"It does not surprise me you have your spear, frightened as you always are," Gerooma said.
"Some of us have a sense of duty."
"How would your sense of duty be if I chose to gamble? Would you carry your spear then?"
"I would not gamble with you at all. Not at all."
Gerooma copied the snorting sound Meredonleni had made earlier, then turned his back.
Meredonleni fumed. He faced the jungle, trying to think of something to say. Gerooma was beginning to tire him. He must talk to the chief of sentries. He must find another man to be in his hut. He must...
Meredonleni narrowed his eyes. He thought he had seen something move in the tall grasses. He stepped forward, cocked his spear. A cool wind stirred up and moved the grasses and shook the leaves and limbs of the trees in the jungle.
Meredonleni thought he saw it again.
Something white and sleek, low down to the ground, moving through the waving grass.
A white panther?
There were white crocodiles, so why not white panthers?
He saw it again.
"Gerooma!"
Gerooma turned and looked m Meredonleni's direction. Meredonleni was facing the opposite direction, his spear cocked. Gerooma said, "What?"
"There's something out there."
"Oh, Meredonleni. You cannot stand to be bested. So now you say there is something out there."
"There is."
"Is it an army, crawling through the grass on their bellies?"
Meredonleni did not answer. There was only a hissing sound. Meredonleni took one step backwards, and froze.
In the moonlight, Gerooma saw Meredonleni's bare back give birth to a dark rose shape. Gerooma could not figure it at first, and then Meredonleni swiveled slowly, turned towards him. A long arrow vibrated in his chest. His face had a look of profound disappointment. The moonlight struck his teeth and made the blood on then shine like rich berry juice.
Gerooma's pipe fell from his mouth. He started to run toward Meredonleni; but he had taken but one step when the air whistled again and an arrow caught him in his slightly open mouth and punched out the back of his neck.
He kept running forward, his teeth clenched around the arrow. He ran until he reached the hut. Then he stumbled. He grabbed at a post, held himself upright. He lifted his head, took hold of the arrow in his mouth, tried to pull it loose, but it hurt severely. When he tugged, he felt as if his whole head would come off.
Striding toward him in the moonlight was a giant of man The moonlight made his bronze skin look white. Hi had a bow in one hand, a spear in the other. A quiver of arrows hung on his back. He wore a knife at his waist and a crude rope was draped over its hilt. The man was walking purposefully toward him. He was neither slow nor fast. Just determined. Gerooma knew then, this man was what Meredonleni had seen moving through the grass.
Gerooma tried to say something, to plead for his life. But Tarzan did not understand his language, and besides, the arrow made it impossible for Gerooma to speak clearly.
Besides, it wouldn't have mattered.
Gerooma slid down the pole, his mouth filling with blood. He lifted his head as Tarzan took hold of his hair.
The ape-man had dropped the spear and drawn his knife. With one quick motion of the blade he cut Gerooma's throat.
Finished with this task. Tarzan saw that the grass was starting to blaze, due to Gerooma's dropped pipe. He put his foot on the pipe and crushed it. The calluses on his bare foot were so hard he did not even feel the heat. He could have walked across broken glass on those feet.
Next he stepped on the blaze the pipe had started, then he looked in all directions. He sniffed the air. Listened. It was his conclusion that he had killed both men almost soundlessly.
So far, so good.
Tarzan moved at a crouch through the grasses, onward to the moat.
When he reached the moat, he squatted on his haunches in the high grass, parted it with his hands and looked at the water. It was foul water, he could smell that, but in the moonlight it looked like a silver-paved street.
Tarzan studied the width of the moat, examined the city wall. It was made up of all manner of debris, and was actually quite easy to climb. Not for an ordinary man, but Tarzan knew that for him it would be effortless.
He decided to leave his spear, bow, and arrows. He would carry his knife and rope. He coiled the rope around his waist, crawled on his belly to the moat, and slid into the water, silent as a python.
He had not swum far when he felt movement in the water. He turned his head. Gliding toward him, long and white and deadly in the moonlight, was the largest crocodile he had ever seen.
The croc began swimming faster and Tarzan thought at first he might try to outswim it. But he could see yet another white croc in front of him. Like his cousin, he had also noticed Tarzan.
The first crocodile snapped at Tarzan, but the ape-mar was no longer there. He dove beneath the water and came up under the crocodile's belly and cut a vicious gash in it with his knife.
The crocodile practically leapt from the water, came down with a tremendous splash. It twisted toward Tarzan, and Tarzan pushed his palm against the side of the raging crocodile's head, got out of the way. Tarzan went beneath the reptile again, and used the knife again on the soft underbelly.
The crocodile's stomach and intestines exploded from the wound. The water went thick with blood. The other croc arrived on the scene. Driven wild by the smell of intestines and blood, the crocodile began attacking its wounded cousin with a blind ferocity.
Tarzan swam down and out toward the city. When he came up, he was against the wall. He could hear shouting above him. He pushed himself tight against the stones. The natives were speaking a tongue he could not understand, but he realized quickly from their tone, they were talking about the crocodiles, not him. He had managed to escape before being noticed. Perhaps they were placing bets on which beast would win.
Tarzan watched the water boil. The two crocodiles were locked in a vicious struggle. The wounded crocodile was rapidly losing ground. They rolled and twisted and splashed. The water foamed with blood.
Tarzan watched as the eyes of other crocodiles bobbed out of the water. Two. Three. A half dozen. The crocodiles were swimming toward the fighters, ready to take their share of the loser.
Tarzan returned his knife to its sheath, very carefully took hold of a stone, and, pulling himself from the water, began scaling the wall.
Tarzan's strong fingers held the stones where there was very little to grab. Even an ape would have had trouble scaling the stones, but Tarzan moved up the wall like a lizard.
When he was near its summit, he listened carefully, then slipped over the top of the wall and landed in a crouch on the sentry walkway. He looked to his right.
A sentry was moving away from him.
To his left, two sentries were talking. The shadows were thick here, and Tarzan went unnoticed.
Tarzan dropped from the walkway to the ground. It was a long drop, but his splendid muscles and great skill would have allowed him to take the fall without injury. But, at that moment, an off-duty sentry had stopped to relieve himself against the city wall, and as he finished and stepped from beneath the concealment of the overhead walkway, Tarzan dropped directly onto him.
When Tarzan struck him, the man yelled. Tarzan growled with anger as he sprang to his feet. The sentry clambered to his feet and began to scream for help. He looked at the bronze giant before him, and screamed even louder. The big man looked more like an animal than a man: his teeth were bared and the sounds coming from his throat did not sound as if they were of human origin.
The sentry's screams were cut short as Tarzan sprang, his knife stealing the sentry's voice.
But it was too late.
Tarzan looked up. Sentries had rushed to the edge of the walkway. They yelled at him and began casting spears and firing arrows. Tarzan slapped one of the spears away, dodged an arrow. Others rattled at his feet.