 Darno and Uka, the Ratorian, escaped from the elephant paddocks of Tor on the back of an elephant. Because Torzan and Oroak profess ignorance as to how their friends escaped, Atea, white queen of the yellow men, condemns them to slavery in the jewel pits. Meanwhile, Darno and Uka have made their way over the city wall and into the jungle. Sought by Torian patrols, the two men make their way cautiously along a densely shadowed path toward a moonlit clearing. As they step out of the deep shadow into the open, a huge black-maned lion charges Darno. As the rushing jungle terror leaps forward, Uka brushes the Frenchman aside. To place, Darno! Trouching low, the giant Ratorian drops to one knee in the path of the charging beast. Quickly, he digs the butt of the Torian war spear into the ground beside him. Coolly, he studies the point to meet the hurtling chest. At the moment of the impact, he lets go and rolls clear. All in the fraction of a second, the huge beast impales itself upon the spear point. The great blade stands out behind the shoulders. The momentum of its charge carries the land to the spot where Uka had knelt a moment before, when it rolls snarling and roaring in savage agony, carrying the air with claws that flash like knives in the moonlight. Pleasantly, with the last gasping roar, the flashing talons jerking spasmodically. The great body stiffens and sinks, quivering to the ground. Won't you? May that, that was monufique or splendidly, Darno Uka. I only hope that when it comes my turn to reciprocate, I may be able to do it as cleanly and as bravely. It, it was nothing my friend, nothing. Eh, but, but let us hasten, we have a long way to go before we reach Rator. Bien, bien. But do you not think it best that we take to the trees until daylight? The jungle is so full of savage beasts. And the elephant patrols of Tor. They will not quickly give up the search for us, Darno. Bien sûr, Uka. We shall proceed then. May your spear, mon ami. I shall not leave it. It has proven a good weapon. And you have demonstrated that you know well how to handle it. Allons, leave the way. Eh, apropos, Uka. You say we have a long way to go to reach Rator. Just how far is it? Too far for us to go, as we are, and return in time to help our friends, unless we find a riding elephant. A riding elephant? Mais mon vieux, surely you are joking. I am in earnest, Darno. But, but where do you expect to find a riding elephant here? Explique-moi. Tell me that if you please. We will search until we find one. Hm, c'est ça. We need a riding elephant. We shall find one. It is a simple matter, Monsieur Uka. Perhaps not quite so simple, my friend. But if we can locate the jungle outpost of the Torians, there we will find riding elephants. Oh, these men of Tor have outposts, then, in the jungle? A patrol, Darno, mounted on elephants. They ride the forest paths on the borders between Tor and Rator. Ah, Mac knows you can call. I understand. A sort of frontier garden, is pa? Yes. And have you any idea where this frontier patrol is located? I think I can find the remain camp. It should not be too far from this spot if I am not mistaken. Voila. There we have our elephant. Then there remain only the question of our ability to reach this camp before we are devoured by wild beasts. And if we escape that danger, can we make off with one of their elephants without being recaptured by these Saltorians? Those are questions we will worry about when the time comes, my friend. The jewel pits of Tor like a vast high-walled amphitheater with great crevices hewn out of the soft clay-like walls, life-sweltering in the stifling reflected heat that pours into the great cup from a burning sun. Gangs of half-starved yellow-skinned slaves, men of Tor and Rator, linked together by long chains, labor with picked-like implements. Behind the rows of workers stalking back and forth are guards, each with a long, cruel lash in his hand. Constantly, the lashes curl out to bite deeply into the quivering flesh of a slave as a guard drives a laggard to swifter efforts. Side-by-side in one of the groups, Tarzan and O'Rourke wield their picks under the watchfully sullen eye of a huge yellow-skinned guard. Here's Tarzan. His divils work this, the heat, my lord. The guard is watching. Swine, ah, try not for these chains, I dig the black heart out of yours with me, pick and return for them lashes. Back off! Be quiet, O'Rourke. He'll catch you to ribbons with his lash. Aye, and they cut like knives. Faith me lad, the elephant paddocks will, will paradise to this. He's gone on now. Hold your temper, O'Rourke. There's a way out of this. We'll find it somehow. Meanwhile, don't do anything to draw the guard's attention. A way out? With these chains at our ankles, them heavy-handed divils with their whips. Oh, Faith, man, you're an optimist. There is, I tell you. I think I could break that shell. Then why don't you do it? We'll make a run for it. And have the whole troop down on us with their whips before we get well-started. No, O'Rourke. There's a better way. What do you mean? A better way? We'll have to stand this for a few days. Long enough to give Darno and Oka time to get back from Rottor with fighting men. Then we'll start working on these prisoners. Working on the prisoners? What are you driving at? Mutiny, O'Rourke. Mutiny among the slaves of the jewelpits. What do you think they'd do if they were free and aroused to a fighting pitch? Mutiny. Holy St. Patrick. There's an army of the spellpains. Give them age, one of these picks and a length of chain, or with a couple of good men to lead them. You're right, Tarzan. It is of right ideas. The guard's coming back. The poor devil down the line, then. Will he look at his back? There were the aliens have baited him. Do you notice, O'Rourke, there are certain men in our group and in the others that the guards single out to torture us? I should and I have that. Why do you suppose they're probably Rottorians? It's the only explanation I have. There are two in our group. I'll work on them. Faith and how will he make them understand you? Neither of us speak their lingo. I don't know, but I'll try. Bukar speaks English, maybe other of his countrymen do. Then here's your chance. The guards down at the other end of the line. Try that big grim face teller on your left. He's had more baitings than any in our gang. Watch for the guards. Tarzan steadily wielding his heavy-fake moves gradually closer to the yellow-skinned worker to his left. Reaching the limit of the chain, the ape man looks up cautiously and finds the slave watching him narrowly from the corners of alert, questioning eyes with a slight movement of his head. Tarzan motions the man to approach. Do you understand English, friend? Yes. Who are you? I am Tarzan of the Apes. And you? I am Kaluk, a noble of Rottor. What do you want? Me. For us both, we are seen talking. I know. My friend is watching the guards. How long have you been here? Ah... More than half a minute. One year. You would fight for your freedom if you were given the chance? No, gladly. It would mean a quick death. But here we die slowly. Slowly. Do you talk with the other Rottorian slaves? And would they join us? I can pass the word at night and we are changed to our palates to the men of Rottor and also the Torian pit slaves. They would all willingly die in an attempt to gain freedom from this. Good. Then pass the word and tomorrow we'll talk again. Careful, Tarzan. He's coming. In Artea's palace, the Thai, the Chinese scientist, hurries stealthily along the corridor leading to the White Queen's private apartments. At the door to the quarters of her women, he pauses, opens the door cautiously and steps into the room. Why? Jeanette, you're here. I thought you were with Artea and her woman at the bath. Why was, Dr. Wong? She sent me back after some of that awful sense she uses. Then the ceremony of cleansing our illustrious queen is not yet over. And we may talk for a few moments undisturbed. Oh, Dr. Wong, isn't there anything you can do to make her change her mind about that fight between Tarzan and Mungo? You may save yourself from worry, my dear, if you will. Merely convinced Tarzan that for the sake of all concerned, he must remain here as her consort. No. But we've gone over all that before. Uncle Jim refused to let Tarzan sacrifice himself. I certainly won't accept the alternative. I did not think you would, my child. However, the opportunity to convey to you the thought that there is not a great deal of danger to Tarzan in his combat did not present itself when Artea mentioned it. She watched me too closely. Oh, but he's bound to be killed if they fight. Mungo's so much more powerful, so much bigger than Tarzan. Victory, my dear, does not always go to be physically strong. Mungo's weak spot lies between his hat and his shoulders. And Tarzan's strength is not alone in his arms and back. Oh, but Dr. Wong... However, I shall use what little influence I may have with Artea toward the postponement of the combat. Oh, thank you, Dr. Wong. And perhaps in the meantime... A moment, a moment, please. Permit me to finish. It is written that he who receives an ox must give back a horse. I also crave a favor, Jeanette, my dear. A favor? Of me? But what can I do? Watch as I am constantly by Artea or one of her women. I would like to see the key to the door of Artea's treasure cavern. The key to... Oh, but good heavens, Dr. Wong. I haven't the least idea where it is. Just find it. Otherwise... Otherwise, Dr. Wong? Otherwise, my child, I am sure the battle between Tarzan and Mungo will take place very soon. Very well. I'll try to find the key for you. And now I must take that there. Listen, Artea! She's coming back! Oh, Dr. Wong!