 From the heart of the jungle comes a savage cry of victory. This is Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. From the black core of dark Africa, land of enchantment, mystery and violence comes one of the most colorful figures of all time. Transcribed from the immortal pen of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan, the bronze white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of the strange book of Arabic. Hours had passed since Mara had made her escape. But she still glanced back over her shoulder in great fear as she plunged deeper and deeper into the jungle. The piece of broken chain jangled from her ankle as she staggered onward. And the leg iron bit savagely into the dark brown smoothness of her skin. Jagged rocks and cruel thorns ripped the sandals from her slender feet. And spiked branches raked her weary body. Mara was near exhaustion and her breath came in great tearing gas. Suddenly she tripped over the mara hood of a huge tree in the fell by handle. There was no strength left. Mara lay there. And as darkness descended on the Congo, consciousness vanished. Hours passed. Well, what's this? You've been hurt. You need not be frightened. Mara, not go back to war camp with you. Mara, die before she go back. You kill me but not make me go. I am your friend. I do not intend to kill you. Nor shall I force you to go anywhere against your will. What the? A large animal seeking food. It isn't safe to remain here on the ground where beasts could spring upon us without warning. I shall have to carry you, be as gentle as possible, but into the upper level of jungle growth where few animals can follow. And don't worry, Tarzan shall protect you. Tarzan? Here we are. Now lean back against the crotch of this tree. I shall hold you so that you do not fall. We'll be all right. Now I know you, Tarzan. A long time mara here by Lord of Jungle from people, her tribe. What is your tribe? Mara Belang, Wamanusi. Wamanusi? Your village is located near the edge of the desert, isn't it? Near where jungle and great desert meet. And slave raiders are active near there now? I noticed the legion. Three days ago, people of Wamanusi tribe find most of cattle missing. Men go into jungle to find. Women, children stay behind, care for calfir corn and fierce plantain. The Wamanusi have always worked hard to rest a living from the soil. Soon as men of tribe out of sight, army of Arabs ride into field. An army? Where uniform, carry flags, guns. They do not sound like slave traitors. But go on, they rode into the fields. They ride into fields, take what they want, corn plantains, yams, tobacco. Then they destroy what is left. The work of months. Then soldiers drive all women, children back native village. Take young girls to war camp with them. Devils. Mara is one who is taken. At war camp, she see what happened to cattle. Soldiers eat much meat. They make us cook and serve meat they have still. By this time, the men of your village have returned. With them to help me, perhaps I can do something. You do not understand. Art tribes small. Arabs are three, four hundred soldiers. Have guns, cannons, long whips to beat those who are not obeyed. I have yet to face a man who would dare to use a whip on me. You meet men in camp. This man called Sariasca. That is Arabic for general. He is man seven feet tall, big like elephant. He swear he use whip to tell soldier to kill. If Tarzan go to Arab camp, he ask for death. In just a moment, we will relate what happens when Tarzan, despite Mara's warning, enters the camp of the barbaric Arabs. The tangled wilds of the jungle melt into the barren wastelands of the great Libyan desert not far from the walled city of Karadan. The ravaging Arab soldiers had made camp some twenty miles from the city near the village of the Wamanusi tribe. And from a concealed spot in the upper level of jungle growth, Tarzan could see their bristling camp, a veritable sea of tents. This was no band of marauding Bedouins against whom he might pit a handful of natives. They would pay with their lives. And the only life Tarzan was willing to risk was his own. He left Mara with her people and then returned alone to the Arab stronghold. Centuries guarded the front of the principal tent, from which the sound of feasting and carousing could be heard, but there were no guards in the rear. Tarzan's hunting knife slipped the canvas, and he stepped quietly in unnoticed. Another jug of wine is under here. There's a big fetish, I'm ready. I'm all wine and wine department. And let the dancing continue far into the night, slave girl. Do not falter nor cease in your efforts to entertain the sores of Ben Ayo. But I have danced for hours. I am sick with weariness. We have a fine cure for that sickness, amen? Yes! Aim at her feet. Blast the girl. Give me that whip. I shall let my knife taste of your blood. Anyone who moves a step closer to me and attempts to take the whip from my hands will also feel the steel of my knife. Now then, do you know what should be done with whips? Blast! Go to the harem girl. You've done enough dancing for the night. Come here. I come to face you gladly, for you have many things to answer for. How did you get past my sentries? They are posted only at the front of your bed. I came through the rear entrance. There is no rear entrance to my tent. There is now. My knife cuts cloth as easily as it does the flesh of those who would steal the meat and the other food of the Wamanusi people. Ah, so that is your grievance. I'm genuinely sorry that it was necessary to deprive them of their food, but an army travels on its stomach. You've heard that expression, and my men needed the things we took. Including the native girls you took captive? We could not be expected to cook and serve the food ourselves. I demand that you free the girls at once, and that you pay for the cattle and the crops you've stolen. You demand? I have been most lenient with you. I have permitted you to say many things that none have ever before dared to say to Gamil Benayobalazim, sorry, a scar of the armies of Karadan. The armies of Karadan? Do I not speak clearly? Is that not what I said? And are these not the flags of Karadan at my side? I had not noticed them before. I know the caliph of Karadan, and I know his son, the Amir. They would not sanction your actions. Oh, the caliph would not approve of what I've done, huh? Did you hear that, men? The caliph would not approve. The caliph would not approve. The young Amir would be shocked. How can you ridicule the ruler of your land? The supreme sovereign your army has sworn to serve. I think you've asked enough questions, jungle man. While I respect your bravery, I know full well you could not best a hundred men, or two hundred, or six hundred. And such a number are within the sound of my voice. No, I could not hope to fight six hundred men. Do you expect to take me as a slave, too? We have a more important mission. So, despite your importance, I shall permit you to leave the camp unharmed. If you leave it once, and forget matters that do not concern you. I am finished with words. I leave now, but I shall not forget the name of Ben Ayubratim. And I will give you cause to remember the name of Tarzan. It had been some little time since Tarzan's path had crossed that of the caliph of Karadan, but he felt sure that the potentate would remember him with friendship and order his general to make restitution for what he had stolen from the malions. Tarzan pondered, as he neared Karadan, on the best method of gaining admittance to the walled city, of getting past the fierce sentinels who guarded the ornate palace, of obtaining an audience with his majesty. But for some unaccountable reason these obstacles did not exist now. The gate of the city had been flung open and left unguarded. The streets were deserted. There were no guards protecting the palace. And the once proud monarch sat completely alone in a vast throne room that held not a single courtier. Come here, Tarzan. Approach the throne with no hesitancy. Thank you, Your Excellency. Seems extraordinarily strange to greet my callers without intermediary. Many things in your city seem strange, but I'm glad to see that you are still the same. I may seem the same, Tarzan, but I'm an old and broken man who lives only for his ibn. Your son as well? So far, but I keep him locked in his room lest angry citizens make an attempt upon his life. An attempt upon the life of the prince? But your soldiers, your palacescari, your ministers, where are they? Gone. All of them gone. Either to hide like yellow cowards and those who had plot against me or to actively join the man who has fermented this revolution. Benayurazim? Us. For a moment I've forgotten that you had only just now come from his camp. You know that I've been there? Yes. It was made extraordinarily clear to me that you would go there with a dusky maiden who had been there prisoner and that you would enter their camp and confront Benayur with his foul deeds to the members of a tribe and that you would then leave his camp and travel here to report the matter to me. How can you know everything that I've done during the past few days? I have few loyal subjects left but among them is one who knows of the past and of the future. More than a week ago he told me all that would transpire with you. You mean someone told you a week ago that I would encounter the native girl Mara three days ago? Someone told you that I would go to Benayur's camp even before I was aware that Benayur existed? I know it sounds extraordinary but it is true. All things are known for the Oracle of Haradan. They are written in the strange book of Arabic. Oh, you are much too clever and well educated to be taken in by a charlatan, a faker. He predicted to the day the assassination of my grand was here and his pronostication that my palace guards, my vice-voices and my chancellors would desert me was accurate to the very hours. And in the period during which I still trusted Benayur implicitly the Oracle stated flatly that it was he who would lead the revolution. Since he knows so much about the revolution and the activity of Benayur it seems likely that he is involved in the plot against you. The Oracle would not join forces with one who would ruin our city, who would place the entire citizenry under the yoke of slavery. Tell me where I can find this Oracle. And what good would that do? I could get this strange book of Arabic from him. We could see how much of the future it foretells, if any. To be extraordinarily frank with you, I thought of that. But it would do no good to steal the book, even if you could. Why? It is written in an ancient form of Arabic that I do not understand and I am reasonably sure that no one else in the city save the Oracle can translate the strange characters. There must be someone who understands them. I heard of an English antiquarian who can translate all of the ancient Arabic forms. In fact, I sent him a letter that he did not come. Well, regardless of the Oracle and the book, the thing to do is to organize those of your subjects who are still faithful. We must get an army together and fight Benayur and his men. I am not a man of violence, Tarzan, and I have no desire to turn brother against brother. But you can't just sit here and do nothing. It will be the same in the end. It is kismet, as we say. It is preordained. It is fate. The ultimate result of the revolution is already recorded in the book. Oh, the book. The book. I have heard too much about the book. Where is this Oracle of Khaladan? He lives humbly in a small corner of the old abandoned fortress that stands at the north end of the city. But I would not go there. It might mean grave trouble for you. If there is any truth in the belief that our destiny is already planned, nothing I can do will alter it. And if your Oracle turns out to be a fake, perhaps I can write a new last chapter for his precious book. I do not know how to answer your challenge, Tarzan, except to tell you that the realm of metaphysics is a vast and intricate one, and the Oracle is an alchemist and mystic of great renown. In tracking him to his lair, you are placing in jeopardy both your physical life and your everlasting soul. In just a moment, the exciting conclusion of our story. The abandoned fortress at the north end of the walled city of Khaladan had been built many centuries before. A vast wooden structure, its heavy timbers now sag dangerously. The flooring creak beneath the weight of Tarzan's body, and bats flurried from cobweb rafters. The entire edifice was deep in an atmosphere of must, and rats scurried beneath Tarzan's feet as he headed for a small room in a remote corner of the fortress, drawn there by some compelling force that was beyond his understanding. The door to the room was open, hanging the blade from rusted hinges. Tarzan walked in. The room was almost completely unlighted, but even from the doorway, Tarzan could see the Oracle of Khaladan, an aging bearded Arab with sunken cheeks and great luminous eyes. Enter Tarzan. Come close to me, Lord of the jungle. I shall indeed, for there is much that I would ask you. At which is revealed to me I shall in turn impart to you. I have prepared for your coming. I suppose I am to show great amazement that you know me, that you were aware of my coming. Well, I'm not amazed. As I walked through the city, I could see eyes peer at me from behind each window. You and Ben Ayub have many faithful spies. I have no spies, but it was written in the book that you would come. Your whole past and future is there inscribed. You know everything of my past, huh? From the moment of your birth in the small cabin, your father erected near the sea coast. There is a full history of your life. John Clayton, Lord Greystoke. No one in Haradan has ever known me by that name. No, in most of Africa you are known as Tarzan, a name given you by color, the she-ape who became your foster mother. The name, does this strange book of Arabic tell why I was named Tarzan? It does indeed. The name is from the language of the apes, tar meaning white and zan meaning skin. I haven't told that to more than three people in the world. What is this book that tells all about me? Here, by my side. You may look at it, you may hold it in your hand. There. It is old. I've never seen a book like it before. Worn old leather and rich yellowed parchment. It looks as old as time itself. It is timeless. Is it possible that some miracle has enabled someone to write about things past and things yet to occur within this strange book? It is indeed. The language no longer spoken or understood by many, but the facts are there. I suppose you too desire to know what future years will hold for you, what people will be close to your heart, what experiences you will have, how and when you will ultimately meet your death. I am curious, and yet my immediate concern is for the fate of the caliph and his son, the Amir. Ah, the Amir. Even as you entered this crumbling fortress I read of the Amir, the poor Amir. The poor Amir? Why do you say that? An apple is destroyed by a worm from within. It withers and falls to the ground. It lies there looking whole and firm, but on the inside all is rot and decay. What do you mean? What are you getting at? The answer lies within the palace of the caliph, upon the silken pallet in the bed chamber of the caliph's firstborn. But I looked in upon my son a few moments ago. He appeared to be asleep. Perhaps he is, and this mad dash down the corridors of the palace has put a waste of energy. But the words of the oracle... What did he say? The words were strange. They could have made a great deal or they could have been meaningless. This is the entrance to the bed chamber of the Amir. There he is, lying upon his couch in peaceful sleep. My fears were in vain. The strange words of the oracle made me fear for the Amir's life. May I speak with the prince, Your Excellency? Of course. He has talked with you constantly since the time you visited us here and served as a tutor to him. Wake up, Amir. You have napped long enough. Amir, we have a visitor. Ibn! Ibn! Let me kneel and put my ear to his heart. I'm sorry, my caliph, but there is no sound of its beating. Your son has passed on to another world. My son. Look, Tarzan. Her cup beside his bed, soothing potion. The last thing given in my moment. My most trusted servant before. He too left the palace. The worm that destroys from within. My son killed by a burial and poison of the Orient that leaves its victim looking as though he were peacefully asleep. While on the inside it causes rotten decay. The oracle does know the future as well as the past. If your land is to be saved from that barbarian, we must have the oracle's help. Oh, Tarzan, you would not leave me in my heart of grief. I must return to the old fortress and you must come with me. You cannot afford to grieve for one son when thousands of your sons and daughters are threatened with slavery. Tarzan, your excellency, I regret that it is not within my power to reveal all that is within the strange book of Arabic. We do not want you to tell those things we should not know, but at least you can tell us exactly when and where we can expect Ben Ayub's attack. Please tell us that much. Where and when will he strike? According to the written word, Ghamil Ben Ayub Ratsim will lead his roistering band into Haradan on the third day of Arb. The third of August, but that's tomorrow. He will pass through the gate to the city that lies nearest the heart of Allah. The eastern gate is nearest to Mecca. We must browse every loyal man in the city and our forces must be massed there. Yes, I feel a conflict is inevitable. And to know the hour would be of great advantage to you. It would be of extraordinary help. The army of Ben Ayub will march upon the city as the Qamar loses her eternal struggle against the Shams. Do you understand what he means, your excellency? Yes. Qamar is the moon, Shams the sun. It means that Ben Ayub will attack as the dawn rises over Haradan. One thing more, great oracle. What will be the outcome of our battle? The outcome? He who is strongest shall win. And he who is weakest must perish in a flame of destruction. He who is strongest will win. When dawn broke over the city of Haradan, thousands filled the narrow streets near the eastern gate of the city. They were not trained soldiers, but merchants and workmen, artisans and housewives. Their leader was Tarzan, their inspiration the Caliph, their weapons antiquated sabers, flintlocks and muskets, and their standard, the lifeless body of the young Amir. When Ben Ayub's forces entered the city, the people fought with inspired fury. Many of them died, but by the time dusk had descended upon the walled city, the traitors army had been forced to take refuge in the old abandoned fortress near the north wall. We beaten them Tarzan. They quings like cowards within the ancient Ordi. When cowards have guns and cannons, they're still dangerous. But look how extraordinary my people fight on. Within the hour they will gain the fortress and drive out Ben Ayub's men. And hundreds will die in the attempt. Anyone who draws close to the walls of the fortress makes a target of himself. Behold, one of my subjects is close to the fortress. What's he doing? He's all alone. He's already reached his entrance. See, he's lighted the torch. No, no, you must not set fire to the fortress. And he who is weakest must perish in a flame of destruction. He's done it. Look, Caliph. The entire fortress is going up in flames. Like a box of dry tinder. The oracle. And the strange book of alibi. Tarzan, where are you going? Into the fortress to save a man and a book. Excuse me, I must see the Caliph at once. Pardon, you are the Caliph. Please, please, not now, later. But your enemy is defeated now, and I've come thousands of miles to see you. Tarzan, the dearest friend I have in the world, is still in that building. Auguste. I'm Hobson, the antiquarian you sent for. No one would bring me to your city earlier because of the siege that was said to exist here. Look, look, it's Tarzan. He's escaped from the building. The building has collapsed. Her miracle has saved Tarzan. I must go to him. I'll come along. Ben Ayub and all his men were killed, Your Excellency. The oracle was gone. But somehow I feel that he was not destroyed by that fire. You are the important one. By followers, ointments, cells, healing medicines for the jungle lords. No, no, I'm not badly burned. Some strange force seemed to keep the flames from consuming my flesh. But I was too late to save the strange Book of Arabi, except for this tiny fragment. Let me see it. This is the English antiquarian I wrote. Here it is. Thank you. What does it say? From the quality of the parchment and the nature of the characters, I would say that it predates the earliest known manuscripts. What does it say? Perhaps in those few words, the entire future of the world... Actually, it says very little. The words inscribed on the small piece of parchment. What are they? Please translate it for us. Of course, of course. And Khuradan shall emerge from its trial by fire with new vigor. For those who would gnaw at its vitals from within shall perish in the flames. And so also shall this Book perish save for a small fragment. And buried in the ashes of the strange Book of Arabi shall be the secrets of the future. We'd like you to remain with us for another few moments so that we may tell you about our next exciting story of Tarzan. A slender young girl arrives in Africa on a holy mission, but the savagery and paganism and violence of the dark continent destroy her faith. A church built in a deceptively peaceful fern forest is the scene of a barbaric massacre and a fugitive from justice matches wits and strength with a bronze jungle god. These are the elements contained in Cathedral of the Congo. Next story of Tarzan. Tarzan, the transcribed creation of the famous Edgar Rice Burroughs, is produced by Walter White Jr., prepared for radio by Bud Lesser with original music by Albert Lesser. This is a Commodore production.