 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 bronzed white son of the jungle. And now on the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of none so blind. The floor of the concert hall was a bed of petals from a thousand jungle roses. The ceiling was the starlet equatorial heaven and the walls were of living fern that grew even higher than the seven-foot-tall warriors of the Shilok tribe. The Shiloks wore two huge cones of matted hair on top of their heads and members of other Kabbalas could be identified by egret headdresses, brass anklets, decorative bones that pierce the nose, saucer-like lips and other tribal marks and ornaments. But every member of this strange audience had one thing in common, the rapt attention with which they watched every movement to the violinist bow, drank in each exquisite note of his closing number, and not even in Carnegie Hall for the conservatoire de musique and Johann Vermeer given a more inspired approach. A baninga! I know only a few words in your language, but a performer can always recognize a request for an encore. I regret that if there were only someone here who could translate for me, I could express it. Maybe I can be a servant. Well, I'd certainly appreciate it. Your admirers here speak as many different dialects as there are leaves on a baobab tree, but perhaps I can make a portion of them understand your thoughts. Well, fine. Are you ready? Yes, go ahead. Thank you very much, all of you. Santa Minji! Nini Niawate! I'm sorry, but I can play no more this evening. Nikitiko Tendokamo! I am very tired. Mimichaku! And my wife and I must prepare for a journey tonight. Mimina Makiangu Mwendasa Sahibi! But I promise that we shall return to Tarudi! He certainly helped me out of a tight spot. His speech was a very gracious one, Mr. Romero. It's a great pleasure to be able to relay it. Come along backstage with me, won't you, ladies, if you can refer to that bamboo lean to the erected for me as backstage. I'd like you to meet my wife. Oh, that very attractive woman who accompanied you? Yes. It's always very convenient for a soloist to fall in love with an accompanist. Antoinette! Who will stand about the piano? Oh, I'll take care of it, dear. The piano must go with us on the train to Kidano. Adahemi Garini! Oh, well. And I have been yelling myself a lot. Who is your clever friend, Your Honor? I'm afraid I forgot to ask him his name. L'appel Tarzan, madame Bemerre. Vous des Français? No, I'm not French, but it was the first civilized tongue I learned. You are a very accomplished linguist, Monsieur Tarzan. You have obtained these services on a trip, Your Honor. It would be wonderful if you could come with us, Tarzan. I can't speak a word of their language. Oh, now you did use the native word for friend. Well, as a child, I knew a few words, but most of them are forgotten. Your music speaks an international language. I'm sure you'll not have any trouble on that score. I hope not. Our trip will take us into more than two dozen small native villages and will be gone for several months. Frankly, I'd planned to spend this spring realizing a lifelong ambition, trying to be a composer. But Antoinette dreamed up this little concert tour. It was his duty. Oh, in what way? My father was Jan van der Meer. I shortened the name, as you may know. He founded the great cotton industry in Africa. He made a very substantial fortune, but not without the help of thousands of natives. I'm trying to repay a little of that debt. You see, Monsieur Tarzan, if Your Honor's papa had not made a great deal of money, Your Honor might not have become a great virtuoso and certainly could not have afforded to study in Europe for many, many years. And worst of all, I would never have met Antoinette. Thank you, Osband. You're doing a wonderful thing, both of you. So many criticize the natives for their lack of education and so few do anything about it. But tell me, what train have you found to take you to, Kidano, at the season of the year? A train leaves me adorned on the Cassania Railway, as I understand it. But it has no accommodations for passengers. It carries only freight. They move slowly through the roughest portions of the jungle. You're the gentleman at the travel bureau arranged for us to be taken aboard and we are not afraid of little discomfort. No, but we are sorry that we shall not have you along for company. There's no chance of persuading you? By dawn, I shall be deep in the jungle, trying to do my part to bring enlightenment to the natives, even as you are doing. Right now, violence threatens to explode at any moment. Be cautious, my friends. By dawn, Johann and Antoinette Vermeer were aboard the antiquated train that chugged along the narrow-gauge tracks toward Kidano. And Tarzan had traversed miles of jungle. He stood in the central clearing of a native village that consisted of dozens of tiny, thatched huts. And while children who would have reached only to his knee peered from within these dwarf hemmas, he addressed the dignified four-foot king of this aboriginal pygmy tribe. Gepulma, violence is not an answer to the problem that threatens all of Africa. Raids on the white man's cities, the ambushing of safaris and the killing of their soldiers will only invite bullets in return. That's why Gepulma is sent for Tarzan. Young men of tribe not see this. By time kudu the sun high in heaven's first act of what you say, violence will be done. What sort of an act of violence? In Kidano is many Ascari of white men. Yes, there's a troop of soldiers at Kidano, but they have made no move against your people. Not have many small arrows that bring death. No, I suppose they haven't much of a supply of ammunition. But kari bring much ammunition. The Kassalia railway train that left this morning for Kidano carried arms and explosives? Nadio, but not get to Kidano. What do you mean? Bridge at bottom Great Hill, destroyed by young men of tribe. Gepulma, if the train reaches that bridge, two of Africa's greatest friends will die. And all of the dark continent may be plunged into war. Now back to our story. At the bottom of the Great Hill, that was how the pygmy chieftain had described the location where his warriors had destroyed the bridge. And yet there were at least four Great Hills on the way to Kidano. Gepulma could not say which of these it was, but he thought that perhaps he could point out the one if he went with Tarzan on his mission. Following Gepulma's directions, the right hill was finally located. But even as Tarzan sighted the yawning chasm where the bridge had been, the train emerged from a tunnel and started down the steep grade, gaining momentum, speeding toward destruction. I'll put you down here, Gepulma, and make a dash for her, but I'm afraid I'm too late. Stop! Stop! The bridge is out! The bridge is out! Stop, I say! Tarzan, get off the back! You'll be killed! Last coach, go off track, Tarzan. That's right. Perhaps you can find out if the engineer and fireman are all right while I see if anyone was in that last coach. Yes! There's someone here! I'm coming, Mrs. Vermeer. Put your heart. Oh, no, not about me, but your hand. Your hand is thinned underneath that coach. You stay here. I'll see if there's anything. No, I'm coming with you. Your hand needs me. He's in great pain. Oh, oh, oh, sweet of you, Tarzan. Please tell them. What did you get here? You'll save your strength, Mr. Vermeer. Uh, see. Oh, your arm. Can you feel anything in it? Oh, great, great pain. My arm and my shoulder might be able to pry your shoulder out, but your arms... What can be done? You've got to get me out of here. You can be saved, but your arm... You mean someone will have to ampute... No. No, no. You can't do this. Many men have been forced... Many men? I'm a violinist. I've given my life to my work. You can cut off my life. That's what you'll be doing. Guess the train crew, tell them I have... There are never more than two men on these crews, and it would take hundreds to lift this coach, even if there were elephants in this part of the jungle. There might be a chance... I won't let you do it. I'll die first. I won't... Oh, God. He has fainted with the pain. The decision must be made at once, Mr. Vermeer. If we delay too long, it will mean infection and certain death. If you use that knife, you carry... There will not be infection? I haven't native with me a pygmy who is an airing and finding roots that make an adequate antiseptic, but nothing is sure, of course. However, I will do nothing without your permission. Your hand will hate me, but I give the permission. I would rather have a live husband than a dead violinist. The minute pygmy king was soon searching the forest for the root that would serve as an antiseptic, and when he returned, he also bore a strange jungle weed that he mashed and mixed with a rare herb to form an antiseptic. And then, as the African sun beat down upon the unconscious Vermeer, Tarzan wiped his brow and set to the task that would free the great violinist from the demolished train coach. Antoinette Vermeer watched the operation with helpless desperation, cradling the head of the man who might start to hate her from the moment he regained consciousness. We will live, Tarzan. If you can be kept quiet for the next few days and if you keep soaking that cloth with the antiseptic capulmi made. Capulmi, do that. Woman, rest. And unfortunately, we have an even more important task before us. What we do? We must get that train under the tracks at the other side of the gorge. How in the world can you do that when you said it would take onwards of men to leave this one coach? I'm not sure yet, but even if the plan I have in the back of my mind works out, we couldn't have waited to free Mr. Vermeer. Listen, listen carefully now, Capulmi. If that train is more than a few hours late, the soldiers you spoke about at Kedana will suspect the worse. They'll be here looking for trouble and with the ammunition aboard, they'll have no trouble in finding it and in wiping out your people. But even we get trained through by medical. They know my people ruin bridge. I dislike lies, but I dislike bloodshed far worse. Fortunately, both the engineer and the fireman share my sentiments. They've agreed to tell a little fairy tale when or if they reach their destination. Capulmi, give me a little more sleep medicine. I can do it. You're a brave woman. What men say when get to Kedana? That the bridge was washed out. You'll have to see to it that it looks that way before anyone can come to inspect it. But I doubt that many questions will be asked when they report that it was your people who built a temporary bridge and managed to unhook the derailed coach and send them on their way. Capulmi not think warriors his tribe helped send train to Kedana with ammunition. Well, the train would be far too heavy to handle with all those heavy crates aboard. No, we shall have to unload them and then destroy every single gun and shell for safety's sake, of course. Before we can possibly attempt to move the train. By late afternoon, Tarzan had fell the mighty tree and laboriously hollowed out its enormous trunk. As the sun descended over the Congo, a jungle animal made the next contribution to peace, for its hide, stretched tightly over the hollow trunk, formed a huge talking drum that soon broadcast a message to Capulmi's people. By dawn of the next day, hundreds of tiny negritos had answered the summons. And under the supervision of Tarzan, Capulmi their king, and the two men crew of the stranded train, construction of the temporary bridge began. The sound of axes rang through the jungle, metal was forged in a crude furnace, and the dwarf natives did the work of giants, as the bridge sprang into being and the cumbersome train was conveyed to the other side of what had done a yawning chasm only hours before. The train, it has left without us. It would be most unwise to move your husband yet and decide he might not have agreed to our ferry story. I value his life, but not above that of thousands of African people. I understand Tarzan. I will make him understand if he questions him. We shall try to nurse him to health and when he's well enough we will lead you back to where you gave your last concert. Our last concert? If we had only known it was to be our last. One cannot undo what has passed. One can only work for the future. Both you and your husband have serious work to do. He is waking up Tarzan. I thought he never would. The train, the train, it's gone. They're leaving us here. It was necessary to send the train through to Kidano in order to avert a war. But Tarzan and a lot of little pygmies built a temporary bridge from huge logs and managed to get the train onto the other side of the castle. Fantastic. And how did you get me out of this? No. No, you couldn't have done this to me. My dear, that was the only way. Everything ready, Tarzan. Kapulmi have light fuse. What the devil knows? What's the whole about? What does he want? My darling, don't upset yourself more than you can ever. This is Kapulmi, Mr. Amir. His men unloaded the ammunition that was aboard the train and were destroying it before it destroys Africa. I hope you put it far enough away from here, Kapulmi. Not far from here, but safe. It's behind that big pile of rocks over there. It's behind. You shouldn't be up. Your men come back. Mr. Amir, the ammunition's in that direction. In a few seconds it'll go off, but... Once more Tarzan raced with death as Vermeer weakened from loss of blood but strengthened with the mania of self-destruction sped toward the ammunition pile that would explode in a matter of seconds. His wife moved to run after her husband and his pursuer with a small, dark hand of incredible strength restrained her. Vermeer neared the rocks which buttered inches away from its gold. But suddenly he was swept off his feet and a bronze jungle man carried him in outstretched arms and dashed for safety. At any moment rocks, flinters would fill the air. Yes, I'm all right. Just perfect in fact. Johann, I know something of what you're going through but the coward's solution is not the right one, believe me. What would you suggest for a one-armed violinist? You spoke of composing once. Yes, I might compose a violin concerto that I never can play. No, thank you, my brave savior. You stopped me once, but the jungle is big. We're all alone here and I shall have many opportunities to succeed in my purpose. And now back to our story. None so blind. A few days later, the small group that had encamped beside the derail train coach started a foot over the limitless jungle belt. Capulme, who led the party, held his spear, the traditional weapon of the pygmy, in readiness. And Tarzan, who brought up the rear of the single file, caressed the handle of his great hunting knife nervously, his eyes darting in all directions as he displayed a grave uneasiness that no one had ever witnessed in the lord of the jungle. What should he take us? Three, four days more. Capulme, correct. See you. See you. His sons, his little Tarzan and Capulme, are arguing. Yes. Nagia Wakume. See you. Nagia Wakushata. What in the world could they be arguing about? I remember now a few words from my youth that Wakume, right, Wakushata, left, they're in disagreement about which way we should go. I'm beginning to suspect that Tarzan then maybe he doesn't want us to get back to civilization. You are talking nonsense, Johan. What objective could they have? I don't know, but I suspect this is not the first argument that Tarzan has won from the natives since we started out. The little man leads, but Tarzan has selected the route and it looks to me as though with each passing hour we get deeper and deeper into the jungle. Johan, I know how you feel, but life must still hold something for you. Was not the native village we just left most interesting? I suppose so for those who like sightseeing. That fallback corner, B.B., is land of Kiparu. Who is Kiparu, Tarzan? Kiparu's rhinos, it's best to avoid them. They make poor household pets. This is all pretty scary, but it is thrilling. No, Johan, the animals, those native musicians with their pony instruments, the dancers jumping up and down on those huge drums and... All right, Tony, that's enough. I'm not interested. My only interest in life is gone. Watch out, danger! Kiparu! Johan! Come back, you fool! You're crossing between the rhino and water! A plain invitation to death! A huge black rhino, its ugly horn poise for the kill, charged directly at Vermeer as he broke from the narrow trail. His wife turned to Tarzan with frantic eyes, but the appeal fell on barren ground. Tarzan made no move to intercede as the massive beast neared its victim. And then, a scant moment before Johan's body would have been impaled on the scabrous tusk, Kipumi's spear shot forward, and the enormous animal lurched sideward and dropped in death. Johan, how can you do this to me? Do you not love me at all that you keep trying to take your own life? You're still young and pretty. You'll marry again. And obviously, he's not worth bothering about, Tony. Oh, you call her Tony now, eh? So that's why the trip that Kipumi said would take a week is stretched to to almost a month. Oh, please, Johan, if Tarzan called me Tony, it was only because he has heard you call me by that name. That's right. Sprint his defense. I suddenly recalled that he said you were attractive the first time he saw you. Oh, you should be pleased! And you encouraged him to join us on our concert tour. Oh, but I didn't accept the invitation. You managed to catch up with us soon enough after the natives had destroyed the bridge. Johan, you are being unfair. It was Tarzan who got you out from underneath the train. He got half of me out. But he saved you from the explosion, no? Well, he realized his mistake later, I guess. It was Kipumi who found the jungle route that was used to ward off the infection. It was Kipumi who took the lead along the trail. And he, who was the one who saved me just now, not the brave Tarzan. Aye, I didn't have time. But that is not true. Kipumi was further away than you were. Johan has been right. You have been keeping us from finding our way back. And ever since we started this trip, it has been this small native who has been our protector. I hate you, Tarzan. And if we ever get back to civilization, I will tell everyone you will only pretend to be brave that you are really a... Well, by tomorrow at this time, you will be able to board a ship for home. No thanks to you. What is this strange contraption, Kipumi? It's a native game, similar to checkers. I didn't ask you. Kipumi wants to amuse you, Johan. It's a child who needs amusing. Could you not try the game, Johan? He has been carving out the little figures ever since dinnertime. All right, all right. There, I've moved. If that's the way you play it, you have to fund every piece before you make your first move, Kipumi. Watch out, Kipumi! What a venomous looking insect you killed, Tarzan! Another moment, and it would have bitten you, Kipumi. Not feel insect, it not have scent. You couldn't you see it? Kipumi not able to see. You... You couldn't mean that you're blind. It is impossible. Kipumi think you know. Name Kipumi two words. Kipafu blind person, Mafalmi king. The blind king. But everything you did leading us on the trail, finding the roots that saved my life, the accuracy of your spear. A few years ago, but being a king, he knew that he must learn how to be without sight and still be a leader. He was not willing to quit, Johann. So that was the reason for your every act, Tarzan. You were determined to make me find out for myself the meaning of moral strength. Please forgive us both for what we have said and thought, Tarzan. Gladly, if Kipumi's example has done any good. What can I say when I owe my life to a four-foot king who has no eyes, put great vision, who preferred being called a coward to permitting another to be one. You will come home and try now to become a composer, Johann? My first symphony is already half-written in my mind. It contains the weird reed instruments of the Congo, the elephant tusk trumpets, naked feet on huge drums, the clinking of brass anklets, the roar of jungle animals and the great heart of all Africa.