Tarzan and the Snake People by Barton Werper

Author:Barton Werper [Werper, Barton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX

The Secret Chambers of Narda

Goro, the moon, was still high in the heavens when Tarzan of the Apes awakened, eyes still burning from the poisonous venom, but his magnificent sight restored. Unlike Basuli, the ape-man would not have to suffer hours of blindness. His blood and his recuperative powers were far beyond the ken of the ordinary man.

The cavern in which he found himself was similar in size and shape to the home of Lyta; however, it's furnishings were far more luxurious, and there, were no smoking fires of protection throughout the room nor at the entrance.

"You are awake, Tarzan. You are indeed a man of much strength. For when one of your race has been felled by the venom of a snake-man, he is usually powerless for many hours—for that matter, some of your people can never recover."

Tarzan turned his bronzed body toward the voice. The cavern was illuminated by strange mounds of glowing dirt-like substances. In the eerie light, Tarzan saw Narda, the night priestess, standing proud and erect across the room from him. She was, in her own way, as stunningly beautiful as her sister, Lyta. The same full, rounded body; the same jutting bosom, incredibly slim waist, and long, shapely legs. Her coloring was, however, vastly different—as different from that of Lyta as day is from night. For whereas Lyta had exuded a blondness from head to toe, Narda's hair was of a blue-black, and her skin of an olive ripeness. Her eyes, the same strange-lidded and shaped eyes as Lyta's were, instead of the pale blue of her sister, a deep, almost black shade of green. There was about Narda, and for that matter, about her quarters as well, an air of corruptness, even of evil unguessed at.

"Where,” the ape-man spoke as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, "is your Belgian? I must speak to this evil man. I must stop this violent war between sisters. You, I assume are Narda, the beloved sister of Lyta?"

The pure evilness of her laughter gave Tarzan pause for thought. This indeed, he told himself, was a woman corrupted. "You will see my Belgian, when I am ready for you to see him, Tarzan. Not before. You are not master here, O lord of the jungle. You are my slave!"

"Tarzan is slave to no man—nor woman!" The deep voice of the man should have warned Narda. It should have told her that this captive of hers was not of the same weak ilk as her Belgian lover, and not to be toyed with as any of her snake-men could be during their brief lives as men-shaped men. She had not enough experience, however, with true men to read the warning.

This time her answering laughter was bitter rather than evil. All had not been happiness between Narda and her Belgian lover. She had learned early in their evil relationship that men of the tarmangani tribes were not as those of her snake-men. Yet, somehow, the stories she

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