Three weeks later a party of six was gathered before a roaring fire in the living room of Tarzan's bungalow far from the savage village of the Kavuru. The Lord of the Jungle was there, and his mate; Brown and Annette sat upon a lion's skin before the hearth, holding hands; Tibbs sat decorously on the edge of a chair in the background. He had not yet become accustomed to sitting on terms of equality with titled personages. Little Nkima, with far greater poise, perched upon the shoulder of a viscount.
"What are we goin' to do with this box of pills?" demanded Brown.
"Whatever you wish," said Jane. "You were willing to risk your life to get them. If I recall correctly, I think you said something to the effect that if you had them back in civilization they would make you 'lousy' with money. Keep them."
"No," replied the American. "We all risked our lives, and anyway you were the one that really got them. The more I think of it, the less I like my scheme. Most everybody lives too long anyway for the good of the world —most of 'em ought to have died young. Suppose Congress got hold of 'em?—just think of that! Not on your life.
"I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll divide them. There will be five of us that will live forever."
"And be beautiful always," added Annette.
"If you will pardon my saying so, Miss," observed Tibbs with an apologetic cough, "I should rawther dislike thinking of pressing trousers for so many years; and as for being beautiful—my word! I'd never get a job. Who ever heard of a beautiful valet?"
"Well, we'll divide 'em anyway," insisted Brown. "You don't have to take 'em, but be sure you don't sell none of 'em to no cab driver princes. Here, I'll divide 'em into five equal parts."
"Aren't you forgetting Nkima?" asked Jane, smiling.
"That's right," said Brown. "We'll make it six parts. He's sure a lot more use in the world than most people."
THE END
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS TARZAN THE MAGNIFICENT BOOK 20 IN THE TARZAN SERIES Serialized as "Tarzan And The Magic Men" in
Argosy Weekly, September 19—October 3, 1936
First Book Edition—Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc., September 1939
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1. Out Of The Past
Chapter 2. A Strange Tale
Chapter 3. The Power Of Mafka
Chapter 4. Sentenced To Death
Chapter 5. The Black Panther
Chapter 6. Trapped
Chapter 7. Green Magic
Chapter 8. The Leopard Pit
Chapter 9. The End Of The Corridor
Chapter 10. Toward Freedom
Chapter 11. Treachery
Chapter 12. Reunion
Chapter 13. Cannibals
Chapter 14. Kidnapped
Chapter 15. Clues
Chapter 16. Tantor
Chapter 17. Strangers
Chapter 18. Ingratitude
Chapter 19. Retribution
Chapter 20. Athne
Chapter 21. Phoros
Chapter 22. Menofra
Chapter 23. Sentenced
Chapter 24. Death
Chapter 25. Battle
1. OUT OF THE PAST
Truth is stranger than fiction.
If this tale should seem in part incredible, please bear this axiom in mind. It had its beginning more than twenty years ago, unless one wishes to go further back to the first amoeba or even beyond that to the cosmos shattering clash of two forgotten suns; but we shall confine our story, other than by occasional reference, to the stage, the actors, and the business of the present time.
The searing sun rays scorch down upon a shriveled plain a scant five degrees north of the equator. A man, clothed in torn shirt and trousers upon which dried blood has caked and turned a rusty brown, staggers and falls to lie inert.
A great lion looks down upon the scene from the summit of a distant rocky ledge where a few tenacious bushes cling to give shade to the lair of the king; for this is Africa.
Ska, the vulture, wheels and circles in the blue, sky-writing anticipation far above the body of the fallen man.
Not far to the south, at the edge of the dry plain, another man swings easily toward the north. No sign of fatigue or exhaustion here. The bronze skin glows with health, full muscles glide beneath it. The free gait, the noiseless tread might be those of Sheeta, the panther; but there is no slinking here. It is the carriage of one who knows neither doubt nor fear, of a lord in his own domain.
He is encumbered by but a single garment, a loincloth of doe- skin. A coil of grass rope is looped over one shoulder, behind the other hangs a quiver of arrows; a scabbarded knife swings at his hip; a bow and a short spear complete his equipment. A shock of black hair falls in disorder above serene, grey eyes, eyes that can reflect the light of a summer sea or the flashing steel of a rapier.
The Lord of the Jungle is abroad.
He is far to the north of his ancient haunts, yet this is no unfamiliar terrain. He has been here many times before. He knows where water may be had for the digging. He knows where the nearest water hole lies where he can make a kill and fill his belly.
He has come north at the behest of an emperor to investigate a rumor that a European power is attempting to cause the defection of a native chief by means of bribery. War and rumors of war are in the air, but of this tale such things are not a part—we hope. However, we are no prophet. We are merely a chronicler of events as they transpire. We follow the activities of our characters to the bitter end, even to war; but we hope for the best. However, only time can tell.
As Tarzan swung with easy strides out across the plain, no sound escaped his keen ears; no moving thing, his eyes; no scent, borne upon the soft bosom of Usha the wind, went unidentified. Far in the distance he saw Numa the lion standing upon his rocky ledge; he saw Ska the vulture circling above something that Tarzan could not see. In all that he saw or heard or smelled he read a story; for to him this savage world was an open book, sometimes a thrilling, always an interesting narrative of love, of hate, of life, of death.