10

Tarzan, the Jewels of Opar

by Edgar R. Burroughs

10, TARZAN, THE JEWELS OF OPAR by Edgar R. Burroughs
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Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels


Mugambi, weak and suffering, had dragged his painful
way along the trail of the retreating raiders.
He could move but slowly, resting often; but savage hatred
and an equally savage desire for vengeance kept him to
his task. As the days passed his wounds healed and his
strength returned, until at last his giant frame had
regained all of its former mighty powers. Now he went
more rapidly; but the mounted Arabs had covered a great
distance while the wounded black had been painfully
crawling after them.

They had reached their fortified camp, and there Achmet
Zek awaited the return of his lieutenant, Albert
Werper. During the long, rough journey, Jane Clayton
had suffered more in anticipation of her impending fate
than from the hardships of the road.

Achmet Zek had not deigned to acquaint her with his
intentions regarding her future. She prayed that she
had been captured in the hope of ransom, for if such
should prove the case, no great harm would befall her
at the hands of the Arabs; but there was the chance,
the horrid chance, that another fate awaited her.
She had heard of many women, among whom were white women,
who had been sold by outlaws such as Achmet Zek into
the slavery of black harems, or taken farther north
into the almost equally hideous existence of some
Turkish seraglio.

Jane Clayton was of sterner stuff than that which bends
in spineless terror before danger. Until hope proved
futile she would not give it up; nor did she entertain
thoughts of self-destruction only as a final escape
from dishonor. So long as Tarzan lived there was every
reason to expect succor. No man nor beast who roamed
the savage continent could boast the cunning and the
powers of her lord and master. To her, he was little
short of omnipotent in his native world--this world of
savage beasts and savage men. Tarzan would come, and
she would be rescued and avenged, of that she was
certain. She counted the days that must elapse before
he would return from Opar and discover what had
transpired during his absence. After that it would be
but a short time before he had surrounded the Arab
stronghold and punished the motley crew of wrongdoers
who inhabited it.

That he could find her she had no slightest doubt.
No spoor, however faint, could elude the keen vigilance
of his senses. To him, the trail of the raiders would be
as plain as the printed page of an open book to her.

And while she hoped, there came through the dark jungle
another. Terrified by night and by day, came Albert
Werper. A dozen times he had escaped the claws and
fangs of the giant carnivora only by what seemed a
miracle to him. Armed with nothing more than the knife
he had brought with him from Opar, he had made his way
through as savage a country as yet exists upon the face
of the globe.

By night he had slept in trees. By day he had stumbled
fearfully on, often taking refuge among the branches
when sight or sound of some great cat warned him from
danger. But at last he had come within sight of the
palisade behind which were his fierce companions.

At almost the same time Mugambi came out of the jungle
before the walled village. As he stood in the shadow
of a great tree, reconnoitering, he saw a man, ragged
and disheveled, emerge from the jungle almost at his
elbow. Instantly he recognized the newcomer as he who
had been a guest of his master before the latter had
departed for Opar.

The black was upon the point of hailing the Belgian
when something stayed him. He saw the white man
walking confidently across the clearing toward the
village gate. No sane man thus approached a village in
this part of Africa unless he was sure of a friendly
welcome. Mugambi waited. His suspicions were aroused.

He heard Werper halloo; he saw the gates swing open,
and he witnessed the surprised and friendly welcome
that was accorded the erstwhile guest of Lord and Lady
Greystoke. A light broke upon the understanding of
Mugambi. This white man had been a traitor and a spy.
It was to him they owed the raid during the absence of
the Great Bwana. To his hate for the Arabs, Mugambi
added a still greater hate for the white spy.

Within the village Werper passed hurriedly toward the
silken tent of Achmet Zek. The Arab arose as his
lieutenant entered. His face showed surprise as he
viewed the tattered apparel of the Belgian.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Werper narrated all, save the little matter of the
pouch of gems which were now tightly strapped about his
waist, beneath his clothing. The Arab's eyes narrowed
greedily as his henchman described the treasure that
the Waziri had buried beside the ruins of the Greystoke
bungalow.

"It will be a simple matter now to return and get it,"
said Achmet Zek. "First we will await the coming of
the rash Waziri, and after we have slain them we may
take our time to the treasure--none will disturb it
where it lies, for we shall leave none alive who knows
of its existence.

"And the woman?" asked Werper.

"I shall sell her in the north," replied the raider.
"It is the only way, now. She should bring a good
price."

The Belgian nodded. He was thinking rapidly. If he
could persuade Achmet Zek to send him in command of the
party which took Lady Greystoke north it would give him
the opportunity he craved to make his escape from his
chief. He would forego a share of the gold, if he
could but get away unscathed with the jewels.

He knew Achmet Zek well enough by this time to know
that no member of his band ever was voluntarily
released from the service of Achmet Zek. Most of the
few who deserted were recaptured. More than once had
Werper listened to their agonized screams as they were
tortured before being put to death. The Belgian had no
wish to take the slightest chance of recapture.

"Who will go north with the woman," he asked, "while we
are returning for the gold that the Waziri buried by
the bungalow of the Englishman?"

Achmet Zek thought for a moment. The buried gold was
of much greater value than the price the woman would
bring. It was necessary to rid himself of her as
quickly as possible and it was also well to obtain the
gold with the least possible delay. Of all his
followers, the Belgian was the most logical lieutenant
to intrust with the command of one of the parties. An
Arab, as familiar with the trails and tribes as Achmet
Zek himself, might collect the woman's price and make
good his escape into the far north. Werper, on the
other hand, could scarce make his escape alone through
a country hostile to Europeans while the men he would
send with the Belgian could be carefully selected with
a view to preventing Werper from persuading any
considerable portion of his command to accompany him
should he contemplate desertion of his chief.

At last the Arab spoke: "It is not necessary that we
both return for the gold. You shall go north with the
woman, carrying a letter to a friend of mine who is
always in touch with the best markets for such
merchandise, while I return for the gold. We can meet
again here when our business is concluded."

Werper could scarce disguise the joy with which he
received this welcome decision. And that he did
entirely disguise it from the keen and suspicious eyes
of Achmet Zek is open to question. However, the
decision reached, the Arab and his lieutenant discussed
the details of their forthcoming ventures for a short
time further, when Werper made his excuses and returned
to his own tent for the comforts and luxury of a
long-desired bath and shave.

Having bathed, the Belgian tied a small hand mirror to
a cord sewn to the rear wall of his tent, placed a rude
chair beside an equally rude table that stood beside
the glass, and proceeded to remove the rough stubble
from his face.

In the catalog of masculine pleasures there is scarce
one which imparts a feeling of greater comfort and
refreshment than follows a clean shave, and now, with
weariness temporarily banished, Albert Werper sprawled
in his rickety chair to enjoy a final cigaret before
retiring. His thumbs, tucked in his belt in lazy
support of the weight of his arms, touched the belt
which held the jewel pouch about his waist. He tingled
with excitement as he let his mind dwell upon the value
of the treasure, which, unknown to all save himself,
lay hidden beneath his clothing.

What would Achmet Zek say, if he knew? Werper grinned.
How the old rascal's eyes would pop could he but have a
glimpse of those scintillating beauties! Werper had
never yet had an opportunity to feast his eyes for any
great length of time upon them. He had not even
counted them--only roughly had he guessed at their
value.

He unfastened the belt and drew the pouch from its
hiding place. He was alone. The balance of the camp,
save the sentries, had retired--none would enter the
Belgian's tent. He fingered the pouch, feeling out the
shapes and sizes of the precious, little nodules
within. He hefted the bag, first in one palm, then in
the other, and at last he wheeled his chair slowly
around before the table, and in the rays of his small
lamp let the glittering gems roll out upon the rough
wood.

The refulgent rays transformed the interior of the
soiled and squalid canvas to the splendor of a palace
in the eyes of the dreaming man. He saw the gilded
halls of pleasure that would open their portals to the
possessor of the wealth which lay scattered upon this
stained and dented table top. He dreamed of joys and
luxuries and power which always had been beyond his
grasp, and as he dreamed his gaze lifted from the
table, as the gaze of a dreamer will, to a far distant
goal above the mean horizon of terrestrial
commonplaceness.

Unseeing, his eyes rested upon the shaving mirror which
still hung upon the tent wall above the table; but his
sight was focused far beyond. And then a reflection
moved within the polished surface of the tiny glass,
the man's eyes shot back out of space to the mirror's
face, and in it he saw reflected the grim visage of
Achmet Zek, framed in the flaps of the tent doorway
behind him.

Werper stifled a gasp of dismay. With rare
self-possession he let his gaze drop, without appearing
to have halted upon the mirror until it rested again upon
the gems. Without haste, he replaced them in the
pouch, tucked the latter into his shirt, selected a
cigaret from his case, lighted it and rose. Yawning,
and stretching his arms above his head, he turned
slowly toward the opposite end of the tent. The face
of Achmet Zek had disappeared from the opening.

To say that Albert Werper was terrified would be
putting it mildly. He realized that he not only had
sacrificed his treasure; but his life as well.
Achmet Zek would never permit the wealth that he had
discovered to slip through his fingers, nor would he
forgive the duplicity of a lieutenant who had gained
possession of such a treasure without offering to share
it with his chief.

Slowly the Belgian prepared for bed. If he were being
watched, he could not know; but if so the watcher saw
no indication of the nervous excitement which the
European strove to conceal. When ready for his
blankets, the man crossed to the little table and
extinguished the light.

It was two hours later that the flaps at the front of
the tent separated silently and gave entrance to a
dark-robed figure, which passed noiselessly from the
darkness without to the darkness within. Cautiously
the prowler crossed the interior. In one hand was a
long knife. He came at last to the pile of blankets
spread upon several rugs close to one of the tent
walls.

Lightly, his fingers sought and found the bulk beneath
the blankets--the bulk that should be Albert Werper.
They traced out the figure of a man, and then an arm
shot upward, poised for an instant and descended.
Again and again it rose and fell, and each time the
long blade of the knife buried itself in the thing
beneath the blankets. But there was an initial
lifelessness in the silent bulk that gave the assassin
momentary wonder. Feverishly he threw back the
coverlets, and searched with nervous hands for the
pouch of jewels which he expected to find concealed
upon his victim's body.

An instant later he rose with a curse upon his lips.
It was Achmet Zek, and he cursed because he had
discovered beneath the blankets of his lieutenant only
a pile of discarded clothing arranged in the form and
semblance of a sleeping man--Albert Werper had fled.

Out into the village ran the chief, calling in angry
tones to the sleepy Arabs, who tumbled from their tents
in answer to his voice. But though they searched the
village again and again they found no trace of the
Belgian. Foaming with anger, Achmet Zek called his
followers to horse, and though the night was pitchy
black they set out to scour the adjoining forest for
their quarry.

As they galloped from the open gates, Mugambi, hiding
in a nearby bush, slipped, unseen, within the palisade.
A score of blacks crowded about the entrance to watch
the searchers depart, and as the last of them passed
out of the village the blacks seized the portals and
drew them to, and Mugambi lent a hand in the work as
though the best of his life had been spent among the
raiders.

In the darkness he passed, unchallenged, as one of
their number, and as they returned from the gates to
their respective tents and huts, Mugambi melted into
the shadows and disappeared.

For an hour he crept about in the rear of the various
huts and tents in an effort to locate that in which his
master's mate was imprisoned. One there was which he
was reasonably assured contained her, for it was the
only hut before the door of which a sentry had been
posted. Mugambi was crouching in the shadow of this
structure, just around the corner from the unsuspecting
guard, when another approached to relieve his comrade.

"The prisoner is safe within?" asked the newcomer.

"She is," replied the other, "for none has passed this
doorway since I came."

The new sentry squatted beside the door, while he whom
he had relieved made his way to his own hut. Mugambi
slunk closer to the corner of the building. In one
powerful hand he gripped a heavy knob-stick. No sign
of elation disturbed his phlegmatic calm, yet inwardly
he was aroused to joy by the proof he had just heard
that "Lady" really was within.

The sentry's back was toward the corner of the hut
which hid the giant black. The fellow did not see the
huge form which silently loomed behind him. The
knob-stick swung upward in a curve, and downward again.
There was the sound of a dull thud, the crushing of
heavy bone, and the sentry slumped into a silent,
inanimate lump of clay.

A moment later Mugambi was searching the interior of
the hut. At first slowly, calling, "Lady!" in a low
whisper, and finally with almost frantic haste, until
the truth presently dawned upon him--the hut was empty!