ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND THE SERIES: Today’s great interest in the adventures of Tarzan and some of the many other exciting characters created by the master storyteller, Edgar Rice Burroughs, has brought a demand for new, fresh Tarzan stories. With this book, Gold Star Books begins to fill that demand. Gold Star Books asked a talented, young California writer,

  Barton Werper, to create new Tarzan adventures, based on some of the original Tarzan characters, “Tarzan and the Snake People” is the first of this series by Mr. Werper whose previous work includes several television scripts and magazine short stories.

  TARZAN

  AND THE

  SNAKE PEOPLE

  Third in The New Tarzan Series

  By Barton Werper

  A GOLD STAR BOOK

  Published by The New International Library, Inc

  Cover illustration by Jack Endeweldt

  Š Copyright 1964 by Barton Werper. All English Language rights throughout the world exclusively controlled by The New International Library, Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  All Rights Reserved.

  GOLD STAR BOOKS are published by The New International Library, Inc., Capital International Building, Derby, Conn. Gold Star Books represent the best in reading entertainment by the world’s outstanding, best-selling authors.

  CHAPTER I

  The Missing Runner

  Jane Clayton, Lady Greystoke, stood on the steps of veranda watching one of her husband’s faithful Waizri warriors saddle her horse and lead it up the path from the corral. Her husband, John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, known far and wide to his African foes as Tarzan of the Apes, had sent a runner to his vast estate with a message which had cheered his wife’s heart. Tarzan was returning. He would be home within a matter of hours. Knowing how anxious and worried his lovely wife was whenever he spent more than a day or two in his beloved jungle, Tarzan had dispatched the runner at dawn that morning, to ease Jane’s fears and trepidations hy an hour or so. Such was the love between the jungle lord and cultured lady. Tarzan himself could have made the run in far less time than the native, but Tarzan had in care five children of the beleaguered Mogambi tribe – children he had rescued from their burning village. And Tarzan would trust no man but himself to guard these children from the dangers of the jungle. His message contained his reassurance to Jane that all was well with him; a request to have Basuli’s wife make ready room and food for his young charges; and asked that Jane ride out to meet him – as always of course in the company of his Waziri chieftain.

  As the tired runner gave the native Jane had selected to carry her reply to Tarzan instructions as to how to reach him, she was equally busy. First she’d retired to the privacy of her boudoir and given way to the tears that always came when she learned once again that Tarzan was safe. It had taken Jane many months of marriage to the strange but wonderful man to learn to control her emotions before others. That she could do so was a source of great satisfaction to her husband. She was, he often thought, the perfect mate. Secondly, Jane had washed away the signs of her tears with cold water, then gone into their large library to write her reply. As Tarzan had done, so did Jane first reassure him that all was well with her; advise him that Basuli’s wife was taking the necessary steps to welcome the Mogambi children; then telling him she would leave the bungalow at high noon, riding out with Basuli to the great thorn boma on the western border of their holdings. There, Lady Greystoke added, she would await Tarzan’s return. She signed the letter with all of her love; folded it and sealed it in a thick manila envelope. Then Jane walked back out onto the veranda, down its wide, gracefully curved; steps and across the path to the shadow of a huge-bush, in which Sat the fresh and the tired runners.

  “Here you are, Kamjei, she smiled graciously as she handed the lithe native the manila envelope. “This is my message for Tarzan, my husband. Carry it swiftly and safely to him.” She turned to the other runner. “Has he much time before he must leave?”

  The tired man shook his head briefly, at which gesture Kamjei stood erect from his crouching position, tucked the envelope snugly beneath the leather cord which supported his loincloth, and with a gesture of salute, moved swiftly out of the compound. Jane watched until he was out of sight, then turned and went back to the bungalow.

  Kamjei entered the greater jungle late that morning, moving as silently as the shadows surrounding him. Despite the heavy overgrowth of verdant vegetation, the tall runner moved swiftly and with the surety of knowledge. The sun dappled an occasional clearing which Kamjei always swerved to avoid, preferring instead to remain as though part of the deep brown and green coloration about him. Though he moved through a thick verdure and across a carpet made from many broken branches and twigs, he went so softly as to give no sound to human ears, and the minutest of sounds to the ever-listening ears of the jungle beasts.

  Tarzan had trained his runner well.

  Kamjei was aware of the many jungle noises behind and before him. They gave him a sense of safety and well-being. The trained ear can listen to those sounds and hear that all is right although the same sounds— the chattering of the monkeys, the screams of the big cats, the ever-present hum of the multitude of insects —might prove discomforting to a stranger.

  Suddenly Kamjei stopped in his tracks, turned his ears and his black eyes back in the direction he had just passed. For an instant he hesitated, listening and then as though moved by an inner fear or urgency moved forward at a faster pace than he had been traveling. The jungle about him had become quiet, and to a man of Kamjei’s nature that quiet was a warning. He did not greatly increase his speed, but his long swinging walk gave forth more sound than the easier pace had done. As he moved forward, the silence became more deafening to him, and he loosened his long, sharpened steel knife in preparation.

  As he reached a sharp turn in the barely perceptible path, he stopped suddenly in dismay. Before him lay a clear still pool, blue and unexpectedly bright in the equally unexpected clearing there in the midst of the jungle. Although he welcomed the sight of the water, he regretted the loss of the security of the many great trees. There were but three or four trees of any size beside the blue pool, and even the shrubs any bushes which dotted the pathway to it were not much protection. Then Kamjei thought to himself, perhaps I am wrong to be distracted. At least in a clearing such as this, no danger can approach undetected. I shall rest here a short while. I am ahead of the time the other runner gave me. Perhaps, as I wait, whatever it is that has quieted the beasts will move in another direction, Then shall be able to continue without danger. As he thought Kamjei was moving past the small shrubs across the clearing and to the side of the pool. Kneeling, he took a long draught of the cold water, feeling the welcome relief flood past his throat and into his empty stomach. Kamjei leaned back against the trunk of the leafy tree and stared down into the water determined to fight back the fear which was beginning to crowd his mind.

  When he first saw the reflection of the strange and red-rimmed eyes staring back at him from the pool Kamjei’s reaction was one of incredulous disbelief. Then, as he tried to turn to look up into the branches above him a feeling of lassitude, almost of languor overtook the handsome native. He found himself unable to move, unable to turn his sinewy body. As he stared in strange horror the eyes in the pool seemed to grow larger and closer. Suddenly they became part of a face, then as Kamjei struggled to scream in horror as the reflection took full focus, he felt the heavy weight hit him cutting his breath from his lungs, surrounding him and defeating him.

  Kamjei passed out before he fully saw his foe.

  Lady Greystoke and Basuli were almost twenty minutes late leaving the compound to ride out across the estate toward the great thorn boma. Their delay had been caused in part by the insistence of Basuli’s number one wife that they carry with them some food prepared especially for the children Tarzan was bringing back. While slightly irritated by the enormously fat old woman (the wife Basuli had inherited), Jane was also amused. Both she and Tarzan had long realized that although Basuli might be the chief, and speak disparagingly of the oldest and fattest of his many wives, it was still the number one wife who ran the Waziri compound. Usually Lord and Lady Greystoke gave in to her whims just as Basuli and the warriors did. On rare occasions, Tarzan was forced to put his foot down, and for days thereafter the entire Waziri tribe was treated with a sulky indifference by the old woman. So, this day, Jane hid her irritation and waited for the food. They would, she told herself, simply ride a little faster than planned, to make up the lost time.

  Basuli, the proud, erect and handsome Waziri chief, knew his master’s wife was upset. He knew it was his place to tell his own wife they couldn’t wait. But as strong and as brave as Basuli was, he waited. He did not, during those twenty minutes, look at Jane.

  Finally the food was packed securely across Basuli’s horse, and the two of them mounted their thoroughbreds and galloped swiftly across the compound. Without a word, both realized they must keep their mounts close to a gallop throughout the ride ahead in order to reach the boma by high noon. Neither had visioned the possibility of any further delay, and when Basuli’s mount stumbled and threw him heavily to the ground both knew anger as well as dismay. Jane’s first reaction was dismay and fear that the Waziri warrior had been injured. Basuli’s first reaction was anger, at his horse for stumbling, and at himself for losing his seat. Then dismay at the realization that this last delay would truly make them late for the tryst with Tarzan. It took the
Waziri a few minutes to regain his composure, and it took both Lady Greystoke and the warrior another ten minutes to coax the guilty horse back to their side. During that time, Jane made a half-hearted suggestion that she continue the trip alone. Both she and Basuli knew that Tarzan would be angered if she did so. The unwritten law on the Greystoke holdings was that Lady Greystoke never ventured out of the compound alone. Although Tarzan had taught his mate the lore of the jungle, although they frequently made swinging forays into the wilds of the jungle itself, although Jane had become adept in the trees and trailways of the jungle, Tarzan was adamant on this one point. She should not be alone. When she became uneasy beneath this constant supervision, Jane would try to argue herself out of the mood, remembering back to the horrors of being kidnapped by a tribe of renegade warriors. So, her suggestion was half-hearted on her side, ignored by Basuli.

  When they finally reached the great thorn boma it was well after high noon. Tarzan and his group were not there.

  “Odd, Basuli. Perhaps he met with some delay in the jungle. Had he arrived earlier, certainly he would have waited for us. My message told him we’d be here. If he hadn’t waited, we would have met them during our ride. What, I wonder, shall we do now?”

  “It is as you say, mistress. Tarzan must have met with a delay in the jungle. We must wait for him. He will surely be here soon.”

  “Yes Basuli,” the lovely woman sighed, “we will wait. He will surely be here soon.

  It had not occurred to either of them that Tarzan might not have received the message. Kamjei, after all, was the best runner in the compound.

  Therefore, they dismounted, and waited for Tarzan, king of the jungle.

  CHAPTER II

  The Unknown Enemy

  Tarzan had been away from Jane for close to ten days this time. They had been ten horrendous, days, filled with danger, hunger, death, and many battles. Tarzan had thrived upon them, although he would never tell their full story to his mate. She was, he thought to himself that last night, the most perfect of all mates, yet she remained a “she.” And, as such, she would never be able to fully understand the call of the wild; the necessity to do battle to regain his manhood from time to time; the craving within his jungle-bred blood for the fresh and exciting blood of a fresh kill; the yearning within this great man for the pitting of himself against his beloved yet savage jungle. Even now, after these past days of triumph over danger, Tarzan was not quite satisfied. The blood stream within him, fed by the milk of his savage ape mother, demanded more.

  So it was that the night before his return to his mate and to his own compromise with civilization that Tarzan lay awake. Tomorrow, he was thinking, I will be home. I shall be happy and glad to be home. However I have been almost ten days in my true home without being here.

  He raised his strong body quietly, looking about the small encampment. Two warriors stood firm guard beside the fire that watched over the rescued children. A fire is a necessary thing in the jungle at night. It is made necessary by the fiery yellow eyes which watch from the darkness beyond its perimeter. As Tarzan’s grey eyes swept about the site, his keen ears heard the moans and the coughing of the big cats. They were mingled with the many noises of other jungle beasts, and they combined to inflame the desire within the heart of John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, Tarzan of the Apes.

  He watched the scene for almost an hour before the insistent need took hold of him. Then he rose, noiseless, somehow managing to blend into the jungle darkness before the very eyes of his Waziri warriors, and, vaulting the protective shrub, swung with ease into a tall leafy tree, and vanished from sight. Within a matter of seconds all traces of his hard-learned civilization vanished, and he raced happily and swiftly through the middle terrace, swinging gracefully from one giant tree to the next. In a short while he tired of this tame sport, and climbed rapidly up to the thinner foliage of the upper terrace, where Goro the moon watched his antics in silent splendor. Once at the top, Tarzan stopped for a moment, stared his defiance at Goro, and with an uplifted arm raised his face and let forth the cry of the giant bull apes who had raised him from infancy. It was a hideous cry, and the jungle beneath him moved nervously at the sound. At the camp site the two silent warriors dared not glance at one another. Both knew the cry, both knew their master ter had gone out into the deep night—out into the jungle, looking for blood.

  The only reply Tarzan received from his challenge was a nervous silence. Angered, and near desperation for combat, the great man descended from the upper terrace, sought and found a game trail, and with nostrils quivering set out upon the scent of Bara, the deer. It was a fresh spoor, and Tarzan was once again happy. Within a matter of moments, the scent of Bara told Tarzan his prey was almost at hand. Once again he took to the trees. He remained within the lower terrace so that he could keep his ever-keen eyes upon the trail beneath him. Within a matter of minutes the hunt-hungry ape-man spotted his prey. Bara was standing, as though waiting for his fate, at the very edge of a jungle clearing. For Tarzan it was one more stroke of good fortune that the deer stood directly beneath one of the giant trees which formed the perimeter of the clearing. He crept silently toward the beast, holding in his right hand the long, deadly hunting knife of his father, his heart pounding with the exciting challenge of the forthcoming combat. He reached the branch nearest Bara and paused less than two seconds before he leapt down upon the svelte back of the unsuspecting deer. His impact carried the animal to its knees with stunning swiftness. Before it could recover, Tarzan had found its heart with the weapon he carried. Bara was dead. Tarzan had found his food for the night. As he arose from the brief fray, and lifted his face to the moon preparing to voice his wild cry of victory—the cry of the bull apes which he had learned as a child— he was struck by a sudden strange silence, so deadly quiet in fact, that it sealed the lips of the huge man. Angrily, he swept his savage eyes about the moonlit. clearing. He lifted his keen nostrils to the wind, sniffing as would a beast, for some odor to which he could connect this weird silence. From his lips broke a low, rumbling growl. There was no reply from the jungle night. The silence continued.

  To meet this new challenge, Tarzan turned his back upon the trees, squatted down upon his fresh kill and cut a generous helping for himself from hind quarter. All senses keenly alert, the man waited. Nothing moved. No warning odor of hunting beast reached his quivering nostrils. No sound of throat nor movement reached his waiting ears. The ape-man growled another savage warning and tore a mouthful of fresh, newly killed meat from the portion he held in his hand. Again, he waited. Again, nothing happened. Only the eerie silence continued. For Tarzan, this was a matter of personal pride as well as a possible challenge to his well-being. The great man knew this particular portion of the jungle as completely as he knew every inch of his own holdings far to the south. Among its beasts he had both friends and enemies, all of which he knew. The silence told him one astounding thing. There was an interloper in his territory—a man, or beast, strange to the land, and a man, or beast, who portended danger to its inhabitants. The silence itself was the most ominous of warnings— a warning from both friend and foe. Realizing what the quiet might portend, although even his keen mind could not guess at the unknown, Tarzan suddenly and swiftly grasped the remainder of his one portion, and leaped into the branches of the large tree overhanging the scene. This move was not made from any form of fear. In the jungle, a man ruled by fear cannot live through one day and night. It was rather a move of calculated discretion. Knowing not who or what his new enemy might be, Tarzan retreated to allow himself the time and freedom of movement to discover it. Had he been on one of his lone forays into the wilds, Tarzan would have forced the issue then and there. However, the main civilized trait to have rubbed off on the ape-man during his years in London, and since his marriage to Jane, was that of responsibility. Twenty minutes away from this scene of danger slept the native children he had rescued but two short days earlier. To have left them in the care of his Waziri warriors for a brief fling in a friendly jungle was one thing. To leave them alone with those same Waziri warriors when the jungle was harboring a new and unknown danger was quite another. Tarzan stood quietly upon the great branch for a few more minutes, keen grey eyes surveying the scene beneath and around him. Still nothing but that ominous quiet. Finally he lifted his head and gave one last, full sniff of the slow jungle breeze. Then, dropping the remains of the hindquarter down into the clearing beside the dead deer, Tarzan swung higher into the trees, climbing rapidly into the upper terrace where there were lesser boughs so that he could move more swiftly, and raced back toward the encampment of children and Waziri. Tomorrow, he told himself as he sped through the night, tomorrow after I get them all back safely, I shall return and seek out this strange thing. Behind him, the jungle remained brooding, fearful and quiet.