Fate guided him to the very doorway of the great roofless chamber. Between him and the altar was the long row of priests and priestesses, awaiting with their golden cups the spilling of the warm blood of their victim. La’s hand was descending slowly toward the bosom of the frail, quiet figure that lay stretched upon the hard stone. Tarzan gave a gasp that was almost a sob as he recognized the features of the girl he loved. And then the scar upon his forehead turned to a flaming band of scarlet, a red mist floated before his eyes, and, with the awful roar of the bull ape gone mad, he sprang like a huge lion into the midst of the votaries.
Seizing a cudgel from the nearest priest, he laid about him like a veritable demon as he forged his rapid way toward the altar. The hand of La had paused at the first noise of interruption. When she saw who the author of it was she went white. She had never been able to fathom the secret of the strange white man’s escape from the dungeon in which she had locked him. She had not intended that he should ever leave Opar, for she had looked upon his giant frame and handsome face with the eyes of a woman and not those of a priestess.
In her clever mind she had concocted a story of wonderful revelation from the lips of the flaming god himself, in which she had been ordered to receive this white stranger as a messenger from him to his people on earth. That would satisfy the people of Opar, she knew. The man would be satisfied, she felt quite sure, to remain and be her husband rather than to return to the sacrificial altar.
But when she had gone to explain her plan to him he had disappeared, though the door had been tightly locked as she had left it. And now he had returned — materialized from thin air — and was killing her priests as though they had been sheep. For the moment she forgot her victim, and before she could gather her wits together again the huge white man was standing before her, the woman who had lain upon the altar in his arms.
“One side, La,” he cried. “You saved me once, and so I would not harm you; but do not interfere or attempt to follow, or I shall have to kill you also.”
As he spoke he stepped past her toward the entrance to the subterranean vaults.
“Who is she?” asked the high priestess, pointing at the unconscious woman.
“She is mine,” said Tarzan of the Apes.
For a moment the girl of Opar stood wide-eyed and staring. Then a look of hopeless misery suffused her eyes — tears welled into them, and with a little cry she sank to the cold floor, just as a swarm of frightful men dashed past her to leap upon the ape-man.
But Tarzan of the Apes was not there when they reached out to seize him. With a light bound he had disappeared into the passage leading to the pits below, and when his pursuers came more cautiously after they found the chamber empty, they but laughed and jabbered to one another, for they knew that there was no exit from the pits other than the one through which he had entered. If he came out at all he must come this way, and they would wait and watch for him above.
And so Tarzan of the Apes, carrying the unconscious Jane Porter, came through the pits of Opar beneath the temple of The Flaming God without pursuit. But when the men of Opar had talked further about the matter, they recalled to mind that this very man had escaped once before into the pits, and, though they had watched the entrance he had not come forth; and yet today he had come upon them from the outside. They would again send fifty men out into the valley to find and capture this desecrater of their temple.
After Tarzan reached the shaft beyond the broken wall, he felt so positive of the successful issue of his flight that he stopped to replace the tumbled stones, for he was not anxious that any of the inmates should discover this forgotten passage, and through it come upon the treasure chamber. It was in his mind to return again to Opar and bear away a still greater fortune than he had already buried in the amphitheater of the apes.
On through the passageways he trotted, past the first door and through the treasure vault; past the second door and into the long, straight tunnel that led to the lofty hidden exit beyond the city. Jane Porter was still unconscious.
At the crest of the great bowlder he halted to cast a backward glance toward the city. Coming across the plain he saw a band of the hideous men of Opar. For a moment he hesitated. Should he descend and make a race for the distant cliffs, or should he hide here until night? And then a glance at the girl’s white face determined him. He could not keep her here and permit her enemies to get between them and liberty. For aught he knew they might have been followed through the tunnels, and to have foes before and behind would result in almost certain capture, since he could not fight his way through the enemy burdened as he was with the unconscious girl.
To descend the steep face of the bowlder with Jane Porter was no easy task, but by binding her across his shoulders with the grass rope he succeeded in reaching the ground in safety before the Oparians arrived at the great rock. As the descent had been made upon the side away from the city, the searching party saw nothing of it, nor did they dream that their prey was so close before them.
By keeping the KOPJE between them and their pursuers, Tarzan of the Apes managed to cover nearly a mile before the men of Opar rounded the granite sentinel and saw the fugitive before them. With loud cries of savage delight, they broke into a mad run, thinking doubtless that they would soon overhaul the burdened runner; but they both underestimated the powers of the ape-man and overestimated the possibilities of their own short, crooked legs.
By maintaining an easy trot, Tarzan kept the distance between them always the same. Occasionally he would glance at the face so near his own. Had it not been for the faint beating of the heart pressed so close against his own, he would not have known that she was alive, so white and drawn was the poor, tired face.
And thus they came to the flat-topped mountain and the barrier cliffs. During the last mile Tarzan had let himself out, running like a deer that he might have ample time to descend the face of the cliffs before the Oparians could reach the summit and hurl rocks down upon them. And so it was that he was half a mile down the mountainside ere the fierce little men came panting to the edge.
With cries of rage and disappointment they ranged along the cliff top shaking their cudgels, and dancing up and down in a perfect passion of anger. But this time they did not pursue beyond the boundary of their own country. Whether it was because they recalled the futility of their former long and irksome search, or after witnessing the ease with which the ape-man swung along before them, and the last burst of speed, they realized the utter hopelessness of further pursuit, it is difficult to say; but as Tarzan reached the woods that began at the base of the foothills which skirted the barrier cliffs they turned their faces once more toward Opar.
Just within the forest’s edge, where he could yet watch the cliff tops, Tarzan laid his burden upon the grass, and going to the near-by rivulet brought water with which he bathed her face and hands; but even this did not revive her, and, greatly worried, he gathered the girl into his strong arms once more and hurried on toward the west.
Late in the afternoon Jane Porter regained consciousness. She did not open her eyes at once — she was trying to recall the scenes that she had last witnessed. Ah, she remembered now. The altar, the terrible priestess, the descending knife. She gave a little shudder, for she thought that either this was death or that the knife had buried itself in her heart and she was experiencing the brief delirium preceding death. And when finally she mustered courage to open her eyes, the sight that met them confirmed her fears, for she saw that she was being borne through a leafy paradise in the arms of her dead love. “If this be death,” she murmured, “thank God that I am dead.”
“You spoke, Jane!” cried Tarzan. “You are regaining consciousness!”
“Yes, Tarzan of the Apes,” she replied, and for the first time in months a smile of peace and happiness lighted her face.
“Thank God!” cried the ape-man, coming to the ground in a little grassy clearing beside the stream. “I was in time, after all.”
“In time?
What do you mean?” she questioned.
“In time to save you from death upon the altar, dear,” he replied. “Do you not remember?” “Save me from death?” she asked, in a puzzled tone. “Are we not both dead, my Tarzan?”
He had placed her upon the grass by now, her back resting against the stem of a huge tree. At her question he stepped back where he could the better see her face.
“Dead!” he repeated, and then he laughed. “You are not, Jane; and if you will return to the city of Opar and ask them who dwell there they will tell you that I was not dead a few short hours ago. No, dear, we are both very much alive.”
“But both Hazel and Monsieur Thuran told me that you had fallen into the ocean many miles from land,” she urged, as though trying to convince him that he must indeed be dead. “They said that there was no question but that it must have been you, and less that you could have survived or been picked up.”
“How can I convince you that I am no spirit?” he asked, with a laugh. “It was I whom the delightful Monsieur Thuran pushed overboard, but I did not drown — I will tell you all about it after a while — and here I am very much the same wild man you first knew, Jane Porter.”
The girl rose slowly to her feet and came toward him.
“I cannot even yet believe it,” she murmured. “It cannot be that such happiness can be true after all the hideous things that I have passed through these awful months since the LADY ALICE went down.”
She came close to him and laid a hand, soft and trembling, upon his arm.
“It must be that I am dreaming, and that I shall awaken in a moment to see that awful knife descending toward my heart — kiss me, dear, just once before I lose my dream forever.”
Tarzan of the Apes needed no second invitation. He took the girl he loved in his strong arms, and kissed her not once, but a hundred times, until she lay there panting for breath; yet when he stopped she put her arms about his neck and drew his lips down to hers once more.
“Am I alive and a reality, or am I but a dream?” he asked.
“If you are not alive, my man,” she answered, “I pray that I may die thus before I awaken to the terrible realities of my last waking moments.”
For a while both were silent — gazing into each others’ eyes as though each still questioned the reality of the wonderful happiness that had come to them. The past, with all its hideous disappointments and horrors, was forgotten — the future did not belong to them; but the present — ah, it was theirs; none could take it from them. It was the girl who first broke the sweet silence.
“Where are we going, dear?” she asked. “What are we going to do?”
“Where would you like best to go?” he asked. “What would you like best to do?”
“To go where you go, my man; to do whatever seems best to you,” she answered.
“But Clayton?” he asked. For a moment he had forgotten that there existed upon the earth other than they two. “We have forgotten your husband.”
“I am not married, Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried. “Nor am I longer promised in marriage. The day before those awful creatures captured me I spoke to Mr. Clayton of my love for you, and he understood then that I could not keep the wicked promise that I had made. It was after we had been miraculously saved from an attacking lion.” She paused suddenly and looked up at him, a questioning light in her eyes. “Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried, “it was you who did that thing? It could have been no other.”
He dropped his eyes, for he was ashamed.
“How could you have gone away and left me?” she cried reproachfully.
“Don’t, Jane!” he pleaded. “Please don’t! You cannot know how I have suffered since for the cruelty of that act, or how I suffered then, first in jealous rage, and then in bitter resentment against the fate that I had not deserved. I went back to the apes after that, Jane, intending never again to see a human being.” He told her then of his life since he had returned to the jungle — of how he had dropped like a plummet from a civilized Parisian to a savage Waziri warrior, and from there back to the brute that he had been raised.
She asked him many questions, and at last fearfully of the things that Monsieur Thuran had told her — of the woman in Paris. He narrated every detail of his civilized life to her, omitting nothing, for he felt no shame, since his heart always had been true to her. When he had finished he sat looking at her, as though waiting for her judgment, and his sentence.
“I knew that he was not speaking the truth,” she said. “Oh, what a horrible creature he is!”
“You are not angry with me, then?” he asked.
And her reply, though apparently most irrelevant, was truly feminine.
“Is Olga de Coude very beautiful?” she asked.
And Tarzan laughed and kissed her again. “Not one-tenth so beautiful as you, dear,” he said.
She gave a contented little sigh, and let her head rest against his shoulder. He knew that he was forgiven.
That night Tarzan built a snug little bower high among the swaying branches of a giant tree, and there the tired girl slept, while in a crotch beneath her the ape-man curled, ready, even in sleep, to protect her.
It took them many days to make the long journey to the coast. Where the way was easy they walked hand in hand beneath the arching boughs of the mighty forest, as might in a far-gone past have walked their primeval forbears. When the underbrush was tangled he took her in his great arms, and bore her lightly through the trees, and the days were all too short, for they were very happy. Had it not been for their anxiety to reach and succor Clayton they would have drawn out the sweet pleasure of that wonderful journey indefinitely.
On the last day before they reached the coast Tarzan caught the scent of men ahead of them — the scent of black men. He told the girl, and cautioned her to maintain silence. “There are few friends in the jungle,” he remarked dryly.
In half an hour they came stealthily upon a small party of black warriors filing toward the west. As Tarzan saw them he gave a cry of delight — it was a band of his own Waziri. Busuli was there, and others who had accompanied him to Opar. At sight of him they danced and cried out in exuberant joy. For weeks they had been searching for him, they told him.
The blacks exhibited considerable wonderment at the presence of the white girl with him, and when they found that she was to be his woman they vied with one another to do her honor. With the happy Waziri laughing and dancing about them they came to the rude shelter by the shore.
There was no sign of life, and no response to their calls. Tarzan clambered quickly to the interior of the little tree hut, only to emerge a moment later with an empty tin. Throwing it down to Busuli, he told him to fetch water, and then he beckoned Jane Porter to come up.
Together they leaned over the emaciated thing that once had been an English nobleman. Tears came to the girl’s eyes as she saw the poor, sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, and the lines of suffering upon the once young and handsome face.
“He still lives,” said Tarzan. “We will do all that can be done for him, but I fear that we are too late.”
When Busuli had brought the water Tarzan forced a few drops between the cracked and swollen lips. He wetted the hot forehead and bathed the pitiful limbs.
Presently Clayton opened his eyes. A faint, shadowy smile lighted his countenance as he saw the girl leaning over him. At sight of Tarzan the expression changed to one of wonderment.
“It’s all right, old fellow,” said the ape-man. “We’ve found you in time. Everything will be all right now, and we’ll have you on your feet again before you know it.”
The Englishman shook his head weakly. “It’s too late,” he whispered. “But it’s just as well. I’d rather die.”
“Where is Monsieur Thuran?” asked the girl.
“He left me after the fever got bad. He is a devil. When I begged for the water that I was too weak to get he drank before me, threw the rest out, and laughed in my face.” At the thought of it the man was sud
denly animated by a spark of vitality. He raised himself upon one elbow. “Yes,” he almost shouted; “I will live. I will live long enough to find and kill that beast!” But the brief effort left him weaker than before, and he sank back again upon the rotting grasses that, with his old ulster, had been the bed of Jane Porter.
“Don’t worry about Thuran,” said Tarzan of the Apes, laying a reassuring hand on Clayton’s forehead. “He belongs to me, and I shall get him in the end, never fear.”
For a long time Clayton lay very still. Several times Tarzan had to put his ear quite close to the sunken chest to catch the faint beating of the worn-out heart. Toward evening he aroused again for a brief moment.
“Jane,” he whispered. The girl bent her head closer to catch the faint message. “I have wronged you — and him,” he nodded weakly toward the ape-man. “I loved you so — it is a poor excuse to offer for injuring you; but I could not bear to think of giving you up. I do not ask your forgiveness. I only wish to do now the thing I should have done over a year ago.” He fumbled in the pocket of the ulster beneath him for something that he had discovered there while he lay between the paroxysms of fever. Presently he found it — a crumpled bit of yellow paper. He handed it to the girl, and as she took it his arm fell limply across his chest, his head dropped back, and with a little gasp he stiffened and was still. Then Tarzan of the Apes drew a fold of the ulster across the upturned face.
For a moment they remained kneeling there, the girl’s lips moving in silent prayer, and as they rose and stood on either side of the now peaceful form, tears came to the ape-man’s eyes, for through the anguish that his own heart had suffered he had learned compassion for the suffering of others.
Through her own tears the girl read the message upon the bit of faded yellow paper, and as she read her eyes went very wide. Twice she read those startling words before she could fully comprehend their meaning.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 53