“There is no way out?” asked Tarzan.
“There is a way, but it is always guarded.”
“Where is it?” queried Tarzan.
“It is a continuation of one of the mine tunnels, passing entirely through the mountain to the valley beyond. The mines have been worked by the ancestors of this race for an almost incalculable length of time. The mountains are honeycombed with their shafts and tunnels. Back of the gold-bearing quartz lies an enormous deposit of altered peridotite, which contains diamonds, in the search for which it evidently became necessary to extend one of the shafts to the opposite side of the mountain, possibly for purposes of ventilation. This tunnel and the trail leading down into Opar are the only means of ingress to the valley. From time immemorial they have kept the tunnel guarded, more particularly, I imagine, to prevent the escape of slaves than to thwart the inroads of an enemy, since they believe that there is no fear of the latter emergency. The trail to Opar they do not guard, because they no longer fear the Oparians, and know quite well that none of their Gomangani slaves would dare enter the valley of the sunworshipers. For the same reason, then, that the slaves cannot escape, we, too, must remain prisoners here forever.”
“How is the tunnel guarded?” asked Tarzan.
“Two Bolgani and a dozen or more Gomangani warriors are always upon duty there,” replied the old man.
“The Gomangani would like to escape?”
“They have tried it many times in the past, I am told,” replied the old man, “though never since I have lived here, and always they were caught and tortured. And all their race was punished and worked the harder because of these attempts upon the part of a few.”
“They are numerous—the Gomangani?”
“There are probably five thousand of them in the valley,” replied the old man.
“And how many Bolgani?” the ape-man asked.
“Between ten and eleven hundred.”
“Five to one,” murmured Tarzan, “and yet they are afraid to attempt to escape.”
“But you must remember,” said the old man, “that the Bolgani are the dominant and intelligent race—the others are intellectually little above the beasts of the forest.”
“Yet they are men,” Tarzan reminded him.
“In figure only,” replied the old man. “They cannot band together as men do. They have not as yet reached the community plane of evolution. It is true that families reside in a single village, but that idea, together with their weapons, was given to them by the Bolgani that they might not be entirely exterminated by the lions and panthers. Formerly, I am told, each individual Gomangani, when he became old enough to hunt for himself, constructed a hut apart from others and took up his solitary life, there being at that time no slightest semblance of family life. Then the Bolgani taught them how to build palisaded villages and compelled the men and women to remain in them and rear their children to maturity, after which the children were required to remain in the village, so that now some of the communities can claim as many as forty or fifty people. But the death rate is high among them, and they cannot multiply as rapidly as people living under normal conditions of peace and security. The brutalities of the Bolgani kill many; the carnivora take a considerable toll.”
“Five to one, and still they remain in slavery—what cowards they must be,” said the ape-man.
“On the contrary, they are far from cowardly,” replied the old man. “They will face a lion with the utmost bravery. But for so many ages have they been subservient to the will of the Bolgani, that it has become a fixed habit in them—as the fear of God is inherent in us, so is the fear of the Bolgani inherent in the minds of the Gomangani from birth.”
“It is interesting,” said Tarzan. “But tell me now where the woman is of whom I have come in search.”
“She is your mate?” asked the old man.
“No,” replied Tarzan. “I told the Gomangani that she was, so that they would protect her. She is La, queen of Opar, High Priestess of the Flaming God.”
The old man looked his incredulity. “Impossible!” he cried. “It cannot be that the queen of Opar has risked her life by coming to the home of her hereditary enemies.”
“She was forced to it,” replied Tarzan, “her life being threatened by a part of her people because she had refused to sacrifice me to their god.”
“If the Bolgani knew this there would be great rejoicing,” replied the old man.
“Tell me where she is,” demanded Tarzan. “She preserved me from her people, and I must save her from whatever fate the Bolgani contemplate for her.”
“It is hopeless,” said the old man. “I can tell you where she is, but you cannot rescue her.”
“I can try,” replied the ape-man.
“But you will fail and die.”
“If what you tell me is true, that there is absolutely no chance of my escaping from the valley, I might as well die,” replied the ape-man. “However, I do not agree with you.”
The old man shrugged. “You do not know the Bolgani,” he said.
“Tell me where the woman is,” said Tarzan.
“Look,” replied the old man, motioning Tarzan to follow him into his apartment, and approaching a window which faced toward the west, he pointed towards a strange flat tower which rose above the roof of the main building near the west end of the palace. “She is probably somewhere in the interior of that tower,” said the old man to Tarzan, “but as far as you are concerned, she might as well be at the north pole.”
Tarzan stood in silence for a
