 Tarzan of the Yeats, from the novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs, with Mr. James H. Pierce as Tarzan and Mr. Joann Burroughs as Jane Porter. Professor Porter with his party, searching the African jungle for his daughter, have imposed themselves as medicine men upon a cannibal tribe, but are virtually prisoners. Jane Porter, rescued from the jungle's perils by Tarzan, believes her father to be at the cannibal crowd. She induces Tarzan to take her with him upon one of his forays to the crowd in search of arrows. Suddenly, the blacks swarm upon them and overpower them. Now, are you ready? Hold your breath! A dense column of plain-licked smoke rises from the sacrificial fire. The circling chanting natives fearsome in their tribal ornaments, loom, black and grotesque against the ruddy glow. Their friend did howling is given way to a rhythmic chanting. For now, the white devil god, as they call Tarzan, lies bound and helpless, and with him the white memsum. In a short time, a very short time, when the moon is full, the white devil god will lie on the hot stones. The rain god will approve, and the terrible drought will end. The cadence of the drums rises and falls, the blacks circle faster and faster. In the hut where they have been thrown, Jane and Tarzan lie listening. Well, Wight Tim, as Professor would say, it was a good fight and it lasted. Jane hurt? I really don't know, Wight Tim. I can't move, and I'm one big ape from head to toe. But I don't believe there are any bones broken. Wight Tim hurt? No. A little more rope break. Wight Tim, break Jane rope. Wight Tim, Jane, go quick. Oh, I'm glad you feel that way, Wight Tim. I don't think we will get out. And strange as it may be, I'm almost reconciled. I expect to be killed, and that's all there is to it. No, no. Jane, no kill. Wight Tim, break rope. Wight, Wight, Jane, go away. Black man, no kill, quick. Little kill, little kill. Many little kill, then big kill. Oh, I suppose you mean torture. A little at a time before they kill. Yes, that's what worries me. I'm like daddy now. I don't mind being killed, but I have a horror of being tortured. Tarzan strains at the ropes, binding him. This time, the blacks have not used his own grass rope, and the eight men feel sure that when he can exert the necessary power often enough, the ropes will pass. He relaxes, slides himself on the ground, trying to work the now loosened ropes to a position where his muscles can exert more pressure. I can't see you, Wight Tim. What are you doing? A little more rope break. Oh, I wish I had your courage, your determination, but I haven't. I suppose I never should have come along in the first place, but, well, I couldn't let Father start off on a trip like this alone. Father? Yes, Wight Tim. You don't know what I'm talking about, of course, but it does me good to rattle on like this, so I won't have to think. How are you getting along? A little time, a little more. Tarzan's corded arm muscles swell to their fullest as he exerts his utmost strength against the fibers. Straining ropes give, loosen. Tarzan relaxes, slides quietly a moment, then renews his attack upon his bond. Oh, I suppose you're wasting your time, Wight Tim. I'm tied up so tightly, hand and foot, that I can't even budge a strand of these ropes. Shh, shh, shh, what is it, Wight Tim? Go and get it, come. Jane, salt talk. The witch doctor enters the hut, bends down and covers Jane's face with a piece of matting. That's angle, stop with that. At the witch doctor's orders, the two blacks take Jane from the ground and carry her out. Tarzan lies motionless. If they'd only been a few minutes later, you'd have been free. The blacks leave and carry Jane to a hut closer to the sacrificial altar. Meanwhile, Professor Porter, Clayton, Darno and Philander are in their hut discussing the situation. If we could only move around without that confounded witch doctor following us, we might find out that Jane is ill. She is certainly in one of these huts. Yes, Clayton. Although we have established ourselves as powerful medicine men, we apparently have no more freedom than when we were captive, may that is just it, Monsieur. We have not convinced the chief, in spite of all our magic, he regards us only as human beings, although superior ones. Well, we are in no immediate danger of the cooking pot. The situation is vastly different in regards to Jane and, shall I say, Tarzan of the... Yes, yes, Philander, we stand and talk when I feel that we should be doing something. Anything. Good Monsieur le Prôte-surve, it is wiser is it not to await the arrival of Nakidot. I'm not so sure, Darno. Are you certain that Nakidot can be trusted? If we do not trust Nakidot, Monsieur, what shall we do? Start a search of the hut. I know. Of course, we know that's impossible. We can't even move outside this one without an escort of blacks following us. Exactement, Monsieur. And it is possible that Nakidot knows where Memoirs del Jane is. Quiet. I hear someone coming. Shhh, perhaps Nakidot. The witch doctor. Ah, Kako, Kirindi, Mashai, low now. Says that the White Devil God is to be sacrificed tonight. I board him at the rain. God will not send rain. If he performs the sacrifice, that we must perform the right. Jane, what did he say? Jane, nothing. Memtab, manabah, janari. Is he serious, sir? He says that Memoirs del Jane killed his people and must die. But that we shall decide the manner. Oh, but, good heaven, down, no. Jean, sacrifice. Of course not, Monsieur. We shall not allow the witch doctor. This idea of his allowing us to decide the memory of Memoirs del Jane's death is only an effort on his part to convince the chief that we are faking. Then what are you going to do? Does anyone among you suggest anything? I have met with ICONS. No way, Dono. If we, Monsieur, I shall make a suggestion. The witch doctor has put it very up to us. Very well. We shall apparently fall in with his plans. But you can't mean go ahead with the sacrifice. To all outward appearances, yes. No, I'm afraid, very much afraid that the witch doctor will see through your scheme, Dono. Don't I expect him to. But we must devise a plan whereby even if the witch doctor does know that we intend saving Memoirs del Jane, we can surprise him by the method and effect her escape. One thing, Dono, remember, we do not know where Jane is. Therefore, we cannot let her know what our plan is. I have thought of that. We shall tell the witch doctor to bring Memoirs del Jane here, or leave us to her, and under the guise of performing the ceremony, convey our plan to her. Hmm, it might work. It sounds like a slim hope, Dono. At any rate, let's have the witch doctor in and try. And remember, no matter what Memoirs del Poser says, pretend to ignore her as long as the witch doctor is present. I shall go and get him now. Good luck, old man. Here, best one, sir. And now, Professor, we must think of something to do. Some sort of, well, anything that will give us a chance to get Jane where we can defend her if it does come to a fight. I do suppose that if we were to turn a half a dozen of those rockets through... No, I'm afraid not, Professor. There are too many natives here now. And in any case, the gate of the Stargate is too far removed from the fire. And that gate is closed. And before we could open it, it would all be over. Yes, yes, Professor. I know I'm acting like a drowning man clutching a straw. Oh, sir, sir, you know worse off than the rest of us. At least that was a suggestion. Ah, yes, Dono. The witch doctor says he will bring Memoirs del Jane to this fight. Good fight. His manner suggests that he is suspicious of our intention. Even if he is, it'll be all right. I can hardly wait to see Jane. Even if, even if it's all over, in the next few minutes. In the other hut, Parzan rises and struggles. Now the ropes are loose. He tries to work them into the right position. He strains and enters. There's a snap. A strand gives way. Another snap. His right arm is free. He pulls the rope from him. He's on his feet. The ape man takes the longest piece of rope, loops it about his arm, and goes down into the opening of the hut. The black watching outside stokes. He sees Parzan, opens his mouth to yell, but Parzan's fist shoots out, catches the black bull in the chin. Without a sound, the warrior crumples to the ground. Parzan makes his way to the witch doctor's side to any. He goes inside. His knife, lying on a leopard skin. He takes the knife, creeps to the door. He's there. He sees the witch doctor going to the hut, where Jane lies bound and gagged. Like some unshriven thing, the misshapen monster bends down and enters the hut. Parzan stands motionless. The witch doctor emerges, carrying Jane in his arms. The ape man, crouching, moves swiftly and pursues through the shadows between the huts. The rope is at his side. The witch doctor, unconscious of danger, continues on his way. Parzan is almost upon him. He swings his rope, whips it about the black's neck, twists and tightens it. The witch doctor hurls Jane to the ground as he throws his arms up to the strangling rope upon his neck. A quick jerk on the rope, Parzan pulls the low, some beast to the ground. Now, the ape man lifts Jane into his arms. A quick glance shows him the way it's cleared to the trees, overhanging the palisade. The witch doctor gets the rope free from his throat and struggles to his feet. The native circling the fire stop, but the witch doctor cries. All the natives rush toward the hut. Professor Porter, Clayton Dono and Philando fling themselves out into the open. What? No! What is it? Can you see? I don't know. The natives are all coming this way. Look! There! At the edge of the compound! It's Parzan of the age! Can Parzan possibly escape the maddened savages with Jane Porter? This is...