And then, at last, they reached the highest level, far above the ground, where the rooms were much closer to daylight because of the diminished thickness of the walls near the summit of the dome, but even here were the ever-present candles. Suddenly the walls of the corridor became gorgeously decorated, the number of candles increased, and Tarzan sensed that they were approaching the quarters of a rich or powerful noble. They halted, now, before a doorway where stood a sentinel, with whom one of the warriors conducting them communicated.
“Tell Zoanthrohago Zertol that we have brought Zuanthrol and another slave who can communicate with him in a strange tongue.”
The sentinel struck a heavy gong with his lance and presently, from the interior of the chamber, a man appeared to whom the sentinel repeated the warrior’s message.
“Let them enter,” said the newcomer, who was a white-tunicked slave; “my glorious master, Zoanthrohago Zertol, expects his slave Zuanthrol. Follow me!”
They followed him through several chambers until at last he led them into the presence of a gorgeously garbed warrior who was seated behind a large table, or desk, upon which were numerous strange instruments, large, cumbersome looking volumes, pads of heavy Minunian writing paper and the necessary implements for writing. The man looked up as they entered the room.
“It is your slave, Zuanthrol, Zertol,” announced the fellow who had led them hither.
“But the other?” Prince Zoanthrohago pointed at Komodoflorensal.
“He speaks the strange language that Zuanthrol speaks, and he was brought along that you might communicate with Zuanthrol if you so wished.” Zoanthrohago nodded.
He turned to Komodoflorensal. “Ask him,” he ordered, “if he feels any differently since I reduced his size.”
When the question was put to Tarzan by Komodoflorensal in the imaginary language with which they were supposed to communicate the ape-man shook his head, at the same time speaking a few words in English.
“He says no, illustrious prince,” translated Komodoflorensal out of his imagination, “and he asks when you will restore him to his normal size and permit him to return to his own country, which is far from Minuni.”
“As a Minunian he should know,” replied the Zertol, “that he never will be permitted to return to his own country—Trohanadalmakus never will see him again.”
“But he is not of Trohanadalmakus, nor is he a Minunian,” explained Komodoflorensal. “He came to us and we did not make a slave of him, but treated him as a friend, because he is from a far country with which we have never made war.”
“What country is that?” demanded Zoanthrohago.
“That we do not know, but he says that there is a great country beyond the thorns where dwell many millions as large as was he. He says that his people would not be unfriendly to ours and for this reason we should not enslave him, but treat him as a guest.”
Zoanthrohago smiled. “If you believe this you must be a simple fellow, Trohanadalmakusian,” he said. “We all know that there is naught beyond Minuni but impenetrable forests of thorn to the very uttermost wall of the blue dome within which we all dwell. I can well believe that the fellow is no Trohanadalmakusian, but he most certainly is a Minunian, since all creatures of whatever kind dwell in Minuni. Doubtless he is a strange form of Zertalacolol, a member of a tribe inhabiting some remote mountain fastness, which we have never previously discovered; but be that as it may, he will never—”
At this juncture the prince was interrupted by the clanging of the great gong at the outer entrance to his apartments. He paused to count the strokes and when they reached five and ceased he turned to the warriors who had conducted Tarzan and Komodoflorensal to his presence.
“Take the slaves into that chamber,” he instructed, pointing to a doorway in the rear of the apartment in which he had received them. “When the king has gone I will send for them.”
As they were crossing toward the doorway Zoanthrohago had indicated a warrior halted in the main entrance to the chamber. “Elkomoelhago,” he announced, “Thagosto of Veltopismakus, Ruler of All Men, Master of Created Things, All-Wise, All-Courageous, All-Glorious! Down before the thagosto!”
Tarzan glanced back as he was quitting the chamber to see Zoanthrohago and the others in the room kneel and lean far back with arms raised high above their heads as Elkomoelhago entered with a guard of a dozen gorgeous warriors, and he could not but compare this ruler with the simple and dignified soldier who ruled Trohanadalmakus and who went about his city without show or pomp, and oftentimes with no other escort than a single slave; a ruler to whom no man bent his knee, yet to whom was accorded the maximum of veneration and respect.
And Elkomoelhago had seen the slaves and the warriors leave the chamber as he had entered it. He acknowledged the salutes of Zoanthrohago and his people with a curt wave of the hand and commanded them to arise.
“Who quitted the apartment as I entered?” he demanded, looking suspiciously at Zoanthrohago.
“The slave Zuanthrol and another who interprets his strange language for me,” explained the Zertol.
“Have them back,” commanded the thagosto; “I would speak with you concerning Zuanthrol.”
Zoanthrohago instructed one of his slaves to fetch them and, in the few moments that it required, Elkomoelhago took a chair behind the desk at which his host had been sitting. When Tarzan and Komodoflorensal entered the chamber the guard who accompanied them brought them to within a few paces of the desk behind which the king sat, and here he bade them kneel and make their obeisance to the thagosto.
Familiar since childhood, was every tradition of slavery to Komodoflorensal the Trohanadalmakusian. Almost in a spirit of Fatalism had he accepted the conditions of this servitude that the fortunes of war had thrust him into and so it was that, without question or hesitation, he dropped to one knee in servile
