Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar

  Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.

  Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar

  By

  Edgar Rice Burroughs

  Contents

  CHAPTER

  1 Belgian and Arab 2 On the Road to Opar 3 The Call of the Jungle 4 Prophecy and Fulfillment 5 The Altar of the Flaming God 6 The Arab Raid 7 The Jewel-Room of Opar 8 The Escape from Opar 9 The Theft of the Jewels 10 Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels 11 Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again 12 La Seeks Vengeance 13 Condemned to Torture and Death 14 A Priestess But Yet a Woman 15 The Flight of Werper 16 Tarzan Again Leads the Mangani 17 The Deadly Peril of Jane Clayton 18 The Fight For the Treasure 19 Jane Clayton and The Beasts of the Jungle 20 Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner 21 The Flight to the Jungle 22 Tarzan Recovers His Reason 23 A Night of Terror 24 Home

  1

  Belgian and Arab

  Lieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the name he haddishonored to thank for his narrow escape from being cashiered. Atfirst he had been humbly thankful, too, that they had sent him to thisGodforsaken Congo post instead of court-martialing him, as he had sojustly deserved; but now six months of the monotony, the frightfulisolation and the loneliness had wrought a change. The young manbrooded continually over his fate. His days were filled with morbidself-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and vacillating minda hatred for those who had sent him here--for the very men he had atfirst inwardly thanked for saving him from the ignominy of degradation.

  He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never had regretted thesins which had snatched him from that gayest of capitals, and as thedays passed he came to center his resentment upon the representative inCongo land of the authority which had exiled him--his captain andimmediate superior.

  This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring little love in thosedirectly beneath him, yet respected and feared by the black soldiers ofhis little command.

  Werper was accustomed to sit for hours glaring at his superior as thetwo sat upon the veranda of their common quarters, smoking theirevening cigarets in a silence which neither seemed desirous ofbreaking. The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into aform of mania. The captain's natural taciturnity he distorted into astudied attempt to insult him because of his past shortcomings. Heimagined that his superior held him in contempt, and so he chafed andfumed inwardly until one evening his madness became suddenly homicidal.He fingered the butt of the revolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed andhis brows contracted. At last he spoke.

  "You have insulted me for the last time!" he cried, springing to hisfeet. "I am an officer and a gentleman, and I shall put up with it nolonger without an accounting from you, you pig."

  The captain, an expression of surprise upon his features, turned towardhis junior. He had seen men before with the jungle madness uponthem--the madness of solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps atouch of fever.

  He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the other's shoulder.Quiet words of counsel were upon his lips; but they were never spoken.Werper construed his superior's action into an attempt to close withhim. His revolver was on a level with the captain's heart, and thelatter had taken but a step when Werper pulled the trigger. Without amoan the man sank to the rough planking of the veranda, and as he fellthe mists that had clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he sawhimself and the deed that he had done in the same light that those whomust judge him would see them.

  He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of the soldiers and heheard men running in his direction. They would seize him, and if theydidn't kill him they would take him down the Congo to a point where aproperly ordered military tribunal would do so just as effectively,though in a more regular manner.

  Werper had no desire to die. Never before had he so yearned for lifeas in this moment that he had so effectively forfeited his right tolive. The men were nearing him. What was he to do? He glanced aboutas though searching for the tangible form of a legitimate excuse forhis crime; but he could find only the body of the man he had socauselessly shot down.

  In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming soldiery. Across thecompound he ran, his revolver still clutched tightly in his hand. Atthe gates a sentry halted him. Werper did not pause to parley or toexert the influence of his commission--he merely raised his weapon andshot down the innocent black. A moment later the fugitive had tornopen the gates and vanished into the blackness of the jungle, but notbefore he had transferred the rifle and ammunition belts of the deadsentry to his own person.

  All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the heart of thewilderness. Now and again the voice of a lion brought him to alistening halt; but with cocked and ready rifle he pushed ahead again,more fearful of the human huntsmen in his rear than of the wildcarnivora ahead.

  Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on. All sense of hungerand fatigue were lost in the terrors of contemplated capture. He couldthink only of escape. He dared not pause to rest or eat until therewas no further danger from pursuit, and so he staggered on until atlast he fell and could rise no more. How long he had fled he did notknow, or try to know. When he could flee no longer the knowledge thathe had reached his limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousness ofutter exhaustion.

  And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him. Achmet'sfollowers were for running a spear through the body of their hereditaryenemy; but Achmet would have it otherwise. First he would question theBelgian. It were easier to question a man first and kill himafterward, than kill him first and then question him.

  So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own tent, and thereslaves administered wine and food in small quantities until at last theprisoner regained consciousness. As he opened his eyes he saw thefaces of strange black men about him, and just outside the tent thefigure of an Arab. Nowhere was the uniform of his soldiers to be seen.

  The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the prisoner upon him,entered the tent.

  "I am Achmet Zek," he announced. "Who are you, and what were you doingin my country? Where are your soldiers?"

  Achmet Zek! Werper's eyes went wide, and his heart sank. He was inthe clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats--a hater of allEuropeans, especially those who wore the uniform of Belgium. For yearsthe military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitless war uponthis man and his followers--a war in which quarter had never been askednor expected by either side.

  But presently in the very hatred of the man for Belgians, Werper saw afaint ray of hope for himself. He, too, was an outcast and an outlaw.So far, at least, they possessed a common interest, and Werper decidedto play upon it for all that it might yield.

  "I have heard of you," he replied, "and was searching for you. Mypeople have turned against me. I hate them. Even now their soldiersare searching for me, to kill me. I knew that you would protect mefrom them, for you, too, hate them. In return I will take service withyou. I am a trained soldier. I can fight, and your enemies are myenemies."

  Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence. In his mind he revolved manythoughts, chief among which was that the unbeliever lied. Of coursethere was the chance that he did not lie, and if he told the truth thenhis proposition was one well worthy of consideration, since fightingmen were never over plentiful--especially white men with the trainingand knowledge of military matters that a European officer must possess.

  Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werper did not knowAchmet Zek, who was quite apt to scowl where another would smile, andsmile where another would scowl.

  "And if you have lied to me," said Achmet Zek, "I will kill you at anytime. What return, o
ther than your life, do you expect for yourservices?"

  "My keep only, at first," replied Werper. "Later, if I am worth more,we can easily reach an understanding." Werper's only desire at themoment was to preserve his life. And so the agreement was reached andLieutenant Albert Werper became a member of the ivory and slave raidingband of the notorious Achmet Zek.

  For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savage raider. He foughtwith a savage abandon, and a vicious cruelty fully equal to that of hisfellow desperadoes. Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, andwith a growing satisfaction which finally found expression in a greaterconfidence in the man, and resulted in an increased independence ofaction for Werper.

  Achmet Zek took the Belgian into his confidence to a great extent, andat last unfolded to him a pet scheme which the Arab had long fostered,but which he never had found an opportunity to effect. With the aid ofa European, however, the thing might be easily accomplished. Hesounded Werper.

  "You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?" he asked.

  Werper nodded. "I have heard of him; but I do not know him."

  "But for him we might carry on our 'trading' in safety and with greatprofit," continued the Arab. "For years he has fought us, driving usfrom the richest part of the country, harassing us, and arming thenatives that they may repel us when we come to 'trade.' He is veryrich. If we could find some way to make him pay us many pieces of goldwe should not only be avenged upon him; but repaid for much that he hasprevented us from winning from the natives under his protection."

  Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and lighted it.

  "And you have a plan to make him pay?" he asked.

  "He has a wife," replied Achmet Zek, "whom men say is very beautiful.She would bring a great price farther north, if we found it toodifficult to collect ransom money from this Tarzan."

  Werper bent his head in thought. Achmet Zek stood awaiting his reply.What good remained in Albert Werper revolted at the thought of sellinga white woman into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem. Helooked up at Achmet Zek. He saw the Arab's eyes narrow, and he guessedthat the other had sensed his antagonism to the plan. What would itmean to Werper to refuse? His life lay in the hands of thissemi-barbarian, who esteemed the life of an unbeliever less highlythan that of a dog. Werper loved life. What was this woman to him,anyway? She was a European, doubtless, a member of organized society.He was an outcast. The hand of every white man was against him. Shewas his natural enemy, and if he refused to lend himself to herundoing, Achmet Zek would have him killed.

  "You hesitate," murmured the Arab.

  "I was but weighing the chances of success," lied Werper, "and myreward. As a European I can gain admittance to their home and table.You have no other with you who could do so much. The risk will begreat. I should be well paid, Achmet Zek."

  A smile of relief passed over the raider's face.

  "Well said, Werper," and Achmet Zek slapped his lieutenant upon theshoulder. "You should be well paid and you shall. Now let us sittogether and plan how best the thing may be done," and the two mensquatted upon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet's oncegorgeous tent, and talked together in low voices well into the night.Both were tall and bearded, and the exposure to sun and wind had givenan almost Arab hue to the European's complexion. In every detail ofdress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, so that outwardly hewas as much an Arab as the other. It was late when he arose andretired to his own tent.

  The following day Werper spent in overhauling his Belgian uniform,removing from it every vestige of evidence that might indicate itsmilitary purposes. From a heterogeneous collection of loot, Achmet Zekprocured a pith helmet and a European saddle, and from his black slavesand followers a party of porters, askaris and tent boys to make up amodest safari for a big game hunter. At the head of this party Werperset out from camp.