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galloped the length of the room toward Miltoon and placed it on the
frightened little man's head.
"Stand still now," Kurvandi said. "Let us see if you were lying. I want to
know if you truly believe I am more deadly than this bronze giant."
"Please, your majesty," said Miltoon. "You are all powerful. Everyone in
Ur knows that."
"Just Ur?" Kurvandi said, puffing the arrow back to hi ear, taking aim.
"Everywhere!" Miltoon said. "They know it everywhere."
"Shhhhhhhh," Kurvandi said. "You are shaking the fruit. Now hold your
breath. The truth will come out when I fire this arrow. Am I not part god?"
Miltoon held his breath.
Kurvandi let loose the arrow
Miltoon took the shaft in the right eye. His head knocked against the
wall and the fruit fell forward, and Miltoon slid to a sitting position on the
floor. The fruit in his lap.
"Lying," Kurvandi said. He tossed the bow back to its owner. "Run and
check the fruit."
The archer bolted across the floor and recovered the yellow fruit from
Miltoon's lap.
"Is the fruit bruised?" asked Kurvandi.
The archer examined it. "No, my king."
"Is there blood on it?"
"No," said the archer.
Kurvandi was disappointed. "Very well. Bring it here."
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The archer once again bolted across the floor, handing the fruit to his
king.
Kurvandi took the fruit and the archer bowed and moved away.
Kurvandi carefully examined the fruit..
The archer was correct. No blood.
Kurvandi ate it anyway.
As Miltoon's body was dragged from Kurvandi's view, he considered the
bronze giant. No use taking chances.
"Let us proceed to the arena," he said. "Miltoon was right about one
thing. I would not want to injure our entertainment."
Even as Kurvandi was being carded toward the arena on a litter by
slaves, his lions being led by servants, the word was passed that the giant and
the captive white woman, as well as others, were to be brought to the arena.
The dungeon where Tarzan, Jean, and Nyama were held received word
first, and when the husky jailer opened the door, followed by half a dozen
warriors who were to provide escort for the prisoners, they were surprised.
It was a brief surprise, and far from pleasant. Its only positive element
was that it was quick. As the jailer entered the dungeon and the light from the
hallway flooded inside, the chain Tarzan held whipped out like a snake, and
like a snake, it struck. Its fangs were the hard links that made up the chain.
The impact shattered the jailer's head like an overripe fruit, and the contents
of this fruit sprayed the guards and the messenger, and in that instant, a
blinking of an eye really, Tarzan swung the chains, one in either hand, fast
and rhythmically, taking out heads and knees. In less than an instant, four
men lay dead and two were bolting out of the dungeon and down the hall.
Before the one in the rear could make it to the stairs and freedom, Tarzan
dropped the chains and took up a spear from one of the dead guards, and
flung it. The spear struck the man in the back and passed almost completely
through him, punching out of the breastplate armor he wore like a darning
needle punching through cardboard.
The man fell, hit on the extended spear, did a pirouette, and went down.
Tarzan realized one man had escaped. He cursed his reflexes. He felt that the
time he had spent away from the jungle had affected him. None of them
should have escaped.
The women grabbed spears. Tarzan kept one length of chain, looped it
around his waist, found a spear and a short sword, and started up the
stairway.
Had little Nkima been human, he might have spent a moment praying,
thinking of the fates, whatever, for when the crocodile closed its jaws, it
looked as if for Nkima the world was about to end.
But then, totally by accident, a gift from the gods, his little hand grasped
a floating stick and he struck out with it. The strike was no good. Very clumsy.
Which was exactly what saved Nkima's life. The stick went into the croc's
mouth and lodged its jaws open. The croc, in pain,
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unable to snap the stick, began to thrash. Finally, the pressure of its powerful
jaws did in fact splinter the wood, but by then it was too late for the croc to
enjoy its meal. Nkima had thrashed toward the city wall and made it; he
scampered halfway up and stopped on an outcropping of stone 'to look down
on the crocodiles.
What Nkima most wanted to do was to yell and curse the crocodiles and
tell them what a brave and courageous monkey he was, and what cowards
they were, but even Nkima, who was not strong on reason, determined that
this was not the thing to do.
It was important for him to be quiet. Be quiet and enter into Ur in
search of his master, Tarzan.
He went nimbly up the wall and over and into the city, right between
two guards marching away from each other along the wall's walkway. Neither
saw him.
Nkima leapt to the ground below, sniffed the air, and proceeded.
The one who escaped Tarzan was the messenger who had carried word
for Tarzan and the two women to be brought to the arena. When he raced out
of the dungeon, he began to yell for help. By the time Tarzan and the two
women made it to the top of the dungeon stairs, the room was filled with
warriors.
Tarzan stabbed with the spear, then as quarters closed in, he fought
with the sword until it snapped. Then he broke the spear in half and fought
with the bladed end in one hand and the remains of the broken shaft in the
other. He whacked and poked and the warriors fell. Few got up again. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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