 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 times. Transcribed from the immortal pen of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan, the bronzed white sun of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of Tarzan and the Manuema. Once again the moon was full and still the rains had not come. In the Shamba near the village, the half-formed ears of the kaffir corn had dried up. The plantains were like hard stones and the cassava roots were dust that would yield no meal for bread. The men and women of the Pugna tribe that grown gaunt and the children cried because of the pangs of emptiness that racked their small bodies. Hush, Tarzan. Hush, Tarzan. Hungry. Nagama knows her bailu is hungry. Her heart weeps. But there is nothing to do if Tarzan's friend Tarzan were here. He could do something. Nagama is afraid that even Tarzan could do nothing. What's that? The people of the village. They are filled with excitement. Perhaps Kisanda of which doctor has found rain. It will take more than a divining rod this time. Nagama, she better open door and see what people... They come this way, Tarzan. Why should people of the village come to us? Why, it's Tarzan. Tarzan. Jambo Nagama. Jambo. Tuggle, he is all right. Tuggle right behind you. Hello, Tarzan. I will speak with you later, people of Pugna. Let us go inside. Oh, you are thin, my small friend. There has been little to reach. Oh, but now, now the rains will come. Tuggle, Tuggle, Nagama, that Tarzan could bring rain. Oh, no. No, I'm afraid I can't do that. Oh, but Tuggle, Tuggle, Nagama, that Tarzan could... I, uh, I plan to do the next best thing, though. I'm going to take the people of Pugna to the rains. I've brought some meat and as many water bags as I could manage. Tomorrow your tribe must begin a long trek to the mountain country. The trip will be hard for a people weak from lack of food and drink. Well, I, I plan to make it easier. I'm going ahead and blaze a trail. I'll try to have some meat and some water at each night's resting spot. Do I, do I smell food now? The women are preparing what I brought. You'd better get out there, Tuggle. I want to see you looking fatter than when next time we meet. Oh, don't, don't leave Tuggle, Tarzan. Take Tuggle with you. You want to come with me as I blaze the trail and hunt for food? I would have as far to travel if I come with the tribe. Your small head is always ready with answers, isn't it? Oh, say that Tuggle can go with you. Oh, what does Nagama say? Nagama never worries about her bailoo when he is with Tarzan, lord of the jungle. All right, Tuggle, you can come with me then. Tomorrow we will lead the people of Pugna to the mountain country of Kenyatta, where there is bound to be much rain. But for once Tarzan was wrong. The people who lived at the foot of Kenyatta, the great slumbering volcano of the north, were as hungry as those of Pugna. A cannibal tribe, the Manuemas garishly painted faces shown in the firelight as they talked over the problem. The grizzly souvenirs of their victims, which they wore as decorations about their necks, tossed in rhythm with their swaying bodies, and their teeth filed to sharp points, gleaned wickedly as they faced their discredited witch doctor. We, doctors, you log in. No good. Aye, aye. Fruit dries up animals. Leave Kenyatta. Cuttle grows sick. Aye, aye. Our people grow weak and die. Aye, aye. Kenyatta is angry. The great volcano frowns upon the people. A Manuema. Aye, aye. Manuemas need new witch doctor. More powerful, you log in. Make sacrifice of old witch. Speak witch doctor. What you say is true. The fruit has dried on the vine. The rain refuses to come to our country. And our people grow weak. It is true also that this is because Kenyatta, the greatest of all volcanoes of the Congo, is angry. But only I, Uroge of Manuema, can tell you why Kenyatta is angry. Then tell us. Kenyatta is angry because many moons have passed since we have made human sacrifice. You will be human sacrifice. Only I know what Kenyatta demands. He tells me he does not want me, nor any member of Manuema tribe. But no strangers come to our country now. Soon they will come again. In the lowlands it is even drier than it is beneath the shadow of Kenyatta. Our men must go forth and select from the strangers a small boy to sacrifice to the god of the volcano. Aye, aye. And we must also capture a grown man from those who come to our country. The biggest and strongest man we can find. From his flesh and from his blood will the people of Manuema grow strong once again. Aye, aye. We shall return with our story in just a moment. Even as the cannibalistic savages of Manuema started out to find a young boy to sacrifice to the slumbering god of the volcano and to find a strong man to appease their own inhuman superstitions and appetites, Tarzan and the small Torgo plunged deeper and deeper into the jungle thicket. Behind them they left a blazed trail for the people of Punya. Well, I think this is as far as we can go today, Targo. How long it take tribe to get here? They ought to reach this point by tomorrow. I only wish I could find a little waterhole near here like the one I found for them yesterday. They ought to be there by now. Or they must be much happy when they see there you kill for them and great waterhole you find. Well, not much water in it but enough so they won't die of thirst, I guess. Are you tired, Torgo? Oh, no, Torgo, not tired a bit. Oh, you're yawning. Aren't you ready to go to sleep for the night? Tarzan. Yes? Tonight couldn't we build a place to sleep on the ground somewhere? Oh, we haven't time to build anything. And it certainly isn't safe to sleep on the ground without protection, not with the temper of the stray animals who are left around here. But I get afraid up in the trees. I think you're a little homesick for Nagama. No, no, that is not the reason. Well, maybe not. I think I'll take you back so that you can sleep in your mother's tent tonight. Oh, but Nagama and the rest of the tribe are day behind us. A day by the ground trail we traveled but only a short time by the upper level. Oh, but when Tarzan swings from tree to tree and from vine to vine, he has to carry Torgo on his back like a tiny bell. Being carried on my back doesn't make you a bellew. I often travel on the back of Tantor, the elephant, and that doesn't make Tarzan a bellew. Well, that is different. Not a bit. Nowhere is there anyone who's so great or so strong that he needs no help from another. Come on, Torgo, come on, climb up. We'll see if we can find Mama Nagama. And so with Torgo's small arms touched about his neck, Tarzan swung noiselessly through the upper level of tangled jungle growth, like the great apes who had raised him from childhood. The members of the Punya tribe were retiring early in preparation for the next day's march, and the camp seemed almost deserted when Tarzan and Torgo dropped from the sky. I'm sorry, Sui. We didn't mean to. Sui always frightened by everything, not brave at all. Oh, Sui's all right. Sui, where is Hima of Nagama? Here. Santa, come on, Torgo, let's find your mother. Always left like dango de hyena. You stop giggling for a minute and tell me where Nagama is. Tarzan and Torgo ran through the forest until they reached a looming palisade of sandstone, below which lay the once abundant watering place. Now, in its fetid heart lay a great crocodile, and beyond the savage reptile was Nagama, cut off from retreat on one side by the great walls of stone, on the other by the hideous monster. Quiet, Torgo. Gimla's watching her. If she starts towards you, Gimla may attack. Be quiet. We creep up silently. Don't step on any twigs. I'm in a position to shoot. If only my arrow can pierce that tough hide. Well, the wounded reptile slithered rapidly toward the nearest human, Nagama, but faster still moved Tarzan. He died at the animal, his great hunter's knife gleaming in the moonlight. The enormous trap-like mouth opened, his big teeth beckoned. But as Tarzan landed on the scaly creature, he wrenched it over on its back with almost superhuman strength. The knife rose, and then it flashed down into the vulnerable pale belly. The animal's great tale played the air with maniacal fury. The knife plunged again and again, and at last, a frantic lashing of the beast stopped. Tarzan put one foot on the dead crocodile, and then he raised his voice in victory. All right, my son. I have brought Torgo to spend the night with you. He doesn't care for sleeping in the treetops. The dangers here are far greater. Every living thing fights for the drop of water and the morsel of food that are left. Please, Tarzan, keep Targo with you. He is safe now, only with you. Tarzan. Well, it's not much protection, but it was all I could build in a couple of hours. Well, last night, before we went back to Nagama, Tarzan said he has no time to peel house. I didn't have time today, but I can't leave you alone with no protection. Alone? Yes. While you sleep tonight, I shall have to hunt. The game grows scarcer, and there is next to nothing here for your people when they arrive. They come soon? They should be here by tomorrow night. I thought by the time we reached the Kenyala country, we would have found many animals and fresh springs. Where will we go next? I don't know. All I do know is that I'll have to comb the jungle tonight and find some food and water. You won't be afraid alone, will you? No. Only it would be easier if Tarzan bought rain. You still think I'm capable of anything, don't you? Well, go to sleep. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? Sleep well, my small brave warrior. Treehouse, far up. Hard crime. We are here now. Look. The boy sleeps, and he is alone. Nedi. He's a fine-looking youth. Kenyala will be pleased. He will then send us a strong man to nourish our blood, and after that he will send the rains, and the manyuema will be powerful once again. Enough of talk. Anjali. Another scrap boy. You place hand over his mouth. He must not cry out. Ready now? Aye. On the cross. Tarzan! Limbako Sokomo to appease your wrath. Limbako Sokomo. His body has been anointed with rich oil. He is great sacrifice. All right, all right. Stand still, spoil boy. You spoil ceremony. Dog or nothing, I do. Tarzan come and kill every one of you. Tarzan big and strong. He take all of you at once, and kill you with his bare hands. Who is this Tarzan? Or he is Togo's friend. Even now he hunts in the treehouse for Dogo. He is big and strong? Huh? Or twice as strong as Sheetah the Panther. He is White God. Ah, then the sacrifice to Kenyala will not yet be made. We will wait until this White God comes to seek his young friend. Then we will have sacrifice for Kenyala and also sacrifice for hungry warriors of Manuema. In just a moment we will continue with Tarzan and the Manuema. The council fire of the Manuemas burned bright as the barbaric pink smeared cannibals danced about their small prisoner whom they had gagged and bound to a stake. And high on a tree just beyond the circle of flickering firelight a great bronze figure stood voiced. Suddenly a spiral of woven rope flashed downward over the head of a twirling dancer. In the half-life the rope was invisible and all that the other natives could see was the fearful sight of one of their members being hurtled upward through space. Oh! Did you see that? Injala, he, he, he disappeared into heaven. It is some sorcery we do not understand. Injala behind me. I look round, he is, he flies in air. It is Injala, he has been thrown back from the heavens. And only a slender lion on his throat. Our enemy has strong Yorogi. Ah! He's taken from us now. He too. Speak enemy, tell us thy wish. Unless you release the small boy I shall kill your people one at a time. You hear that, witch doctor? I shall kill you one at a time. Let the boy go. Thank you. First Injala. This may be some trick. We not know that you are God of the volcano. Give us some sign. Unless you do, we hold the boy. The sign will be shown tomorrow night when the moon writes a sign so great it would leave no doubt. But if there is one mark of violence on the boy A dozen feet away from the encampment Tarzan dropped the hollow log he'd been using as an improvised megaphone. And then he swung to the upper level and hurried to meet the punya tribe that was slowly approaching the kenyara country. As dawn crept through the jungle he dropped to the ground near the weary caravan and he was soon facing Nagama making the most difficult speech of his life. Night, poor Bealu. First I wanted to burst into the camp and kill as many of them as I could. But there were hundreds of them who, Togo, would be killed before I could reach him. He was bound and gagged. But you think they will not hide him until you return? I'm sure they have accepted my voice as that of their God but I have to perform something more sensational than I did last night if I'm to have a chance of saving him. What can you do? Well I have a plan, but first I must ask you a question. Yes? Has anyone here felt any rumblings beneath their feet? Rumblings? A very slight vibration of the ground. But none of us had the acute senses of torsion. Well, if you felt nothing then perhaps the manuamers haven't either. Where is Sui? What can a silly girl do? I have to see her. Please Nagama find her for me will you? It's really important. Sui, do you remember those bullets you stole from the camp of the white men when they came to the Punya country? Oh now Sui, this is important. Togo's life depends on it. What did you do with those bullets? You were giggling. Look at me. Look, bullets are the small hard arrows that come from the Tamangani's thunder sticks. Remember? I found you with them. And I told you you must throw them away. You did not. I saw them later around your neck. You'd made a necklace of them. Where are they now? Man's bullets. And to think that this curse of the jungle may yet save the life of Togo. Not, Tarzan. We are almost to the top. Almost to the top of the mighty Kenyara. And I still haven't seen any suspicious looking fissure in the rock. Fissure? Yes, a cleft, a narrow opening, a crack. Over there, but that hard crust of lava. Is that a fissure? Yes, Nagama, that is. Come. Yes, this spot might work. Wait until I put my ear to it. Ah, this is it. My body will be saved. We can only pray. You have the gunpowder we emptied from the bullets. Leader. And the fuse of dried weeds I made. Leader. And you can see the camp of the Manuema from here? The camp in the ceremonial fire. Togo is near the fire. Yes. You will watch that fire, Nagama. And if you see it flare up, suddenly it will be from the powder I throw on it. That will be a signal for you to light the fuse and then run for your life. I understand. You... you know that you may not escape. Many times in jungle mother risked life for Charles. By the time Tarzan had reached the base of Kenyara, the moon had risen. He stood at the edge of the village. His face was painted with garish colors that outdid the Manuemas. And his body was smeared with a phosphorescent substance. His mighty figure, luminous in the sable night, looked for all the world like that of some strange jungle god. As he walked boldly into the camp and approached the fire. Who approaches the fire of the Manuemas? I am the god of Kenyara. You are a false god. I fear not your anger. My anger is mighty. Unless you do as I say, I shall destroy all of you and your village as well. No, mighty witch doctor. Do not anger him. He is the god of the volcano. His body gleams like the moonlight. Last night his voice came like thunder and he killed two of our men. He killed them by a rope. I found it this morning. And his voice thundered through a hollow log. He is a faker. Capture him, men of Manuema. Wait. I give you one more chance. Unless you untie the boy, I shall produce the sign I promised you last night. And it shall mean death. Take him. The boy dies. And so does this defiler of a god. Stop. Put no hand on me. You see this bit of powder? I toss it into the ceremonial fire. So, men of Kenyatta. It means nothing. Take him. Oh, it is the sign of Kenyatta. Even now he prepares to wreak his anger upon you. Listen. Men of Manuema, the mighty volcano sends its messengers of death. The lava. It is coming down the mountain. The lava sprang from the volcano and rushed down on the village below. Native huts and fences and trees and rocks were swept away in the boiling inferno of fury that leaped forward. And all were killed. Save only the godlike creature who ran with the speed of bara, the deer. Beneath one arm, he held a small frightened native boy. And when he put him down at last, it was high on the hilltop from which the molten death had flowed. Oh, oh, Dargo. Oh, Dargo. I am all right now, Mama Maganna. Why you cry? I cry from happiness. You are unhurt, Nagama. You all went in the direction of the village. But when the last tide of destruction, we started to stop. Even now it stops. The rumble you hear is not of the volcano. It is thunder. Shaken from the sky by Kenyarra's might. The fruits and the grain will grow again. You see, Nagama. Dargo, Dargo, you dare bring the rain? We'll return to tell you about the next story of Tarzan in just a moment. In our next story, we relate Tarzan's experience when he forsakes the jungle for the city of Andumara. Andumara, hardly a dot on the map of Sudan, but the most important center for the thieves and outlaws and murderers of equatorial Africa, and the home of one of the most fascinating and deadly beauties of all times. Our story is called Tarzan and the Siren of Andumara. Tarzan, the 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.