He had also immediately realized that should he relay his discovery to either the BSAK or the Belgian Government itself, he would end up with news clippings and perhaps a medal or two. But none of the fortune which he alone had discovered. Leopold had mulled over the problem for another week, still pretending friendship with both Narda and Lyta. He told Narda he loved her, that she must prove she was greater than her sister Lyta, and within a month the two tribes were at war. Leopold’s first instinct had been merely to remove the Snake People from their homes so that he could steal their unknown wealth. As the plan began to mature, he had realized there was no way of doing the thing alone.

  It was then that he had bidden a passionate farewell to Narda and returned to the dark streets of Brussels; and there found his brother in infamy, Pierre Sortie. In the dim, dingy bars of that city the two men had laid their plans. Leopold had heard of Tarzan from the dark Narda. For, frequently, he had sounded her out to see if she would consult with her sister regarding an ending to the war of the Snake People. Always Lyta had said, “Before I surrender to that beast, I shall call upon the King of the Apes to help us I “

  Now Pierre spoke. “I have many friends among the merchant seamen of our kind. They will be willing to help us get the elements out of Africa, if we can get it to the coast—and, of course, for a goodly price. But, Leopold, how do we get it from this Valley of the Snakes? How do we get it out of their land, and through the jungles to the coast?”

  “Easy, Pierre. Easier than you can begin to understand. Already I have turned the two tribes against each other. Already, I have forced them to leave their night-giving-lights alone, unguarded. Already, I have turned the priestess Narda and her sister Lyta into enemies. There remains but one step to take, and the world will be ours!”

  “I fail to understand this step. The German looked deeply and with suspicion toward his new employer.

  “The only help for Lyta is Tarzan, this English lord they call the King of the Apes. He rules the jungle— but one thing rules him. He has a mate. No man nor beast denies his love for her. She is the only thing that keeps him civilized, and the only thing that can stop him from wreaking his will upon all of Africa!”

  “My friend, you do not make sense. The radium, how do we get it out?”

  Already, while I speak here to you in this small bier stube, Narda is forcing her war upon Lyta. By the time we return—you and I, Pierre—Lyta will have called upon Tarzan for help. You must see their tribes to believe them. Even a man such as Clayton must do so. He will have to be trapped. Lyta knows this. Then he will have to be shown. Lyta knows this. Meanwhile …” the Belgian’s grey lips were heavy with saliva, “you and I call upon this Jane Clayton for help. While Tarzan is helping Lyta, we help ourselves to his wife. Once he knows she is in our hands, the Jungle will be slave to us. His men will help us carry the uranium to the coast! He, Tarzan himself, might well protect us from the beasts. It will work, Sortie. It can’t fail to work.” And the saliva dripped ever more steadily down the evil man’s chin.

  “What about the Snake People? What about this priestess you have made love to?”

  “They shall kill Tarzan and his wife, they shall be our passports to safety. Remember, I have left Narda alone, with my word that I shall return—and that I shall hold the mate of her enemy as hostage. These words I shall keep. It is then but a minor thing to ask her to have her tribe handle Tarzan, if necessary to kill him—he is her enemy—while I make another small trip to my country.” The man laughed, to his companion, almost insanely. But the smell of millions was within the nostrils of Pierre. He could but nod.

  “One thing else. And you must remember, when the time comes to share the wealth, that it was I—Leopold Keinin—who made this master plan. One must always allow fora mistake during an absence. So, we take with us, to the Greystoke estate, a man of innocence. A man, my friend, who truly believes he is helping the world learn its past.”

  “But who? Certainly another person…”

  “You forget. I was with the Belgian Society. As far .as they know, I still work for their interests. And some of the artifacts I have shipped to them have convinced them of my intellectual and earnest belief in my work. From them I have received many letters. There is, in Brussels tonight, a young American. I have seen him. I have checked out his background. If Lady Greystoke should have, by mischance, been warned against us— this fool, this Bill Harvey, is the perfect mask. He will meet us on Wednesday. You, Pierre, must remain quiet in his presence. He knows his business. I know more of it than he. You know nothing!”

  “What happens …”

  “We’ll leave him to the Snake People—or Tarzan.” His last words were spoken with strange fear.

  Now, here, deep in the Jungle, Leopold was once again encouraging his partner in crime. For tonight was the culmination of the carefully laid plan. Tonight, Narda and her snake-men were to help Leopold kidnap the wife of Tarzan of the Apes. As they talked, Leopold had but to look about him, into the foliage behind the fires, and see the red-rimmed eyes of the night snakes, waiting but for his signal. It had been a shock to him to arrive at the Greystoke holdings and find a task force of Waziris already in the jungle, already in search of Tarzan. He had planned to take Jane out with but one or, at the most, three guards. But he worried not. He had seen his snake-men fight, and he was only too personally aware of the horror and hypnotic effect they had upon their first-time viewers. The silence told him they waited but his signal. He, in turn, waited the signal of the snoring of the innocent Bill Harvey, the inevitable relapse of the natives, supposedly (and he sneered inwardly) so brave and noble.

  Time passed. And, as had Leopold Keinin expected, within a matter of an hour or less, all in the camp slept. All but Basuli, the faithful follower, and the two renegades. As Goro the moon began to brighten the clearing, Leopold put his two fingers between his teeth and made a weird, hissing sound. The slumbrous red-rimmed eyes which had edged the clearing became bits of wildly dancing flame. The first Waziri to feel the weight of the heavy coils screamed in terror, and his scream was choked out of hearing as his breath was choked from his life.

  “Wait, Tarzan! Do not go out until I’ve told you of the many weapons Narda and her people will use against you.”

  The great man looked back at the woman with pity. “I have lived many moons in this jungle, Lyta. I survive. I have lived in the jungles of civilization; the jungles of the Belgian. I survive. No evil weapons can defeat Tarzan.” As the beautiful woman moved across the room as if to stop the ape-man he leaped gracefully across the ring of fire surrounding the entrance to her quarters and disappeared into the dark of the night.

  From across the Valley of Volcanos Lyta heard the mocking laughter of Narda, queen of the night snakes. Hearing it, Lyta shuddered, and prayed to her gods that Tarzan would live through the terrors of the night.

  Outside of Lyta’s quarters Tarzan stood silently for a moment, his huge and muscular body poised for immediate action, should Narda’s snake-men make a move toward him. Head held high in the night air, Tarzan’s nostrils quivered mightily as he sought the odor of Kamjei. Within a matter of seconds he had found that which he was seeking, and moved rapidly, though still with caution, down the narrow cliffside path toward the cave which held his runner. As he walked his keen eyes did not miss the shadows that melted at his approach into the concealment of the sparse foliage along the path. He did not waste his time in wondering why these enemies—for he doubted not a minute that they were the enemies—had not Lyta told him of the night immobility of her tribe?—wondering why they failed to assault him. As he neared the cave which his nostrils had told him held Kamjei, he gave the soft, low sound which was the secret cry of the Waziri. If Kamjei remained within his prison, the ape-man knew his signal would be answered. Had he been moved, and only his scent remained, Tarzan would follow it without wasting time to search the unknown cave. He paused for a moment, keen ears noting every whisper of the wind and rustle of the leaves. Suddenly, the soft low sound he had made came echoing back to him from within the cave, and Tarzan s ever-alert eyes, now accustomed to the darkness of the night, saw the figure of his runner moving toward the small fire before his prison’s entrance. He moved rapidly across the short distance separating them. Safe within the knowledge of his own superiority, Tarzan walked the narrow ledge as if it were his own domain, each rock and stone as familiar as those within the compound far to the south. Suddenly the quiet of the night was shattered by a wild high scream from the direction of Lyta’s cave. Glancing backward, Tarzan saw the curved figure of the priestess behind the ring of fire. She seemed to be writhing in agony, and as her screams grew in volume the shadows of the night came out from their concealment and converged about the ape-man.

  “Stay where you are. Kamjei! Do not move from the protection of your fires!” As he called out, the scream of Lyta was all but drowned in a savage chorus from a hundred snake-men, over which echoed the evil voice of Narda, their ruler. As the first huge, reptilian-bodied man fell from the cliffside upon Tarzan, his sharp hunting knife was waiting. It found its goal as it sank deep into the throat of the evil thing, the hot blood it brought splattering over Tarzan and spilling in great gushes across the path. In almost the same movement, Tarzan bent and picked up the still-warm body of the gigantic snake-man, flailing it about as if it were a bull whip. Screams of terror joined in with the cacophony of the battle cries as snake-man after snake-man was knocked wildly from his encroaching positions across the pathway and over the edge of the sheer cliff.

  As a second snake-man attempted to fall upon Tarzanfrom above, again the trusty hunting knife was ready. Again the warm blood spouted. This time, however, Tarzan did not use the body as a weapon, but threw it across the path upon the small fire before Kamjei’s cave. Within moments the smell of burning flesh had added to the horrors of the night. Suddenly the voice of Narda rang across the scene in a series of sibilant, yet guttural sounds. The silence that followed her instructions was deafening, and broken only by the mournful wail of Lyta. Tarzan stood steadfast, ready for the next assault. As he turned his head slightly toward the right, in reaction to a soft, whistling noise, a blinding, stinging gush of poisonous venom hit the ape-man squarely in his face! The pain of the poison in his eyes and in his nostrils was maddening. As he fought to regain a position of defense, the snake-men poured across the path. Unable to see, almost mad with pain, Tarzan went down before them.

  Narda’s voice echoed triumphantly across the valley of the volcanos. The only sound to answer it was the scream of agony wrenched from Lyta. Five of the snake-men began the slow process of moving the now unconscious figure of Tarzan down the steep cliffside and across the valley. Into the domain of Narda, and her night fighters.

  The watching Kamjei knew shame and fear. He could not, however, bring himself to move out from behind his protective fire. And the cries of Lyta changed. They became curses for Kamjei—the only living thing on her side of the valley who might have helped Tarzan of the Apes.

  Both Kamjei and Lyta, however, realized, as the dreadful night continued, that the loss of Tarzan had been their own first steps toward death and total defeat.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Blood Drenched Clearing

  The scream of Tamoyi, while it had been the last sound in his life, had served its purpose. For the entire camp awakened at the sound of his dying, angr agony.

  While Keinin and Sortie were acting out their part supposedly in defense of Lady Greystoke, actually, her assailants, the Waziri warriors and Basuli were once again fighting a fierce fight in defense of that which belonged to Tarzan— that which their bravery had given them claim to—but only so long as their braver ran true blue.

  For Bill Harvey the nightmare of the next few moments was to remain the nightmare of his life. From his friends, the men who had brought him into this scene, he sought help. It was only after several minutes wild, screaming assault that Harvey finally began realize his friends, and the so-called friends of the Greystoke family, were untrue!

  Basuli, the beloved protector, who had shared many of the dangers and vicissitudes of the jungle with the beloved bwana, the King of the Apes, the ruler the Jungle, and only man the Waziri served, Basuli fought as though he were possessed by a demon. As the sleek, slimy, horrible bodies of the snake-mea surrounded him, their venom flying constantly toward his face, he constantly avoiding it, Basuli remembered that it was he, and he alone, to whom Tarzan had entrusted the care of the compound—and of his mate Jane. A giant instature, a savage, fearless warrior, Basuli assumed a strength that was not his! The huge warrior became possessed by soul and judgement in frightful proportion to his bulk and ferocity!

  The night snake-men flowed, poured, sneaked, and raced in from their protective jungle.

  Not since Jane had insisted on joining the group in the jungles had Basuli left her side. He had, himself, risked the anger of Tarzan, risked his failure to follow the well-laid trail, depending upon Tarzan’s understanding about Jane. So it was that Basuli fought his way through the slithering snake-men to the mate of Tarzan. As he moved, his voice screamed instructions to his followers. His orders were lost amid the sounds of the embattled campsite. The Waziri who heard, and made an effort to battle, were knocked down by Narda’s people, or her vicious venom-spitting snakes defeated them.

  As the night screams arose, Bill Harvey forced his attentions upon the Belgian and German companions he had thought his friends. Above the cacophonous noise Harvey himself added to it: “We must get together. We’ve got to save the woman. I don’t know what is going on, but it’s no place for her!”

  Both men looked askance at Harvey. They turned from him, to encourage, while at the same time they pretended to fight, the Snake People.

  “They’re near her tent. Only one Waziri there to protect her. We’ve done it, Keinin! We’ve done it! Let’s get rid of him.” The German indicated the sweating American with a brusque gesture.

  “Hold your tongue, you fool!” hissed -the Belgian in reply. “We might think we’ve succeeded, but we can’t be certain until we get Jane Clayton back to the land of the Snake People.” The sweating man looked about cautiously, still acting the role of protector, still playing the part of the offensive general. “It is a long trip through this jungle, and a very dangerous one during the night. We must pretend to be their prisoners, just as she will be.”

  “But you said…”

  “Will you pay attention to me, Sortie? Should Tarzan have escaped our trap, we might well encounter him tonight. It is best we play our roles until we are safely back in the valley of the volcano. Already, I fear, young Harvey is suspicious of us. We cannot have that. He must remain with us until we are ready to rid ourselves of him. I shall kill one of Narda’s snake-men now, so that Harvey will regain his confidence in us. Then, as you struggle with another, we will go down in defeat. But to the eyes of Jane Clayton and Bill Harvey, we will have gone down fighting in her defense!”

  As he spoke the wily Belgian moved toward one of his unsuspecting allies, and, turning to call to Bill Harvey for help, plunged his long knife deep into the thick coil of the snake-man which served as his neck. Harvey, seeing his action, was at once ashamed of his earlier doubts. How could he have so misjudged this brave man?

  The three men reached Jane Clayton’s tent together, sweating, panting and disheveled. As they arrived, she stepped out of the canvas shelter, rifle in hand. More than one of the snake-men had accounted to her steady nerves and cool aim before the battle ended. Basuli reached the group then, and attempted to push his mistress back into the frail security of her tent, but she would ant leave them. Bill Harvey, revolver in hand, ended the lives of several of the oncoming raiders, and Keinin and Sortie were forced to injure more of their hired killers in order to maintain the facade they had built up for their protection.

  Again and again the snake-men charged the small group, having already either killed or blinded the Waziri who had fought the battle around the periphery oi the campsite. Finally the sheer force of their overwhelming numbers turned the tables toward their victory. Keinin was the first to fall, victim to a small jet of poison venom which he himself had told the snake-men to use against him. Next was Sortie. Bill Harvey and Basuli stood before Jane, desperately using every means at hand to turn the assault. Their bravery delayed the battle far longer than Keinin had thought possible, but even their valor could not withstand the bloody attack forever. For as Harvey fired the last shot from his revolver, Jane’s rifle having been emptied minutes earlier, he flung the weapon at the head of an encroaching snake-man, and both he and Basuli fell victim to the steady gush of venom issuing from the mouths of their assailants. An instant later, Jane was surrounded by the monstrous men. Bound tightly by the coils of one of the larger of the snake-men, the one who seemed to be their leader approached the terrified woman and, staring deeply into her eyes, his own red-rimmed orbs powerfully hypnotized her. As he found her falling within his will, he hissed sibilant instructions to the snake-man wrapped about her. The huge, rippling coils of his body unwound themselves, and Jane Clayton, wife of Tarzan, stood submissively before the snake-men, slave to their wishes.

  “Come, Mr. Harvey, Mr. Keinin, and Mr. Sortie. We are to go with these strange people, to their land. No, Basuli, you are to stay here. Do not worry,”she patted the head of the agonized Waziri,with a strange tenderness, “it is what we must do. You shall regain your sight within a few hours, and the pain will grow less and less as the time passes. I go to meet Tarzan. He awaits me in the land of my masters.”