Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction; Tarzan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
In the moonlight he could see the sheer cliff rising from the water for
a great distance along the shore--far beyond the precincts of the
temple and the palace--towering high above him, a seemingly impregnable
barrier against his return. Swimming close in, he skirted the wall
searching diligently for some foothold, however slight, upon its
smooth, forbidding surface. Above him and quite out of reach were
numerous apertures, but there were no means at hand by which he could
reach them. Presently, however, his hopes were raised by the sight of
an opening level with the surface of the water. It lay just ahead and a
few strokes brought him to it--cautious strokes that brought forth no
sound from the yielding waters. At the nearer side of the opening he
stopped and reconnoitered. There was no one in sight. Carefully he
raised his body to the threshold of the entrance-way, his smooth brown
hide glistening in the moonlight as it shed the water in tiny sparkling
rivulets.
Before him stretched a gloomy corridor, unlighted save for the faint
illumination of the diffused moonlight that penetrated it for but a
short distance from the opening. Moving as rapidly as reasonable
caution warranted, Tarzan followed the corridor into the bowels of the
cave. There was an abrupt turn and then a flight of steps at the top of
which lay another corridor running parallel with the face of the cliff.
This passage was dimly lighted by flickering cressets set in niches in
the walls at considerable distances apart. A quick survey showed the
ape-man numerous openings upon each side of the corridor and his quick
ears caught sounds that indicated that there were other beings not far
distant--priests, he concluded, in some of the apartments letting upon
the passageway.
To pass undetected through this hive of enemies appeared quite beyond
the range of possibility. He must again seek disguise and knowing from
experience how best to secure such he crept stealthily along the
corridor toward the nearest doorway. Like Numa, the lion, stalking a
wary prey he crept with quivering nostrils to the hangings that shut
off his view from the interior of the apartment beyond. A moment later
his head disappeared within; then his shoulders, and his lithe body,
and the hangings dropped quietly into place again. A moment later there
filtered to the vacant corridor without a brief, gasping gurgle and
again silence. A minute passed; a second, and a third, and then the
hangings were thrust aside and a grimly masked priest of the temple of
Jad-ben-Otho strode into the passageway.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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