“He was very wonderful,” it said. “Much more wonderful than our warriors,” and then, after a silence, “You may go, slave, and see to it that I am not disturbed before the Sun stands midway between the Women’s Corridor and the King’s Corridor.”
“May your candles burn as deathlessly as your beauty, Princess,” said the slave, as she backed across the apartment.
An instant later the three behind the paneling heard a door close.
Tarzan crept stealthily along the passage, seeking the secret panel that connected with the apartment where the Princess Janzara lay composed for the night; but it was Talaskar who found it.
“Here!” she whispered and together the three examined the fastening. It was simple and could evidently be opened from the opposite side by pressure upon a certain spot in the panel.
“Wait here!” said Tarzan to his companions. “I am going to fetch the Princess Janzara. If we cannot escape with her we should be able to buy our liberty with such a hostage.”
Without waiting to discuss the advisability of his action with the others, Tarzan gently slid back the catch that held the panel and pushed it slightly ajar. Before him was the apartment of Janzara—a creation of gorgeous barbarity in the center of which, upon a marble slab, the princess lay upon her back, a gigantic candle burning at her head and another at her feet.
Regardless of the luxuriousness of their surroundings, of their wealth, or their positions in life, the Minunians never sleep upon a substance softer than a single thickness of fabric, which they throw upon the ground, or upon wooden, stone, or marble sleeping slabs, depending upon their caste and their wealth.
Leaving the panel open the ape-man stepped quietly into the apartment and moved directly toward the princess, who lay with closed eyes, either already asleep, or assiduously wooing Morpheus. He had crossed halfway to her cold couch when a sudden draught closed the panel with a noise that might well have awakened the dead.
Instantly the princess was on her feet and facing him. For a moment she stood in silence gazing at him and then she moved slowly toward him, the sinuous undulations of her graceful carriage suggesting to the Lord of the Jungle a similarity to the savage majesty of Sabor, the lioness.
“It is you, Zuanthrol!” breathed the princess. “You have come for me?”
“I have come for you, Princess,” replied the ape-man. “Make no outcry and no harm will befall you.”
“I will make no outcry,” whispered Janzara as with half closed lids she glided to him and threw her arms about his neck.
Tarzan drew back and gently disengaged himself. “You do not understand, Princess,” he told her. “You are my prisoner. You are coming with me.”
“Yes,” she breathed, “I am your prisoner, but it is you who do not understand. I love you. It is my right to choose whatever slave I will to be my prince. I have chosen you.”
Tarzan shook his head impatiently. “You do not love me,” he said. “I am sorry that you think you do, for I do not love you. I have no time to waste. Come!” and he stepped closer to take her by the wrist.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “Or can it be that you do not know who I am?”
“You are Janzara, daughter of Elkomoelhago,” replied Tarzan. “I know well who you are.”
“And you dare to spurn my love!” She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling to the tumultuous urge of her emotions.
“It is no question of love between us,” replied the ape-man. “To me it is only a question of liberty and life for myself and my companions.”
“You love another?” questioned Janzara.
“Yes,” Tarzan told her.
“Who is she?” demanded the princess.
“Will you come quietly, or shall I be compelled to carry you away by force?” asked the ape-man, ignoring her question.
For a moment the woman stood silently before him, her every muscle tensed, her dark eyes two blazing wells of fire, and then slowly her expression changed. Her face softened and she stretched one hand toward him.
“I will help you, Zuanthrol,” she said. “I will help you to escape. Because I love you I shall do this. Come! Follow me!” She turned and moved softly across the apartment.
“But my companions,” said the ape-man. “I cannot go without them.”
“Where are they?”
He did not tell her, for as yet he was none too sure of her motives.
“Show me the way,” he said, “and I can return for them.”
“Yes,” she replied, “I will show you and then perhaps you will love me better than you love the other.”
In the passage behind the paneling Talaskar and Komodoflorensal awaited the outcome of Tarzan’s venture. Distinctly to their ears came every word of the conversation between the ape-man and the princess.
“He loves you,” said Komodoflorensal. “You see, he loves you.”
“I see nothing of the kind,” returned Talaskar. “Because he does not love the Princess Janzara is no proof that he loves me.”
“But he does love you—and you love him! I have seen it since first he came. Would that he were not my friend, for then I might run him through.”
“Why would you run him through because he loves me—if he does?” demanded the girl. “Am I so low that you would rather see your friend dead than mated with me?”
“I—” he hesitated. “I cannot tell you what I mean.”
The girl laughed, and then suddenly sobered. “She is leading him from her apartment. We had better follow.”
As Talaskar laid her fingers upon the spring that actuated the lock holding the panel in place, Janzara led Tarzan across her chamber toward a doorway in one of the sidewalls—not the doorway through which her slave had departed.
“Follow me,” whispered the princess, “and you will see what the love of Janzara means.”
Tarzan, not entirely assured of her intentions, followed her warily.
“You are afraid,” she said. “You do not trust me! Well, come here then and look, yourself, into this chamber before
