesitantly.

Glamo sent out a small tentacle of thought. "Well," it said to the ape-man's mind. Slowly, insinuatingly, and (it must be told, truthfully) other thoughts followed the first. Untold horrors had been let loose by the belt. Doors that should never have been open in the Silver Globe had been opened by the unschooled, unskilled blunder. Strange beasts from far-flung corners of the universe had been let loose upon the domain of the Lord of the Jungle, beasts that could kill in mysterious ways, mysterious fashions, ways that were undefendable by means of man or jungle beast. Even now, Tarzan's mate was stretched upon an Oparian altar, awaiting the sacrificial knife, and what was Tarzan going to do about that, now that he had frozen the controls, the controls that only Glamo could hope to unfreeze, unlock?

"You lie," growled Tarzan, pressing his knife even tighter across Glamo's throat.

Wait!

Came the answering tendril of persuasive thought. See it through my eyes. Into the brain of Tarzan came picturesa pictures of unholy, completely alien monsters, so alien that his very brain cells recoiled from them. Viscous, oozing creatures which had burst within their cages aboard the Silver Globe at the impact of a foreign atmospheric pressure, pictures of many-legged or no-legged monsters that had died horribly upon their first exposure to an alien atmosphere. Others that had dropped ,from open hatches, some lizard-like, others plainly carnivorous, some with many legs, others with no legs at all, some armor-plated, multi-fanged, others deadly to the touch. One, a brilliant red, emanating deadly electrical impulses that killed any moving thing which might come within feet of it. They were spined, slimy, scaled, tanged, fast-moving and ponderous. They had one thing in common. All were deadly. And worst of all were the Followers. Yes, Glamo a.s.sured the ape-man through telepathy, these last creatures had been loosed, also. All had been captured for the Games of Venus. First, went on the mental imagery, convicted felons were heavily armed and offered to them and then, after the inevitable death of the animals of Venus, the beasts were pitted against each other in battles that often lasted for hundreds of days - as days were known here on Earth. Now, if Tarzan would onlya Tarzan would not! Tarzan picked up the body of the Venusian, threw it mightily against the closed door of the control room. Bones crunched, but metal bent, and Tarzan, without a backward glance at his enemy, buried his own body against the thin metal, forcing open the door. He sped down the circular corridor, once avoiding a hissing, giant-sized and well-fanged head that reared up in his dark path. The entry hatch was closed, but there was light from the pen that had held the Followers, and the door stood open.

A number of the monsters were still splashing about-in their pit, and struck at Tarzan as he sped by, nearly gagging at the scent, but each tentacle recoiled as it neared him, and he remembered the golden belt about his middle with grat.i.tude. Down their slippery entryway he skidded and slid, gulping air in great inhalations as he gained the ground outside the Silver Globe. A giant purple creature, which had the appearance of a salamander mounted upon a hundred hairy legs, and as tall at the shoulder as Tarzan himself, stabbed futilely at the ape-man with its tail, which seemed to be barbed. The area around the Globe crawled with beasts which Tarzan had never seen before, and which even the Venusian's brain-probes hadn't prepared him to accept, but he evaded them all, darting to the sacrificial chamber.

He raced down the tunnel leading to the underground scene of many - of untold thousands upon thousands of blood sacrifices. He raced boldly into the vast room, lit by flickering torches thrust into holders against the stone walls.

Chaos reigned. "La," or Marda, as he now knew her to be truly named, was just crumpling under the high priest's knife. He held her pulsing heart, torn from her breast, aloft in his hand, uttering shrill squeals of pleasure from his foul, blood-spattered countenance. On the sacrificial dais, a roughly-hewn rock, Tarzan saw the form of his mate, Jane, and slashing right and left, made his way to her. Others were killing, too!

Two of the Followers were at liberty, and under no restraining influence, were feeding greedily upon a score of priests, while with other tentacles they were fending off attacks from still other strange monsters let loose from the Silver Globe.

Tarzan swept his mate into his arms after severing her bonds with one mighty slash of his knife, a slash with which he followed through decapitating the high priest. Then, Jane swung up over his shoulder, the ape-man charged out the entrance, the entrance which led down into the very bowels of the earth, down the tunnel to the chasm, to the treasure vaults of Opar, which lay forever beyond the reach of the Oparians themselves! And the tunnel which was closed, as far as Tarzan now knew, by a vast rockslide. Could he leap the chasm with his mate on his shoulders? He didn't know. He'd hardly made it unenc.u.mbered. Behind him, he knew, lay death. Ahead? He trotted rapidly, hearing snuffling sounds behind him in the abysmal blackness, one hand guiding his body as he let fingers trail the rough-hewn walls. He stopped, panting for breath, and found himself engaged in fearsome combat with a creature from the Globe! He struck, struck again with his knife, then went to close hand-to-hand, fang-to-fang combat. Something like a giant claw raked his back as the beast, whatever it was, fell dead under his fierce attack. Tarzan, in the dark, beat his chest and let out the fearful victory cry of the bull ape! Its fearful sound echoed off the stone walls. Several other beasts pursuing the scent stopped and gave thought to the awesome noise, recommencing their pursuit only half-heartedly. Panting, Tarzan resumed his burden, Jane, and trotted on in the dark, now feeling ahead carefully for the bottomless pit.

Chapter XIII.

"The Escape from Opar"

N'GOGO heaved a great sigh of relief as the last of the beasts - Tantor, the elephant, Buto, the rhinoceros, Horta, the mad boar with the curved, slashing tusks, Simba, the lion and all the others, including the leopard, the panther, the jackal and the hyena, the wild dog and the buffalo (fearsome, but predictable and, under certain circ.u.mstances, easily domesticated) and last, but by no means least, the mighty scampering, short-tempered and completely unpredictable great apes - disappeared from view.

Frankly, N'Gogo hadn't expected to live through this morning. There were several crumpled, lifeless forms upon the desert floor but, he was glad to note, none of them were the Waziri, Tarzan's warriors. So far, so good. He looked about anxiously for his chieftain, Basuli. That worthy shortly appeared from behind a huge boulder, little the worse for wear. Quickly, N'Gogo shouted unnecessary orders to the other Waziri, doing his best to maintain some semblance of discipline among the black warriors. Basuli waved a weary hand in acknowledgment, stood amongst his men, gazing at each in turn.

"We are here, O chieftain," proudly acknowledged N'Gogo. While he was still shaking from the ma.s.sed charge of the beasts, he felt pride in not having broken and run, which had happened once before, to the shame of the entire tribe.

The heat of midday was upon the Waziri. "Do all have water?" asked their waterless (thanks to the great ape) leader.

The answer came back "yes," in varying degrees of enthusiasm. N'Gogo offered his own water jug to his chieftain. Basuli was parched with thirst but haughtily declined. No chief ever showed weakness. N'Gogo then moved about the rest .of the tribe, lifting their bottles, shaking them tentatively, adding a bit from his own here and there until finally his own was dry. He held it rather conspicuously high, bottom up, to show that he had, like Basuli, like any great chieftain, shared his all with his men - nay, more than shared, given all. With a deprecating, dramatic, typically African gesture, he shook his water bottle once, then cast it away. He turned to Basuli, thrilling as the haughty chieftain nodded his approbation. Basuli nodded for N'Gogo to come closer. With great dignity, the pair consulted in undertones, completely inaudible to the rest of the warriors which made up the command.

"It will be needful," Basuli said, "for one to enter the tunnel in search of the Tarmangani, our leader, Tarzan. It is open now?"

N'Gogo nodded, not daring to speak aloud, for this was serious business.

"Good. There is a warrior braver than the rest? One you personally can trust to be brave above all else, a veritable panther among warriors? One who is silent, fierce, who knows no fear? If you know such a man, send him into the tunnel ahead of the rest of us. His instructions are to explore, to seek Tarzan, to fear nothing, to return if return is advisable, to stay and die if needed."

N'Gogo pressed a fist to his breast to indicate he understood, then turned and coolly surveyed the rest of the little party. Stiffly, he walked down the line, shaking again each warrior's canteen, counting arrows, testing a.s.segai tips. Finally, reaching the end of the band, he dropped all his own equipment except a knife, placed a clenched fist to his brow in a manner that meant "we who are about to diea" and plunged into the opening of the tunnel.

Basuli sighed. N'Gogo was such a child, so vain, yet - not without honor. He could have as easily ordered him into the tunnel, but this way was better. His stem, hawk-like eyes fixed the band of warriors in their positions.

"We follow," he said, calmly, "the brave N'Gogo in five minutes. Take water, and rest."

Opar was doomed, that much was certain. Pouring around the Cliffs that led into the city were the jungle denizens, vast hordes of them, savage, looking for the kill, driven by a frenzy of blood-l.u.s.t, thirst and frustration. Meanwhile, the unspeakable beasts from the Silver Globe, aliens all, were having their way. Squealing priests died under strange fangs, claws, lashing tails and tentacles. Surely, this was the end, the finish of Opar! There was no other exit from the mysterious city except the forbidden tunnel, and already this was chokingly filled with the nauseous Followers who were trailing Tarzan and his mate.

The mighty white hairless ape swung along with striding sweeps of his sinewy legs, gulping mighty gasps of dank air into his lungs, hoping only to find the pit, and then whatever might be behind it. Sounds of pursuit died off, but there might be silent beasts behind, still in pursuit. He paced on, restlessly, never-endingly, until it seemed as though even his mighty lungs might burst.

N'Gogo advanced at a slow walk, prodding each foot of the air before him with his a.s.segai, seeking what might be before him. He knew nothing of the almost-dead Follower that sensed his coming, the Follower that lay just this side of the bottomless pit which mighty Tarzan had leaped to evade the monster, to its futile and savage fury. N'Gogo was a forced hero, in a manner of speaking. It wasn't that he was innately a coward; he was not. He was a brave man, with a brave man's fears. Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown. A fetid stench a.s.sailed the Waziri's nostrils, and he stopped short. Something dead was close, and he wisely paused before venturing onward. What was this stench? Where had he smelled it before? N'Gogo wondered how much time had pa.s.sed, how closely upon his heels followed Basuli and the rest of the Waziri?

Thinking thus, he still prodded into the darkness with his a.s.segai, and stopped short when the spear met a yielding substance that felt very much like flesh! Whatever it was he touched recoiled sharply, as did N'Gogo, who stood trembling. Nothing alive should be here, in this cavern of darkness! The smell of rot grew sharper as the savage paused, immobile. Some animate form lashed at ,him in the blackness, and he recoiled by instinct, holding his spear at the ready, waiting for the next attack. Now, behind him, he heard the welcome pad of bare feet, knowing it was the rest of his band, the band of which he was a subchief. Knowing that Basuli would be in the forefront was a warming and comforting thought, and he jabbed again, fearlessly, with his a.s.segai. Something seized it, jerked it forward, and the native hung on desperately. This was N'Gogo's undoing, because it brought him into the clutches of the almost-dormant Follower. Quickly, instantaneously, three or four sucker-faced tentacles clasped their way about his body, and a mighty form threw itself upon him, drawing the life from his body, stifling and m.u.f.fling his screams of mortal agony as the Follower drew much-needed sustenance from his quivering carca.s.s.

So died N'Gogo, perhaps not a hero but certainly not a coward. The Follower, still pulsating in its hideous ma.s.s from the life-force it had drawn from the African, drew back cannily into a sort of creva.s.se in the rocky walls of the dungeon, awaiting another victim. Only its stench gave it away, but of course it had no way of knowing this, and as a safety measure it waved an eye- tipped tentacle across the chasm which it could not cross and which, it sensed, Tarzan was again approaching.

The mighty beasts reached Opar, by way of the cliffs, and maddened by thirst as well as the command to "kill," made of that once proud citadel a shambles. Walls fell beneath the mighty bodies, and small Oparians were crushed to an unrecognizable melange of twisted, mashed shapes.

"La" lay dead, heart torn from her smooth breast, while all about her rec.u.mbent form strange creatures from other worlds scuttled and crawled. It was a nightmare, a fantasy from deepest h.e.l.l, yet there it was!

In the courtyard, where only a few of the other-world- lings smacked what pa.s.sed for lips in satisfaction over the feast of Oparians, the giant Silver Globe, awry on its axis, still hummed ominously. Glamo was not dead, but near to it. So weak, in fact, he could not reach the telereceiver that would have connected his mental impulses with Venus.

The drama was being played in the one, long tunnel, as Opar lay dying. As Glamo died.

Chapter XIV.

"The End of Opar"

BEHIND Tarzan as he frantically raced for safety- was the stench of death, the stench of the Followers. Jane's body was a dead weight, but one which he carried gladly as he raced for the pit, the bottomless pit in the tunnel which he knew lay only seconds ahead. Now his formerly failing memory came back in a flasha on the other side of the pit, even if he could leap it with the delightful burden on his back laya another Follower!

His rapid pace slowed as he thought about this. This was not the element of the mighty Tarzan; here were no trees, no vines, no branches, no natural enemies. The ape-man roared his displeasure, all civilization stripped from him, and the walls echoed his dislike of his surroundings without giving back a comforting answer. Baffled, he continued to trot forward because there was no other way to go, but a low growl from his lips indicated his displeasure, his reluctance to accept defeat.

And then, there it was! The edge of the mighty chasm, across which he had, unburdened, leaped and so foiled the Follower which still lay in wait on the other side. A Follower, moreover, which had recently been fed and hence was twice as dangerous, twice as alert!

Suddenly, as if by the hand of the mighty G.o.ds, came a rumble followed by a sharp blast, arid a shock wave which almost threw the Lord of the Jungle into the bottomless pit! The Silver Globe had exploded, utterly destroying Opar and many of the beasts still prowling its deserted, blood-reeking streets. The Followers, which were on the trail of Tarzan and Jane felt an almost mortal blow as Glamo died, sharply cutting off their sensory contacts with the world, and even the mighty ape-man knew that something out of the ordinary was amiss.

Wild creatures sense the trap, and so did Tarzan sense his entrapment. Opar gone, that entrance to the tunnel sealed, and the dreaded Followers between him and what would almost certainly be a sealed exit; before him, a chasm which, at the height of his powers, he had been barely able to leap; on his back his mate, Jane; across the abyss, another Follower, already waving its tentacles hungrily!

There was no way for him to know that the other end of the tunnel had been opened; indeed, he could only measure the peril of one Follower against that of a dozen, which were hot on his trail. For a moment, and a moment only, he felt the golden belt about his waist, hoping it would be enough to fend off one Follower long enough for the kill, knowing it couldn't help him in the pack that pursued.

Patiently, yet with animal cunning, he retraced his steps from the edge of the pit, counting. Just so! He shifted his wife's form more comfortably upon his shoulders, and then, with giant, leaping strides, raced for the edge of the abyss and leaped into darkest s.p.a.ce, right hand holding the steel blade willed to him by his father!

To Jane Clayton, it seemed that she was in the midst of a nightmare, a nightmare that would never end, yet end it did at last, and as she regained consciousness, safe in the arms of her mighty mate, her spirits leaped with renewed hope.

That which she saw was the merest flicker of a shadow upon the walls of the tunnel down which Tarzan was racing to save her, yet it might have been the sun, so brightly did her spirits soar. Had the lifted blade of La deprived her of all reason? No mattera her mate held her firmly, and his way led only to safety, to the blessed seclusion of their cottage, where, enfolded tenderly in Tarzan's arms, she might be rea.s.sured that all this was only a dream, a very bad dream.

Basuli and his warriors advanced slowly along the newly-opened tunnel, treading cautiously in the path of N'Gogo. Ahead came noises, foreign to the ears of the black hunter. He stopped, and his tribe of Waziri stopped behind him. He listened closely. It was a horrible, sucking sound, a sound with which he was not at all familiar, and he paused, considering. A fetid stench reached his nostrils, as of decaying meat, yet not quite of decaying meat. Basuli inched forward, considering. Basuli barked once, the bark of a baboon, then listened for a response which should have been returned forthwith.

Nothing.

So.

Basuli, intuitively, knew that N'Gogo was dead, that the sounds he'd heard were those of N'Gogo's body being devoured by some beast heretofore unencountered by the Waziri, although the odor of decay was dismaying and strangely familiar. The unknown that his warriors had encountered in the jungle many days to the west of this strangely reprehensible territory.

Basuli and his warriors pressed on, a.s.segais at the ready, zebra-skin shields raised before them. Somewhere ahead, not too far, was a monster which none of them had ever before encountered, unless one counted N'Gogo, and that worthy was not going to be available for a detailed report.

Just as Tarzan prepared to leap the gap, he felt a stealthy tentacle caress his leg, and stopped, his stride broken. There was no chance of even his mighty muscles throwing him across the gap with Jane upon his shoulders unless the take-off was perfect. Snarling, the ape-man turned upon his pursuers, those deadly Followers who were all but invulnerable, and his keen steel blade flashed in the demi-gloom as he slashed again and again at what he now knew to be their most sensitive parts, the eyes on the tips of their tentacles.

He thrust savagely, and the coiling tips withdrew, to strike again. Only by a miracle did the ape-man evade the poisonous fangs of the many-legged monster and then slash an extension of the evil body with his keen-edged knife. A foul odor, stronger than the odor now in the close air of the pa.s.sageway, filled his nostrils as slime oozed from the severed member.

Tarzan thought rapidly, unbuckled the golden belt about his waist, lashed behind him with it. The response was both immediate and satisfying as the huge creature cringed away from the acid touch of the gold. Heartened, he laid Jane upon the path of the tunnel, drove the Followers back up the pa.s.sageway. When he had cleared a path sufficient for a take-off and leap, to the best of his judgment, he picked up his mate, retreated the few steps necessary, and jumped off into utter black-ness!

This had to be it! Over the pit his lithe body sailed, every muscle strained to the breaking point as his steel-tipped fingers grasped for the edge, scrabbling on the hard rock. The leap seemed like an eternity to both the ape-man and his mate, although it lasted only a split second. On the far side of the pit, the Follower struck and struck again, its tentacles drawing back as they touched or came close to the golden belt. Behind it, Basuli's warriors engaged other tentacles, each with its own brain, its own poisonous fang, its own eye. Their spears struck, even in the darkness, true and strong.

"Kill!" cried Basuli, standing astride the shrunken, dry form that had once been N'Gogo. AKill, for the Waziri, for the Tarmangani, for our fellow, N'Gogo!" As the Waziri stabbed, slashed, fighting an unknown but dreaded enemy in almost total darkness, so did Tarzan inflict deep and mortal wounds on the Follower and its eight evil brains, each contained in a tentacle. Behind him, back across the pit, he could hear the others, thwarted in their aimless hunger, thrash the floor of the chamber with futility. The battle on this side was not going as well as could be desired, and Tarzan thought- fully removed his golden belt, the belt he'd taken from the limp form of Glamo, the Venusian. With it, he started to lash out at the tentacles of the Follower, and drove it back upon the all-consuming spears of the Waziri.

Finally, all eight tentacles pulsating, but lifeless, the Follower lay dead, exuding an odorous affluvium that all but sent the Waziri into a panic.

The ape-man shouldered his mate, stepped over the oozing stumps of the Venusian monster, and commanded Basuli to lead the party to daylight.

"N'Gogo?" asked the Lord of the Jungle.

"Ah," answered Basuli. AI fear he has walked down the trail for the last time. May his hunting be good, his women fat and warm!"

Tarzan, in the dark, patted a firm thigh, the leg of Lady Jane Greystoke, appreciatively. "Aye," he said to Basuli. "May his hunting be good. And his women fat."

The party left the chamber rapidly. The stench became less. One Follower was dead, behind them. Several were alive, but barely so, on the other side of the pit, with no means of egress into the desert. There, where they were, would they perish, although perhaps not for many years, perhaps centuries. La, high priestess of Opar, also known as Marda, the Venusian, was dead, her heart torn from her breast and held aloft to unknown Atlantean G.o.ds. Dead, also, was Glamo, the Venusian Lord, along with the Silver Globe, his s.p.a.ce ship, the vehicle which had so terrified the natives of the Congo.

As Tarzan, Jane and the Waziri emerged upon the plain, all was silent and it was becoming the purple dusk which can only be found in a few remote spots of the world; the dusk that is not quite dusk, yet neither dark nor daylight. When all shadows are luminous and mysterious, when the air cools, the flowers freshen and the beasts come to life. When the water runs cold and clear, and the shy ones, the hartebeest, the eland, the gnu, the dikdik, the topi and the barking zebra come down the game trails to drink.

This night there was a strange silence as Tarzan's party set off across the plains.

There were no carnivores, or at least very few.

Most had been wiped out without a trace or a sound when the Silver Globe had gone up in atoms.

Opar was no more, nor were its former inhabitants.

Finally, ultimately, many-centuries after the fact, all traces of the proud continent that had once called itself Atlantis had been wiped from the memory of man. Nothing remained, except the skeletal remains of a few strange beasts, which puzzled paleontologists of the thirtieth century would try, without result, to reconcile with what was known of the twentieth century, and of the fossils of Africa.

So have ended many dynasties.

Chapter XV.

"Home"