 A hot red sun burns its swift way down through the west, its broad orange shafts painting in bold relief grey bowls of giant trees. Four whites, their bodies only half covered by ragged trail-worn clothing, cut their way through a dense mass of tangled underbrush and emerge into a small natural clearing. Four exhausted whites, three men and a young woman, all that remains of the once great Burton Ashley expedition, which left Nairobi many weeks back with a long queue of Amazulu fighting men, Swahili trackers and Uganda carriers to plunge into the trackless jungles of south-central Africa in search of the ancient and forgotten city of Tor. The little party consists of Major Burton Ashley, head of the enterprise, Jeanette Burton, his American ward, Terence O'Rourke, a happy-go-lucky adventurer and the inscrutable Chinese scientist Dr. Wong Tai. As they break through into the clearing, the noises of the great jungle seem for the moment hushed to a mere echo of blurred sounds, rising and falling like the surf on a remote shore. It's hot. I think we've gone far enough for one day. Camp here and in the morning. And in the morning, Uncle Jim, we'll cut our way through more jungle. Hey, the saints of the old side, a little of that goes a long way. It is work for blacks, not for white men. You said it, Terry. I feel as though I've been cutting thornbush so for ages at least. I'll admit, Uncle Jim, I am tired. You'll do, my dear. You're as good a man as any other. Chin-chin-poop-ah-how. Which means, Dr. Wong? It is an aphorism of the great Chinese philosopher Kung Fu-tze, Confucius. It means true gold fears no fire. And it fits you like an old shoe, Khushla. Well, thanks to all of you. But let's dispense with compliments long enough to make some sort of camp. Uncle Jim, if you and Terry will get wood for the fires, Dr. Wong and I will start clearing away some of this thrush. Right, my dear. Come along, Terry. Dr. Wong, do you think we'll find our way out? We can't last very much longer on the few supplies we have left. You are worried, my dear? Frankly, I am. Since we lost most of our supplies and equipment and crossing that river back there. And since the safari deserted, I'm afraid. Afraid? But there is nothing to fear. Other expeditions have experienced greater difficulties. I suppose they have, but tell me frankly, Dr. Wong, are we lost? Uncle Jim and Terry won't admit it. It is better to leave all things to their natural course and not to interfere with our destiny. Well, you're quibbling, Dr. Wong. You're chasing the devil around the bush. Which is a great deal better, my child, than letting him catch you. The old seeing will surely guide our footsteps in the right direction. Well, he hasn't been very much on the job since our safari walked out. But back by a reasonable amount of activity on the part of our protecting ancestral stores, we shall find our way back to civilization eventually. Eventually? With this handful of supplies? Why did all those unfortunate things have to happen to just our expedition? The shadow moves as the sun directs the map. We shall win through and... Oh, Jeanette, here we are with plenty of firewood. And Terry, with the luck of the Irish, almost fell into a waterhole within a few yards of the clear. Well, thank heaven for that. But where is he? Right here, of course, now, with two canteens of fresh water. Now, if you give me yours and Wong's and they mix the water bags, I'll be going back and I'll fill them up. Good heavens! What was that? Oh, it was only the cry of a hunting leopard of Chrysler. You never heard a leopard sing out like that, Terry. A human voice out of that cry. It is sometimes difficult to distinguish the difference measure. Or York should know. Nevertheless, he's wrong this time. Why, Jill, I say, perhaps we're close to a native Mayato village. I'm going out there to have a look. Oh, no, Uncle Jim, don't go, please. I mean, there was something weird menacing in that scream. Oh, please, Uncle Jim, don't go. Don't be foolish, my dear. If we've stumbled onto a village, we'll be able to hire guides to lead us out of this infernal jungle. We plenty of time to investigate. It won't be dark for another hour or two. Come on, Terry, we'll have a look. That call sounded as though it came from a great distance measure. It might be better to wait until morning. We will have more time then to... Uncle Jim, Terry, look. Look there at the edge of the clearing. What is it? I don't see anything. It's gone now. When Terry turned, it disappeared. What was it, Krishna? What did you see? A face. A hideous yellow face. Restaring at me from behind those bushes. A face? Yes. It looked like... Oh, I don't know. You are certain it was not that of some animal, a lion perhaps, or leopard? No, no. Now, I'm sure that it was a human face. But repulsive, yellow, hairless. If eyes glare at me... Oh, a touch of the sun, Mervonine. The reflection of one of them trees there. No, Terry, no. I saw it plainly. Come on, Terry, we'll soon find out. He'll be staying here with Jeanette and Dr. Wang Major. Terry O'Rourke will be the one to do the investigation. I'll be back before dark. If I need you, I'll fire a couple of shots. Well, be careful, Terry. The sinking sun beats diagonally into the purple mist of the jungle. As a mile distant from the clearing, the mighty Tarzan and his friend Paul Darno, French naval lieutenant, make their leisurely way along a shadowed forest path. Traveling alone through the jungle, Tarzan and Darno are on their way to investigate the activities of Arab slave traders in a distant territory. We're nearing a waterhole, Darno. We'll camp there tonight. It has always been a mystery to me, Tarzan, how you find your way about in this trackless waste and yet always manage to locate water. I'll call it my animal instinct and let it go with that. You are but joking now, Mon ami. May I be serious, Mon? I believe you are right. It can be nothing less than instinct that guide you through the jungle. Well, why not? I've lived all my life here. It's simply the time at home as you are in Paris. Oui, c'est vrai. Yet as often as I've been in the jungle with you, I still marvel at the seemingly impossible things you do. There's nothing impossible about it. My training has been different from that of other men. That's all. Oui, that is all. We'll be in Ahmed's territory in three or four days at the speed we're traveling. Ahmed, and do you think he is the man we are seeking? I believe so. He's a wily old eagle, willing to turn his hand to anything at a price. Monsieur la Commissionaire certainly was surprised when you mentioned Ahmed in connection with slave trading. I suppose that's why he didn't take much stock in what I had to say. Yet, had it not been for your vast knowledge of the jungle and your wide acquaintance among the natives, he would not have agreed to this investigation. You know, Ahmed? Only by reputation through the natives. Slave trading, they say, is only one of his many sidelines. I suppose he is not averse to smuggling a little ivory now and then? No, he cheats the Swahilis out of it, or deliberately steals it from them. At least that's the rumor. A man who, on the coast, enjoys an enviable reputation as the grand trader in ivory and special agent of the chitons of the interior, while inland he is merely un vieux voleur, un ol' tief, hein? Something like that. But unless you catch him red-handed, you're going to have a hard time proving him guilty. He's one of those cunning, venerable old Mahamadans who... Qu'est-ce qu'il y'a? What is it, Tarzan? Smoke. C'est un chien, but you have the nose of a wolf-hound. Moi, I do not smell it. Coming down the wind from the direction of the waterhole. Probably a native hunting party, or mayatta. Oh, I'd have got the scent of natives, or we'd have heard the drums. If not natives, then... Carmangani. White men. A small camp, no safari. White men? Along in the jungle, Tarzan? Not reasonable, unless... Unless their bearers have deserted, which does happen. Oui. Oui, c'est vrai, ça. Oui, ça investigait mon ami? Wait a minute. Listen. Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, Tarzan? Numa and Cheetah. Stocking human prey between us and that camp. We'll take to the trees from where we can see. Here, I'll carry you. Swing Dono to a broad shoulder, the ape-man takes to the trees and heads swiftly toward the sound. Meantime, O'Rourke, having found and followed a set of strange footprints beside the bush indicated by Jeanette, emerges abruptly into an elephant track, a quarter-mile from the clearing. In the broad path, the prince vanish among those countless others made by the beasts of the forest. The Irishman turns to retrace his steps. The flash of a tawny shape beside the trail. A low, crotish snarl, O'Rourke glances up into the glowing, yellow eyes of a huge, black-maned lion crouched squarely in his path. Just above the Irishman's head, the low-hanging branch of a juniper tree. Throwing the sling of his rifle over his shoulder, he leaps into the air, clawing fingers hook themselves about the branch. With an earth-shaking roar, the lion hurls himself forward. Scrambling desperately, O'Rourke pulls himself onto the broad limb and the beast hurdles through space bare inches below him. A snarling cry from over his head causes O'Rourke to look up quickly. On a thick branch, just above him, crouches the long, live body of a snarling leopard. Hasteily, the Irishman unslinges his rifle, throws it to his shoulder. The jungle terror launches itself upon him. With a scream of rage and pain, the wounded brute strikes O'Rourke, knocking the rifle from his hands. Together, man and beast hurl to the ground below. In the trail, the lion with a savage roar gathers himself to spring upon the fallen man. Tarzan and Darno drop down through the trees with dizzy speed to land on the jungle path. Darno leaves the eight-man's back, unslinges his rifle to face the wounded leopard. With a near-spilling roar, the lion charges. A mighty-bound, and Tarzan tears the body of the confused O'Rourke and lands in the path between him and the onrushing beasts.