Tarzan, too, woke up in strange surroundings. He was aware of the smell of incense, of luxurious satin sheets and deep pillows. Soft oriental music played faintly in the background. He biinked, slid a hand down his thigh. His knife was gone. A strange man was standing beside the couch on which he reclined, he saw as he turned his head slowly.

  “Ah,” the man said, in nearly perfect English. “I see you are coming around. Good. Excellent. Her Majesty, Queen Ak-Ahmen, will be pleased. I believe she wishes to speak with you as soon as you are fully recovered. Now, a spot of brandy? Wine, perhaps? Or we have a sort of native drink, made from some rather exotic berries growing high on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Or would you like something to eat?”

  Tarzan looked further about the room. Giant slaves, armed with razor-sharp scimitars, guarded the entrance. “Where am I?”

  “You are in my quarters,” the man said, smiling thinly. “I am Ra-Man, Lord High Chamberlain, I suppose you would say, to Ak-Ahmen. She is smitten with you. Infatuated, one might say. Never has she seen such brute strength in mortal man. Nor, I must admit with all honesty, neither have I. Listen to me. We have little time. Ak-Ahmen, as you have seen, is an evil woman. Evil! She leads her people in the paths of vice, profligacy, drunkenness.”

  Tarzan cast a cynical eye at him. “You are her Lord High Chamberlain, are you not? Then this must be the sort of rulership you endorse.”

  Ra-Man shook his head, impatiently. “No, you do not understand. Against her, and her tame yeti, I can do nothing. The guards, the human guards, are loyal to me to a man. Yet, we could not stand against the yeti. She gives them a drug, I know not what it is, nor her source of supply. All I know is that Ak-Ahmen, and only Ak-Ahmen, can control them.”

  The ape-man was curious. “What exactly are you people, anyway?”

  “We were-are-Egyptians. Many years ago, almost buried in time, we were forced to flee Egypt, flee from the wrath of the Pharaohs, who abhorred the twisted blood-lines that made this tribe so evil. Ak-Ahmen is the last of her seed. With her, this evil tribe dies. At least, her rulership shall die with her, unless she can produce what she likes to think of as a ‘worthy heir.’ A male heir. You have been chosen to become her consort, to father this hell-child. Now do you understand?”

  Curious, Tarzan asked, “And if I should agree to this, what would be my ultimate fate?”

  “You would be killed; fed to the tame yeti.”

  “They eat human flesh?”

  Ra-Man shrugged. “There is precious little other flesh for them to eat. When one is killed in the arena, he is fed to the yeti.”

  “And what do you eat?” “As I said, there is precious little to eat. We eat yeti. They are, after all, little more than cattle.”

  “The cats and the rats,” mused Tarzan.

  “I do not understand you.”

  “I suppose not.” Tarzan lay silent for a minute longer, then sat up. “You have a proposal to make?”

  “I do. You and you alone will be in a position to be alone, absolutely alone, with Ak-Ahmen. Kill her. I shall then become ruler, and I will see to it that your entire party is freed to return to your regular lives. We shall become friends, allies. Peace will come to my people with honest, fair rule. Why should we live like animals, burrowed into the side of a mountain, unable to take advantage of new ways, better ways?”

  Tarzan thought it a stirring speech, but for some reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust this rather too suave, oily man. “I will think upon it,” he said.

  “You will do it? You will kill her?”

  “I will think upon it. Now, take me to her, if she is ready to receive me. These things get no better with the passage of time.”

  Ra-Man bowed slightly. “How true. If you mention our conversation to the queen, I am a dying man.”

  Tarzan looked at him curiously. “Do you fear death so much, then? There are far worse things. And as for that, a wise man once said we are all dying men. Dying from the day of our birth. I think it does not matter if some die a bit sooner than others. However, you have my word for it. I shall not mention this conversation.”

  “Thank you.” Beads of sweat stood out on the man’s forehead. There was no doubt that, even if not completely sincere in his promises, he was honest enough about the fear he felt of the queen. “Oh,” he added, “your knife. I almost forgot to return it.” He reached beneath his flowing multi-colored robes and produced the knife that had once belonged to Tarzan’s father. “This might be useful, no?” he said, meaningfully.

  Tarzan inspected the knife and the keenness of its blade, then slid it into the sheath at his waist. Without speaking, he nodded. The chamberlain clapped his hands, and the guards opened the doors. Tarzan left, flanked on either side by guards who were almost as big and stoutly muscled as he, himself. To what? He wished he knew.

  Basuli could stand the inactivity no longer. He fetched up his Waziri warriors, and told them, grimly, “We go to the mountain, into the biting cold. It is our duty. There will be no turning back. We take nothing with us but our assegai, our hunting spears. The first warrior who hesitates will be struck down by my own hand. Is this understood?”

  This was Waziri talk, the sort of talk his people could understand. There was no cheering, no yelping and jumping up and down. No stimulation was needed; the Waziri were always ready to do battle, and what better cause than this? Silently, with deadly purpose, the Waziri, in single file, raced to the downed plane and up, high up onto the snow slope, taking turns breaking trail, following like great, glistening, silent hounds the plainly marked trail before them. In moments, they had caught up with the clumsier, less well-organized great apes, and with Jack, Tarzan’s son. The trail all had been following ended abruptly at a huge, apparently immovable boulder. Some superhuman strength had moved it into place, and the combined efforts of the great apes had not been enough to move it. With a shout, Basuli urged his forces to join their strength with that of the huge anthropoids, and slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, the huge boulder rolled aside, and then went bounding down into the valley below.

  Jack held up a hand. “It is needful,” he said in the language of the apes, “that one go first as a scout. This gun gives me the strength of many. I shall scout the way, then return and lead you.” He repeated the message in the tongue of the Waziri. Quickly, before an objection could be raised, he turned and entered the black tunnel. He had no idea as to its destination. It was enough to know that his mother, his father and his friends had been brought this way. Where they had gone, he could follow.

  The arena had long since grown quiet. Even the last of the stragglers had gone to their quarters. If there was a clean-up crew, or a watchman, which seemed likely, no such had as yet made an appearance. A single flickering torch still burned, giving off only a hint of illumination. Jedak, the great ape, had been left for dead. Sprawled about the arena were other figures. Several yeti, a pair of very dead guards, what appeared to be a spectator who had been overcome by excitement and fallen many feet over the rail to be dashed to his death on the hard floor of the fighting arena. Jedak, alone, lived. He had been stunned; indeed, the blow he had sustained would have killed a man instantly. But huge neck muscles and a superb condition had allowed him to live. Cautiously, the giant shaggy figure turned its head, almost groaning aloud with the pain. Jedak looked in all directions, senses at the alert. Nothing moved, not a whisper of sound entered the arena. Slowly, he got to his feet, staying close to the wall, against which he felt it necessary to lean for support from time to time. Brute cunning told him he would be overmatched in any pitched battle. He had to bring help. Tarzan, he presumed, was either dead or captive, or he, Jedak, would not have been left alone. Very well, so be it. He would return with assistance. If Tarzan was dead, then his death would be avenged. If he was alive, Jedak and whatever help he could summon should free him and destroy this hateful place! He knew only one way out-the way by which they had entered. He half walked, half stumbled to the huge grilled doors under the arena, opened them cautiously, then stood peering, sniffing. Nothing strange. A hundred yards down, at the blind turn in the tunnel, he stopped, again listening and sniffing. No sound came to his cars, not even the whistling bark of the strange creatures. Out in the flickering torchlight now, he moved more rapidly. He passed the wild yeti pens, but they all seemed to be sleeping. Nowhere did he hear a challenge. No guard appeared to be on duty. Past the pens, the tunnel again angled, and again he was traveling in darkness. He proceeded with caution, and had just come to a halt, the odor of strange tarmangani strong in his nostrils, when he was suddenly clubbed from behind, expertly, just by the car. He fell, unconscious, dropping like a rock. A torch played on his body, then switched to his features.

  “Good lord,” Jack muttered under his breath. “Jedak! I wonder where the others are?”

  Leaving the leader of the giant apes lying there, for there was little else to do with him. Jack, now using his torch, raced back to the tunnel entrance. “Come with me, quickly,” he ordered both the Waziri and the great apes. “I have just found Jedak! Prudently, he decided to say no more at the moment.

  The pair of guards escorted Tarzan down winding halls. No dungeons, these. The walls were hung with costly, indeed priceless, tapestries. The floor was carpeted with some thick material. Instead of murky torches, ornate lamps of purest gold swung from the roof. They paused before a door guarded by yet another pair of the huge slaves, and Tarzan’s escort spoke to the others in a strange tongue. One of the guards tapped firmly on the door, and a melodious voice answered in the same tongue. He swung open the door, and motioned Tarzan and his escort inside. Reclining on a couch, with a slave girl waving a fan of some sort of plumes over her head, reclined the queen. She was incredibly lovely. She was wearing only a gossamer-thin gown which only enhanced her beauty, and certainly concealed it not at all. Her only jewelry was a giant scarab suspended from a thin golden chain, which swung between her breasts. About her brow was a golden band, ending in a forward-thrusting serpent’s head.

  She broke the silence. “Welcome,” she said with mock humility. “Welcome to my humble quarters. I trust you will find … everything to your satisfaction.”

  She inclined her head toward the door, and the guards bowed, backing to the door and closing it softly behind them.

  “Now,” she said, smiling faintly. “We are alone.”

  “Do you not fear being alone with me?” Tarzan asked, practically.

  “I fear no one. Nothing. Should I fear you?” Her smile was enticing, an open invitation. “Perhaps you should fear me, rather.”

  “Perhaps,” Tarzan said. “How is it you speak English?”

  Her eyes widened in mock surprise. Seemingly she mocked at everyone, everything, even at life itself. “You don’t think you’re the first Englishman to visit Kilimanjaro? Many have … disappeared … on its slopes. Yes. Some of them in the most interesting ways. Here, come sit beside me. I suppose Ra-Man has told you I am taking you for my consort?”

  “I prefer to stand, just yet, anyway, until I know exactly what it is you have in mind for me.”

  Her laugh pealed like a silver bell. “Come now. Surely we shan’t find it necessary to go into clinical detail. Tell me, do you find me so distasteful? Repulsive? Ugly? Or am I beautiful, desirable?”

  “Certainly you’re not ugly. I find youlbeautiful, yes.” But Tarzan was looking below the surface, deep into her eyes. What he saw there was beautiful as a cobra is beautiful: beautiful, but dangerous, deadly, to be watched every moment. They were eyes which had too long looked on cruelty and torture, on death in the name of some savage lust. “Have I nothing to say about being your consort?”

  “Of course not. I am the queen. What I want, I take.” Tarzan’s lips quirked at the corners. “Without discussing this from a purely clinical viewpoint, it occurs to me that you wish children, a male offspring. If I decide not to cooperate, there’s precious little you can do about it, is there?”

  Her eyes glittered coldly. “There are drugs. I prefer not to use them. I thought you might have some such maidenly objections,” she added with a certain ill-concealed scorn, “so I have arranged a little surprise for you. Come with me.” She clapped her hands, and the doors swung open. The guards who had accompanied Tarzan to the queen’s chambers entered and took their place at cither side of him. The pair at the door fell in behind, and the queen followed, attended only by a pair of hand-maidens. Thus the little procession made its way to the queen’s box in the arena. This time, although the torches had been lighted and the bodies dragged out, there was no one there but Ra-Man, who stood gravely beside the queen’s throne. The queen indicated a seat beside her, and Tarzan sank down, half-apprehensively. Immediately, before he could resist, he was seized and bound with strong fetters to the stone chair. “How much lovelier,” Ak-Ahmen murmured, amusement in her eyes, “were you bound to me by the sweet bonds of love!”

  Tarzan growled deeply in his throat, trying the bonds. They were not going to move. Ra-Man looked significantly at Tarzan’s knife, and slowly closed one eye in a conspiratorial wink when the queen’s head was turned.

  Now slaves brought two stout posts to the center of the arena, placing them in holes that had already been prepared in the arena floor, tamping dirt firmly about them until they were immovable, as if set in hardened concrete.

  Now two women were led out, and tied to the stakes. The slaves tested their bonds, then stepped back, bowing in the direction of the queen’s box. Tarzan felt his heart stand still. He strained mightily at his bonds, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. “What have you done? What are you doing to those women?”

  One was Patricia Newhall, and the other was Jane. Jane’s eyes sought those of her husband. She stood proudly. Afraid, she undoubtedly was, but Tarzan knew she would never show that tear. Patricia was whimpering and moaning in terror, struggling against her bonds to no avail.

  Ak-Ahmen smiled again. “Ah, so we have touched a sore spot, have we? You see, the choice is really rather simple, isn’t it? You agree to become my consort, for the rest of your life. I’m sure you’ll find it an interesting life -although perhaps a short one. In exchange for that, I shall order the women freed. Oh, not to go outside, of course, that would never do, would it? But I shall save their lives. I shall give them to my guards. Poor chaps, they have so little recreation of that sort.”

  “Never,” Tarzan gritted between clenched teeth. “Never. By all the gods. I’d rather see them die than treated like animals!”

  “Then so you shall, my dear,” the queen said calmly. She waved a negligent hand, a gong sounded somewhere in the bowels of the amphitheatre, and a pair of giant yeti shuffled into the arena. “This should be most interesting,” the queen said through taut lips. “We’ve never given them females before. Not live ones. I wonder what they’ll do?” She leaned forward eagerly, tongue licking her lips, nostrils dilated, eyes slitted. Whatever of beauty she’d possessed had utterly disappeared.

  Tarzan felt a hand at his belt. Ra-Man removed the knife. All eyes were on the spectacle in the arena as the yeti circled the women cautiously, casting worried glances at the royal box as if to reassure themselves they could, indeed, do as they pleased with the two females.

  With a swift movement, Ra-Man plunged the knife into the queen’s heart, and shoved her crumpling body over the edge of the box onto the arena floor below. He turned quickly to the guard. “I am king,” he thundered. “I charge you-I am king. My person is sacred.”

  The guards dropped to their knees, pledging their fealty. It mattered little to them who ruled them. They were slaves and the children of slaves. They had always been ruled by one god figure or another. Ra-Man would do as well as the next. Besides, who else was there?

  Quickly, Ra-Man slashed Tarzan’s bonds, handed him the knife still red with Ak-Ahman’s blood. “Do what you can,” he said to Tarzan, pointing to the floor of the arena. “I will bring help as quickly as I can.”

  Tarzan leaped over the edge, landing like a great cat on his feet, lips curled in a snarl, roaring a mighty challenge. The pair of yeti looked at him almost indifferently. One of them broke away from his inspection of the women and waddled almost casually over to the ape-man. Tarzan crouched and sprang high in the air, trying to slide his knife into the beast’s throat, but missed. He was flung back halfway across the arena with shocking force, landing almost directly beneath the royal box. Ra-Man, far from seeking help, had seated himself in the royal box and, chin in hand was watching the show with the greatest of interest, a mocking smile upon his face. Tarzan cursed, got to his feet and ducked the oncoming charge of the Snowman. Now the other took a little interest in the fight, and, with a backward glance at the women, closed in on the ape-man alongside his companion.

  Suddenly, two rifle shots rang out, almost together. Both yeti stumbled and fell, and from the mouth of the tunnel came a horde of leaping, yelling great apes and Waziri warriors. “Kill! Kill!” Jedak screamed, once again his old, surly self, stomping his feet in fury. Tarzan pointed to the royal box, and a rain of assegai, the throwing spear of the Waziri, descended, to be followed by three or four scrambling bull apes. Three of the guards were slain by the spears. The other, fleeing for his life, was caught from behind, and his throat torn out by an enraged Jedak. Chulk and Taglat gave the new “king” a rather kinder death, although no less fatal. They simply flung his body to the floor of the arena, then amused themselves by leaping onto it.

  Tarzan raced to the stakes in the center of the arena, cutting Jane’s bonds. She fell into his arms, but there were no tears. Gently, he set her aside, and freed the hysterical Newhall girl. He disengaged himself from her clutching hands, called Jane to his side. “Get her out of here,” he said. “Outside. You’ll be all right now. I have some unfinished business.