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When at last he was made fast and seemed quite helpless
and beyond the faintest hope of succour, Rokoff's shrivelled
wart of courage swelled to its usual proportions when danger
was not present.
He stepped close to the ape-man, and, seizing a spear from
the hands of one of the savages, was the first to prod the
helpless victim. A little stream of blood trickled down the
giant's smooth skin from the wound in his side; but no murmur
of pain passed his lips.
The smile of contempt upon his face seemed to infuriate
the Russian. With a volley of oaths he leaped at the helpless
captive, beating him upon the face with his clenched fists
and kicking him mercilessly about the legs.
Then he raised the heavy spear to drive it through the
mighty heart, and still Tarzan of the Apes smiled
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contemptuously upon him.
Before Rokoff could drive the weapon home the chief sprang
upon him and dragged him away from his intended victim.
"Stop, white man!" he cried. "Rob us of this prisoner and
our death-dance, and you yourself may have to take his place."
The threat proved most effective in keeping the Russian
from further assaults upon the prisoner, though he continued
to stand a little apart and hurl taunts at his enemy. He told
Tarzan that he himself was going to eat the ape-man's heart.
He enlarged upon the horrors of the future life of Tarzan's
son, and intimated that his vengeance would reach as well to
Jane Clayton.
"You think your wife safe in England," said Rokoff.
"Poor fool! She is even now in the hands of one not even of
decent birth, and far from the safety of London and the
protection of her friends. I had not meant to tell you this
until I could bring to you upon Jungle Island proof of her fate.
"Now that you are about to die the most unthinkably horrid
death that it is given a white man to die--let this word of
the plight of your wife add to the torments that you must
suffer before the last savage spear-thrust releases you from
your torture."
The dance had commenced now, and the yells of the circling
warriors drowned Rokoff's further attempts to distress
his victim.
The leaping savages, the flickering firelight playing upon
their painted bodies, circled about the victim at the stake.
To Tarzan's memory came a similar scene, when he had
rescued D'Arnot from a like predicament at the last moment
before the final spear-thrust should have ended his sufferings.
Who was there now to rescue him? In all the world there was
none able to save him from the torture and the death.
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The thought that these human fiends would devour him
when the dance was done caused him not a single qualm of
horror or disgust. It did not add to his sufferings as it would
have to those of an ordinary white man, for all his life Tarzan
had seen the beasts of the jungle devour the flesh of their kills.
Had he not himself battled for the grisly forearm of a great
ape at that long-gone Dum-Dum, when he had slain the fierce
Tublat and won his niche in the respect of the Apes of Kerchak?
The dancers were leaping more closely to him now. The spears
were commencing to find his body in the first torturing pricks
that prefaced the more serious thrusts.
It would not be long now. The ape-man longed for the last
savage lunge that would end his misery.
And then, far out in the mazes of the weird jungle, rose a
shrill scream.
For an instant the dancers paused, and in the silence of
the interval there rose from the lips of the fast-bound
white man an answering shriek, more fearsome and more terrible
than that of the jungle-beast that had roused it.
For several minutes the blacks hesitated; then, at the urging
of Rokoff and their chief, they leaped in to finish the
dance and the victim; but ere ever another spear touched the
brown hide a tawny streak of green-eyed hate and ferocity
bounded from the door of the hut in which Tarzan had been
imprisoned, and Sheeta, the panther, stood snarling beside
his master.
For an instant the blacks and the whites stood transfixed
with terror. Their eyes were riveted upon the bared fangs of
the jungle cat.
Only Tarzan of the Apes saw what else there was emerging
from the dark interior of the hut.
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Chapter 9
Chivalry or Villainy
From her cabin port upon the Kincaid, Jane Clayton had
seen her husband rowed to the verdure-clad shore of Jungle
Island, and then the ship once more proceeded upon its way.
For several days she saw no one other than Sven Anderssen,
the Kincaid's taciturn and repellent cook. She asked him
the name of the shore upon which her husband had been set.
"Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard," replied the
Swede, and that was all that she could get out of him.
She had come to the conclusion that he spoke no other
English, and so she ceased to importune him for information;
but never did she forget to greet him pleasantly or to thank
him for the hideous, nauseating meals he brought her.
Three days from the spot where Tarzan had been marooned
the Kincaid came to anchor in the mouth of a great
river, and presently Rokoff came to Jane Clayton's cabin.
"We have arrived, my dear," he said, with a sickening leer.
"I have come to offer you safety, liberty, and ease. My heart
has been softened toward you in your suffering, and I would
make amends as best I may.
"Your husband was a brute--you know that best who found
him naked in his native jungle, roaming wild with the savage
beasts that were his fellows. Now I am a gentleman, not only
born of noble blood, but raised gently as befits a man of quality.
"To you, dear Jane, I offer the love of a cultured man and
association with one of culture and refinement, which you
must have sorely missed in your relations with the poor ape that
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through your girlish infatuation you married so thoughtlessly.
I love you, Jane. You have but to say the word and no
further sorrows shall afflict you--even your baby shall be
returned to you unharmed."
Outside the door Sven Anderssen paused with the noonday
meal he had been carrying to Lady Greystoke. Upon the end
of his long, stringy neck his little head was cocked to one
side, his close-set eyes were half closed, his ears, so
expressive was his whole attitude of stealthy eavesdropping,
seemed truly to be cocked forward--even his long, yellow,
straggly moustache appeared to assume a sly droop.
As Rokoff closed his appeal, awaiting the reply he invited,
the look of surprise upon Jane Clayton's face turned to one
of disgust. She fairly shuddered in the fellow's face.
"I would not have been surprised, M. Rokoff," she said,
had you attempted to force me to submit to your evil desires,
but that you should be so fatuous as to believe that I,
wife of John Clayton, would come to you willingly, even to
save my life, I should never have imagined. I have known
you for a scoundrel, M. Rokoff; but until now I had not taken
you for a fool."
Rokoff's eyes narrowed, and the red of mortification flushed out
the pallor of his face. He took a step toward the girl, threateningly.
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