Tarzan: The Lost Adventure

He sniffed the air. There were two others in the dungeon. He recognized the scent of one.

  "Jean?" he said.

  "Yes," came her voice, then Tarzan's keen eyes identified her; he could see like a cat in the dark. Jean was wearing a brassiere and pants, but no shirt. Tarzan immediately realized what his bandages were made of. "We were waiting for you to awaken," Jean said.

  "Who is the other?" Tarzan asked.

  "Nyama," Jean said, and Nyama moved forward in the darkness.

  Tarzan laughed. "I came to rescue you, Jean."

  "They brought you in last night," Jean said. "You were unconscious. They were afraid of you. They put you in chains. I did the best I could to dress your wounds."

  "You did well," Tarzan said. "I presume I was spare. for some special purpose."

  "Nyama believes it is for the crocodiles, or for their god," Jean. said.

  "Ebopa would be the stick creature," Tarzan said.

  "You know of it, then?" Nyama said.

  Tarzan explained what he had seen on the wall fragment outside of the city. "I believe it is some kind beast from the center of the earth. From Pellucidar."

  "I have heard of Pellucidar," said Jean. "I read of it as a girl. A world at the center of the earth with a constant noonday sun. I thought it was a myth. A legend."

  "Your father thought I was a legend," Tarzan said. "He was wrong."

  "Not entirely," said Jean. "Any ordinary man would have died if they were beat as you were. And when they brought you in, they beat you some more. They were very angry. Nyama understands their language. She said they were angry you had killed friends of theirs. They only let you live because they were ordered to."

  "Then they made a mistake," Tarzan said.

  "Ebopa," Nyama said. "You say he is not a god?"

  "A god is made of whatever you choose," Tarzan said. "But as I said, I believe Ebopa is some sort of creature from the earth's core. There are all manner of beasts there. Beasts that once roamed topside, as well as creatures that have not- or least not until Ebopa somehow came to the surface. Or almost to the surface."

  "According to their legend, this thing has been around forever," Jean said. "How can that be?"

  "Who's to say how long it lives?" Tarzan said. "And perhaps there is some other answer. Whatever, wherever it is from, it lives. And so do

  I. Stand back." Jean and Nyama did as they were instructed. Tarzan stood up. He looped the chains around his palms and clenched them. He took several deep breaths, then tugged it the chains, straining the braces that held them to the floor. The bolts screamed in the stone floor and popped free.

  Tarzan knelt, took hold of the metal bands around one of his ankles, and twisted it with his mighty fingers. He juggled for a full three minutes, then there. was a popping noise as the restraining bolt in the ankle band snapped free.

  Tarzan went to work on the other. After a time, it too snappe d. Now, all that remained were the metal bands around his wrists. Tarzan went to work on them, and ten minutes later, the bands lay at his feet. He picked up a length of chain, coiled it around his bloody hand and let it dangle. Now he was free of the chains and they were his weapon.

  "What now?" Jean asked.

  "We try and escape. If we cannot, when they come, we fight to the death. If we are to die, let us make it on our own terms."

  Nkima, after several days' frolicking with his friends, realized he had forgotten about the man Tarzan wanted him to watch over. Actually, he had temporarily forgotten about Tarzan. He had gotten carried away with his bragging to the other monkeys, and now he realized the sun bad dipped down and up and down again, and he not know where either the tarmangani or Tarzan was.

  Nkima returned to where he had last seen Tarzan a began to follow his trail. He moved swiftly through trees, even more nimbly than Tarzan. He covered distance that would have taken days to cover by ground. By midday, the little monkey came to the outskirts of Ur, and here the smell of his master, Tarzan, was strongest.

  Nkima came to the moat around the city and saw that the water was filled with white crocodiles. The crocodile loved little monkeys- to eat. Nkima did not like the thought of trying to cross the moat. He could not stand water, and he liked crocodiles even less. He thought perhaps he should just wait back in the jungle for Tarzan return. He could play and eat fruit, and he would not have to face the crocodiles.

  He thought about this for a time, then decided Tarzan might be in trouble. He thought he smelled the aroma of Tarzan from over the wall. It was an aroma unlike the ape-man normally emitted. It was strong, sharp. It indicated there had been a great rise in physical activity. A surge of adrenaline. Of course, Nkima did not analyze these things in this manner. He merely smelled a different smell, and the scent alerted him that something was different.

  Nkima went into the jungle and found a large bird's nest in a tree. He pulled it down and carried it back to moat. He placed it in the moat. It floated. He climb inside the nest. Water leaked in, but still it floated. The nest drifted out into the moat. Now and then the little monkey paddled with his hands. He could see tarmangani walking along the wall, but he and the nest were so small the sentries had not taken notice of him.

  Unfortunately, the crocodiles had.

  When Nkima was over halfway across, he saw a crocodile raise its eyes out of the water, and behind it, all the way to the great wall, was a row of crocodile eyes.

  Nkima wished suddenly he was back with the other monkeys, bragging about his imagined feats.

  The foremost croc swam rapidly toward him, anxious to eat.

  When the croc was almost on him, its jaws open, ready to consume both nest and monkey, Nkima leapt onto the head of the reptile and hurdled from him to the head of another croc. He did this on the heads of four of the reptiles before they were aware of what was happening.

  The fifth moved, however, eliminating Nkima's foot-path, and Nkima fell with a screech into the water. T he little monkey's head bobbed to the surface just as the jaws of the croc opened to receive him.

  BILLY AND HANSON buried poor Small in a shallow grave beside the trail. then, forcing Wilson to the forefront, they drove him through the jungle. They were uncertain of the proper direction to Ur, but Hanson tried his best to pursue his original intent, hoping it was accurate.

  After a few hours, Billy spotted spoor that led them to a wide trail in the jungle. It was a well-traveled trail, and obviously not merely by animals; this trail, they could tell, was regu1arly cleared by tools, not just the pounding feet of trodding animals.

  They had gone only a little bit farther when they broke off the trail and onto the road that led to Ur. Here they found the warriors Tarzan had slain. Out in the field they saw three hobbled zebras, and nearby, they found a couple of chariots.

  "We could travel into Ur in style," Hanson said, pointing at the chariots.

  "And when the Urs see us," Dilly said, "they kill us in style. Better to be so sneaky-like."

  "Good point," Hanson said.

  Billy hustled up the three zebras. He used the harness from the chariots to fashion crude bridles, and in minutes, the three of them were mounted, heading down the road toward Ur.

  * * *

  Kurvandi, freshened by his blood bath, rinsed clean by clear water, and was dressed in his finest purple robes and sheepskin sandals. His magnificent headdress was made of soft leather and plumes of brightly colored birds, which nodded majestically as he walked. He was an extraordinary specimen. Nearly seven feet tall, muscular, handsome. He walked with the black lions at his side, a leash in either hand. He looked very regal and noble as he entered the throne room. He took his place on the. throne, and the lions lay at his feet.

  His servants came forward to fan him with great leaves. Officers of the court stood nearby, ready to respond to his every beck and call. After a moment of basking in his power, Kurvandi said: "The arena. Is it ready?"

  A little man with crooked legs wearing bright-colored clothing wobbled forward. "Yes, my king. It is
ready."

  "Then bring this bronze giant to me for examination," Kurvandi said.

  There was a low murmur in the room.

  "Well," said Kurvandi. "What is it?"

  "He is very dangerous, my lord," said the man with crooked legs. "He might harm you. He is quite the savage. Perhaps, my king, it is best you see him in arena."

  Kurvandi wrinkled his brows. "Hurt me? The king? Me, Kurvandi. Are you suggesting that be is more powerful than your king?"

  The little man with the crooked legs swallowed hard. His body trembled. "Oh, no, my king. He is a fly to you. But he is a savage, and if you were to kill him, or maim him, it would spoil the great delight you would have watching him torn limb from limb by Ebopa."

  Kurvandi considered this. "Very well."

  The little man was visibly relieved. "Thank you, my king."

  "Miltoon," Kurvandi said to the little man. "Go stand against that wall."

  "My king?" said Miltoon.

  "Must I, the King of Ur, repeat myself?"

  "No," Miltoon said, and wobbled on his crooked leg toward the wall.

  "Good," said Kurvandi. He waved his hand at one c his guards, an archer. "Bring me a bow and arrow."

  The guard rushed forward, removing his bow from it place on his back, puffing an arrow from his quiver.

  Kurvandi stood up and strung the arrow to the bow. "Do we have a piece of fruit? Something round that will rest on Miltoon's head?"

  A large yellow fruit was found and the bearer of the fruit practically galloped the length of the room toward Miltoon and placed it on the frightened little man's head.

  "Stand still now," Kurvandi said. "Let us see if you were lying. I want to know if you truly believe I am more deadly than this bronze

  giant."

  "Please, your majesty," said Miltoon. "You are all powerful. Everyone in Ur knows that."

  "Just Ur?" Kurvandi said, puffing the arrow back to hi ear, taking aim.

  "Everywhere!" Miltoon said. "They know it everywhere."

  "Shhhhhhhh," Kurvandi said. "You are shaking the fruit. Now hold your breath. The truth will come out when I fire this arrow. Am I not part god?"

  Miltoon held his breath.

  Kurvandi let loose the arrow

  Miltoon took the shaft in the right eye. His head knocked against the wall and the fruit fell forward, and Miltoon slid to a sitting position on the floor. The fruit in his lap.

  "Lying," Kurvandi said. He tossed the bow back to its owner. "Run and check the fruit."

  The archer bolted across the floor and recovered the yellow fruit from Miltoon's lap.

  "Is the fruit bruised?" asked Kurvandi.

  The archer examined it. "No, my king."

  "Is there blood on it?"

  "No," said the archer.

  Kurvandi was disappointed. "Very well. Bring it here."

  The archer once again bolted across the floor, handing the fruit to his king.

  Kurvandi took the fruit and the archer bowed and moved away. Kurvandi carefully examined the fruit..

  The archer was correct. No blood.

  Kurvandi ate it anyway.

  As Miltoon's body was dragged from Kurvandi's view, he considered the bronze giant. No use taking chances.

  "Let us proceed to the arena," he said. "Miltoon was right about one thing. I would not want to injure our entertainment."

  Even as Kurvandi was being carded toward the arena on a litter by slaves, his lions being led by servants, the word was passed that the giant and the captive white woman, as well as others, were to be brought to the arena.

  The dungeon where Tarzan, Jean, and Nyama were held received word first, and when the husky jailer opened the door, followed by half a dozen warriors who were to provide escort for the prisoners, they were surprised.

  It was a brief surprise, and far from pleasant. Its only positive element was that it was quick. As the jailer entered the dungeon and the light from the hallway flooded inside, the chain Tarzan held whipped out like a snake, and like a snake, it struck. Its fangs were the hard links that made up the chain. The impact shattered the jailer's head like an overripe fruit, and the contents of this fruit sprayed the guards and the messenger, and in that instant, a blinking of an eye really, Tarzan swung the chains, one in either hand, fast and rhythmically, taking out heads and knees. In less than an instant, four men lay dead and two were bolting out of the dungeon and down the hall. Befo re the one in the rear could make it to the stairs and freedom, Tarzan dropped the chains and took up a spear from one of the dead guards, and flung it. The spear struck the man in the back and passed almost completely through him, punching out of the breastplate armor he wore like a darning needle punching through cardboard.

  The man fell, hit on the extended spear, did a pirouette, and went down. Tarzan realized one man had escaped. He cursed his reflexes. He felt that the time he had spent away from the jungle had affected him. None of them should have escaped.

  The women grabbed spears. Tarzan kept one length of chain, looped it around his waist, found a spear and a short sword, and started up the stairway.

  Had little Nkima been human, he might have spent a moment praying, thinking of the fates, whatever, for when the crocodile closed its jaws, it looked as if for Nkima the world was about to end.

  But then, totally by accident, a gift from the gods, his little hand grasped a floating stick and he struck out with it. The strike was no good. Very clumsy. Which was exactly what saved Nkima's life. The stick went into the croc's mouth and lodged its jaws open. The croc, in pain, unable to snap the stick, began to thrash. Finally, the pressure of its powerful jaws did in fact splinter the wood, but by then it was too late for the croc to enjoy its meal. Nkima had thrashed toward the city wall and made it; he scampered halfway up and stopped on an outcropping of stone 'to look down on the crocodiles.

  What Nkima most wanted to do was to yell and curse the crocodiles and tell them what a brave and courageous monkey he was, and what cowards they were, but even Nkima, who was not strong on reason, determined that this was not the thing to do.

  It was important for him to be quiet. Be quiet and enter into Ur in search of his master, Tarzan.

  He went nimbly up the wall and over and into the city, right between two guards marching away from each other along the wall's walkway. Neither saw him.

  Nkima leapt to the ground below, sniffed the air, and proceeded.

  The one who escaped Tarzan was the messenger who had carried word for Tarzan and the two women to be brought to the arena. When he raced out of the dungeon, he began to yell for help. By the time Tarzan and the two women made it to the top of the dungeon stairs, the room was filled with warriors.

  Tarzan stabbed with the spear, then as quarters closed in, he fought with the sword until it snapped. Then he broke the spear in half and fought with the bladed end in one hand and the remains of the broken shaft in the other. He whacked and poked and the warriors fell. Few got up again.

  Jean and Nyama fought bravely as well. Bodies began to pile up, but the ape-man and the women were forced backwards; down the length of the great hall toward an arch. They fought through the arch and down a long row of steps, and discovered to their dismay that they were being pushed backwards into a tunnel made of stone. No sooner had they been forced past the mouth of the tunnel than a metal grate was dropped, and they were trapped.

  They turned and ran down the length of the tunnel toward the light, but even before they reached the source of illumination, Nyama realized where they were and said: "The arena."

  They stepped onto a large field closed off by walls. It was not actually the arena proper, but instead, a waiting station. Above the walls, seated on tiers of seats, was the populace of Ur. They had been waiting, and Tarzan grimaced, knowing he had allowed himself and his companions to be herded exactly where they were meant to go. He tossed aside the broken spear in disgust.

  Tarzan, Jean, and Nyama, covered in the blood of their enemies, returned to the cool
darkness of the tunnel and without so much as a word, sat down and rested.

  Tarzan said simply, "Do not give up. Remember. It is not over yet. We still live."

  Beyond the walls, there soon came sounds. Sounds of cheering from the seats, sounds of men, women, and wild animals engaged in combat.

  Never had Jean heard such horrid screams. She began to tremble, but then she remembered her vow. She was going to die with as much dignity as such a situation would allow. And if the only dignity she could muster was a brave death, then so be it.

  She looked at Nyama. Nyama did not appear frightened at all. She held her head up, chin lifted high, ready t face whatever came. Jean assumed that Nyama had been preparing for this day for some time, and perhaps she saw this not so much as an end to life, but an escape by death to freedom.

  After a time, the arena grew quiet.

  A door across from the trio opened, and in came a dozen warriors armed with bows and arrows. Their arrows were strung, their bows bent. They dropped to their knees and aimed the arrows at the three, then spoke and gestured.

  "They want her," Nyama said, translating; nodding to Jean. "It is her turn."

  The woman who had brought Jean to the dungeon and terrified her with the executioner's sword and the lions, broke through the ranks of archers, smiled, and pointed at Jean. She crooked her finger.

  "It's as I thought," Jean said. "She was saving me for herself."

  "Her name is Jeda. She hates outsiders," Nyama said.. "She especially hates white skins. And you she hates because you are a woman and not a warrior. She hates weakness."

  "We should rush them," Tarzan said. "Die together. Keep them from their sport."

  "No," Jean said, touching her hand to Tarzan's chest. "It is my turn. It will give you more life."

  "Now or twenty minutes from now," Tarzan said. "It is all the same."

  "I want to fight her," Jean said. "I can't win. I know that. But if I'm to die, let me do it fighting her. She has insulted me. They have killed my father and my friend Billy. It is the last thing you can do for me, Tarzan. The very last."

  Tarzan nodded, not wishing to argue, but he had already begun to formulate a plan. It was nothing terribly strategic, but it was a plan.