22

Tarzan, the Jewels of Opar

by Edgar R. Burroughs

22, TARZAN, THE JEWELS OF OPAR by Edgar R. Burroughs
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Tarzan Recovers His Reason


As Tarzan let the pebbles from the recovered pouch run
through his fingers, his thoughts returned to the pile
of yellow ingots about which the Arabs and the
Abyssinians had waged their relentless battle.

What was there in common between that pile of dirty
metal and the beautiful, sparkling pebbles that had
formerly been in his pouch? What was the metal?
From whence had it come? What was that tantalizing
half-conviction which seemed to demand the recognition of
his memory that the yellow pile for which these men had
fought and died had been intimately connected with his
past--that it had been his?

What had been his past? He shook his head. Vaguely the
memory of his apish childhood passed slowly in review--
then came a strangely tangled mass of faces, figures
and events which seemed to have no relation to Tarzan
of the Apes, and yet which were, even in their
fragmentary form, familiar.

Slowly and painfully, recollection was attempting to
reassert itself, the hurt brain was mending, as the
cause of its recent failure to function was being
slowly absorbed or removed by the healing processes of
perfect circulation.

The people who now passed before his mind's eye for the
first time in weeks wore familiar faces; but yet he
could neither place them in the niches they had once
filled in his past life, nor call them by name. One
was a fair she, and it was her face which most often
moved through the tangled recollections of his
convalescing brain. Who was she? What had she been to
Tarzan of the Apes? He seemed to see her about the very
spot upon which the pile of gold had been unearthed by
the Abyssinians; but the surroundings were vastly
different from those which now obtained.

There was a building--there were many buildings--and
there were hedges, fences, and flowers. Tarzan
puckered his brow in puzzled study of the wonderful
problem. For an instant he seemed to grasp the whole
of a true explanation, and then, just as success was
within his grasp, the picture faded into a jungle scene
where a naked, white youth danced in company with a
band of hairy, primordial ape-things.

Tarzan shook his head and sighed. Why was it that he
could not recollect? At least he was sure that in some
way the pile of gold, the place where it lay, the
subtle aroma of the elusive she he had been pursuing,
the memory figure of the white woman, and he himself,
were inextricably connected by the ties of a forgotten
past.

If the woman belonged there, what better place to
search or await her than the very spot which his broken
recollections seemed to assign to her? It was worth
trying. Tarzan slipped the thong of the empty pouch
over his shoulder and started off through the trees in
the direction of the plain.

At the outskirts of the forest he met the Arabs
returning in search of Achmet Zek. Hiding, he let them
pass, and then resumed his way toward the charred ruins
of the home he had been almost upon the point of
recalling to his memory.

His journey across the plain was interrupted by the
discovery of a small herd of antelope in a little
swale, where the cover and the wind were well combined
to make stalking easy. A fat yearling rewarded a half
hour of stealthy creeping and a sudden, savage rush,
and it was late in the afternoon when the ape-man
settled himself upon his haunches beside his kill to
enjoy the fruits of his skill, his cunning, and his
prowess.

His hunger satisfied, thirst next claimed his
attention. The river lured him by the shortest path
toward its refreshing waters, and when he had drunk,
night already had fallen and he was some half mile or
more down stream from the point where he had seen the
pile of yellow ingots, and where he hoped to meet the
memory woman, or find some clew to her whereabouts or
her identity.

To the jungle bred, time is usually a matter of small
moment, and haste, except when engendered by terror,
by rage, or by hunger, is distasteful. Today was gone.
Therefore tomorrow, of which there was an infinite
procession, would answer admirably for Tarzan's further
quest. And, besides, the ape-man was tired and would
sleep.

A tree afforded him the safety, seclusion and comforts
of a well-appointed bedchamber, and to the chorus of
the hunters and the hunted of the wild river bank he
soon dropped off into deep slumber.

Morning found him both hungry and thirsty again, and
dropping from his tree he made his way to the drinking
place at the river's edge. There he found Numa, the
lion, ahead of him. The big fellow was lapping the
water greedily, and at the approach of Tarzan along the
trail in his rear, he raised his head, and turning his
gaze backward across his maned shoulders glared at the
intruder. A low growl of warning rumbled from his
throat; but Tarzan, guessing that the beast had but
just quitted his kill and was well filled, merely made
a slight detour and continued to the river, where he
stopped a few yards above the tawny cat, and dropping
upon his hands and knees plunged his face into the cool
water. For a moment the lion continued to eye the man;
then he resumed his drinking, and man and beast
quenched their thirst side by side each apparently
oblivious of the other's presence.

Numa was the first to finish. Raising his head, he
gazed across the river for a few minutes with that
stony fixity of attention which is a characteristic of
his kind. But for the ruffling of his black mane to
the touch of the passing breeze he might have been
wrought from golden bronze, so motionless, so
statuesque his pose.

A deep sigh from the cavernous lungs dispelled the
illusion. The mighty head swung slowly around until
the yellow eyes rested upon the man. The bristled lip
curved upward, exposing yellow fangs. Another warning
growl vibrated the heavy jowls, and the king of beasts
turned majestically about and paced slowly up the trail
into the dense reeds.

Tarzan of the Apes drank on, but from the corners of
his gray eyes he watched the great brute's every move
until he had disappeared from view, and, after, his
keen ears marked the movements of the carnivore.

A plunge in the river was followed by a scant breakfast
of eggs which chance discovered to him, and then he set
off up river toward the ruins of the bungalow where the
golden ingots had marked the center of yesterday's
battle.

And when he came upon the spot, great was his surprise
and consternation, for the yellow metal had
disappeared. The earth, trampled by the feet of horses
and men, gave no clew. It was as though the ingots had
evaporated into thin air.

The ape-man was at a loss to know where to turn or what
next to do. There was no sign of any spoor which might
denote that the she had been here. The metal was gone,
and if there was any connection between the she and the
metal it seemed useless to wait for her now that the
latter had been removed elsewhere.

Everything seemed to elude him--the pretty pebbles, the
yellow metal, the she, his memory. Tarzan was
disgusted. He would go back into the jungle and look
for Chulk, and so he turned his steps once more toward
the forest. He moved rapidly, swinging across the
plain in a long, easy trot, and at the edge of the
forest, taking to the trees with the agility and speed
of a small monkey.

His direction was aimless--he merely raced on and on
through the jungle, the joy of unfettered action his
principal urge, with the hope of stumbling upon some
clew to Chulk or the she, a secondary incentive.

For two days he roamed about, killing, eating, drinking
and sleeping wherever inclination and the means to
indulge it occurred simultaneously. It was upon the
morning of the third day that the scent spoor of horse
and man were wafted faintly to his nostrils. Instantly
he altered his course to glide silently through the
branches in the direction from which the scent came.

It was not long before he came upon a solitary horseman
riding toward the east. Instantly his eyes confirmed
what his nose had previously suspected--the rider was
he who had stolen his pretty pebbles. The light of
rage flared suddenly in the gray eyes as the ape-man
dropped lower among the branches until he moved almost
directly above the unconscious Werper.

There was a quick leap, and the Belgian felt a heavy
body hurtle onto the rump of his terror-stricken mount.
The horse, snorting, leaped forward. Giant arms
encircled the rider, and in the twinkling of an eye he
was dragged from his saddle to find himself lying in
the narrow trail with a naked, white giant kneeling
upon his breast.

Recognition came to Werper with the first glance at his
captor's face, and a pallor of fear overspread his
features. Strong fingers were at his throat, fingers
of steel. He tried to cry out, to plead for his life;
but the cruel fingers denied him speech, as they were
as surely denying him life.

"The pretty pebbles?" cried the man upon his breast.
"What did you with the pretty pebbles--with Tarzan's
pretty pebbles?"

The fingers relaxed to permit a reply. For some time
Werper could only choke and cough--at last he regained
the powers of speech.

"Achmet Zek, the Arab, stole them from me," he cried;
"he made me give up the pouch and the pebbles."

"I saw all that," replied Tarzan; "but the pebbles in
the pouch were not the pebbles of Tarzan--they were
only such pebbles as fill the bottoms of the rivers,
and the shelving banks beside them. Even the Arab
would not have them, for he threw them away in anger
when he had looked upon them. It is my pretty pebbles
that I want--where are they?"

"I do not know, I do not know," cried Werper. "I gave
them to Achmet Zek or he would have killed me. A few
minutes later he followed me along the trail to slay
me, although he had promised to molest me no further,
and I shot and killed him; but the pouch was not upon
his person and though I searched about the jungle for
some time I could not find it."

"I found it, I tell you," growled Tarzan, "and I also
found the pebbles which Achmet Zek had thrown away in
disgust. They were not Tarzan's pebbles. You have
hidden them! Tell me where they are or I will kill
you," and the brown fingers of the ape-man closed a
little tighter upon the throat of his victim.

Werper struggled to free himself. "My God, Lord
Greystoke," he managed to scream, "would you commit
murder for a handful of stones?"

The fingers at his throat relaxed, a puzzled, far-away
expression softened the gray eyes.

"Lord Greystoke!" repeated the ape-man. "Lord
Greystoke! Who is Lord Greystoke? Where have I heard
that name before?"

"Why man, you are Lord Greystoke," cried the Belgian.
"You were injured by a falling rock when the earthquake
shattered the passage to the underground chamber to
which you and your black Waziri had come to fetch
golden ingots back to your bungalow. The blow
shattered your memory. You are John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke--don't you remember?"

"John Clayton, Lord Greystoke!" repeated Tarzan. Then
for a moment he was silent. Presently his hand went
falteringly to his forehead, an expression of
wonderment filled his eyes--of wonderment and sudden
understanding. The forgotten name had reawakened the
returning memory that had been struggling to reassert
itself. The ape-man relinquished his grasp upon the
throat of the Belgian, and leaped to his feet.

"God!" he cried, and then, "Jane!" Suddenly he turned
toward Werper. "My wife?" he asked. "What has become
of her? The farm is in ruins. You know. You have had
something to do with all this. You followed me to
Opar, you stole the jewels which I thought but pretty
pebbles. You are a crook! Do not try to tell me that
you are not."

"He is worse than a crook," said a quiet voice close
behind them.

Tarzan turned in astonishment to see a tall man in
uniform standing in the trail a few paces from him.
Back of the man were a number of black soldiers in the
uniform of the Congo Free State.

"He is a murderer, Monsieur," continued the officer.
"I have followed him for a long time to take him back
to stand trial for the killing of his superior
officer."

Werper was upon his feet now, gazing, white and
trembling, at the fate which had overtaken him even in
the fastness of the labyrinthine jungle. Instinctively
he turned to flee; but Tarzan of the Apes reached out a
strong hand and grasped him by the shoulder.

"Wait!" said the ape-man to his captive. "This
gentleman wishes you, and so do I. When I am through
with you, he may have you. Tell me what has become of
my wife."

The Belgian officer eyed the almost naked, white giant
with curiosity. He noted the strange contrast of
primitive weapons and apparel, and the easy, fluent
French which the man spoke. The former denoted the
lowest, the latter the highest type of culture. He
could not quite determine the social status of this
strange creature; but he knew that he did not relish
the easy assurance with which the fellow presumed to
dictate when he might take possession of the prisoner.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping forward and placing his
hand on Werper's other shoulder; "but this gentleman is
my prisoner. He must come with me."

"When I am through with him," replied Tarzan, quietly.

The officer turned and beckoned to the soldiers
standing in the trail behind him. A company of
uniformed blacks stepped quickly forward and pushing
past the three, surrounded the ape-man and his captive.

"Both the law and the power to enforce it are upon my
side," announced the officer. "Let us have no trouble.
If you have a grievance against this man you may return
with me and enter your charge regularly before an
authorized tribunal."

"Your legal rights are not above suspicion, my friend,"
replied Tarzan, "and your power to enforce your
commands are only apparent--not real. You have
presumed to enter British territory with an armed
force. Where is your authority for this invasion?
Where are the extradition papers which warrant the
arrest of this man? And what assurance have you that I
cannot bring an armed force about you that will prevent
your return to the Congo Free State?"

The Belgian lost his temper. "I have no disposition to
argue with a naked savage," he cried. "Unless you wish
to be hurt you will not interfere with me. Take the
prisoner, Sergeant!"

Werper raised his lips close to Tarzan's ear. "Keep me
from them, and I can show you the very spot where I saw
your wife last night," he whispered. "She cannot be
far from here at this very minute."

The soldiers, following the signal from their sergeant,
closed in to seize Werper. Tarzan grabbed the Belgian
about the waist, and bearing him beneath his arm as he
might have borne a sack of flour, leaped forward in an
attempt to break through the cordon. His right fist
caught the nearest soldier upon the jaw and sent him
hurtling backward upon his fellows. Clubbed rifles
were torn from the hands of those who barred his way,
and right and left the black soldiers stumbled aside in
the face of the ape-man's savage break for liberty.

So completely did the blacks surround the two that they
dared not fire for fear of hitting one of their own
number, and Tarzan was already through them and upon
the point of dodging into the concealing mazes of the
jungle when one who had sneaked upon him from behind
struck him a heavy blow upon the head with a rifle.

In an instant the ape-man was down and a dozen black
soldiers were upon his back. When he regained
consciousness he found himself securely bound, as was
Werper also. The Belgian officer, success having
crowned his efforts, was in good humor, and inclined to
chaff his prisoners about the ease with which they had
been captured; but from Tarzan of the Apes he elicited
no response. Werper, however, was voluble in his
protests. He explained that Tarzan was an English
lord; but the officer only laughed at the assertion,
and advised his prisoner to save his breath for his
defense in court.

As soon as Tarzan regained his senses and it was found
that he was not seriously injured, the prisoners were
hastened into line and the return march toward the
Congo Free State boundary commenced.

Toward evening the column halted beside a stream, made
camp and prepared the evening meal. From the thick
foliage of the nearby jungle a pair of fierce eyes
watched the activities of the uniformed blacks with
silent intensity and curiosity. From beneath beetling
brows the creature saw the boma constructed, the fires
built, and the supper prepared.

Tarzan and Werper had been lying bound behind a small
pile of knapsacks from the time that the company had
halted; but with the preparation of the meal completed,
their guard ordered them to rise and come forward to
one of the fires where their hands would be unfettered
that they might eat.

As the giant ape-man rose, a startled expression of
recognition entered the eyes of the watcher in the
jungle, and a low guttural broke from the savage lips.
Instantly Tarzan was alert, but the answering growl
died upon his lips, suppressed by the fear that it
might arouse the suspicions of the soldiers.

Suddenly an inspiration came to him. He turned toward
Werper.

"I am going to speak to you in a loud voice and in a
tongue which you do not understand. Appear to listen
intently to what I say, and occasionally mumble
something as though replying in the same language--our
escape may hinge upon the success of your efforts."

Werper nodded in assent and understanding, and
immediately there broke from the lips of his companion
a strange jargon which might have been compared with
equal propriety to the barking and growling of a dog
and the chattering of monkeys.

The nearer soldiers looked in surprise at the ape-man.
Some of them laughed, while others drew away in evident
superstitious fear. The officer approached the
prisoners while Tarzan was still jabbering, and halted
behind them, listening in perplexed interest. When
Werper mumbled some ridiculous jargon in reply his
curiosity broke bounds, and he stepped forward,
demanding to know what language it was that they spoke.

Tarzan had gauged the measure of the man's culture from
the nature and quality of his conversation during the
march, and he rested the success of his reply upon the
estimate he had made.

"Greek," he explained.

"Oh, I thought it was Greek," replied the officer; "but
it has been so many years since I studied it that I was
not sure. In future, however, I will thank you to
speak in a language which I am more familiar with."

Werper turned his head to hide a grin, whispering to
Tarzan: "It was Greek to him all right--and to me, too."

But one of the black soldiers mumbled in a low voice to
a companion: "I have heard those sounds before--once at
night when I was lost in the jungle, I heard the hairy
men of the trees talking among themselves, and their
words were like the words of this white man. I wish
that we had not found him. He is not a man at all--he
is a bad spirit, and we shall have bad luck if we do
not let him go," and the fellow rolled his eyes
fearfully toward the jungle.

His companion laughed nervously, and moved away, to
repeat the conversation, with variations and
exaggerations, to others of the black soldiery, so that
it was not long before a frightful tale of black magic
and sudden death was woven about the giant prisoner,
and had gone the rounds of the camp.

And deep in the gloomy jungle amidst the darkening
shadows of the falling night a hairy, manlike creature
swung swiftly southward upon some secret mission of his
own.