 Tarzan of the eighth, from the novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs with Mr. James H. Pierce as Tarzan, and Mr. Ann Burroughs as Jane Porter. Professor Porter and his party searching for his daughter Jane are captured by cannibals and are forced to undergo the native trial by poison. Tarzan rescues Jane from Alephard and Jane remembering a revolver at the hut as Tarzan take her to the little cabin built by Lord Greystone. Jane gets the revolver and to gather she and Tarzan return to the jungle. You remember the last we heard from Professor Porter and his party they were about to drink the poison prepared by the witch doctor. Now are you ready? Hold your breath. Flimsy drifting curtains of opaque mist shroud the tops of the jungle trees. The hard bright rays of the tropic sun softened by the haze play about the moss, screw and floor in pools of liquid light. A languid air almost an air of peace pervades the entire jungle. Even new mother lion, fed and rested, lies asleep in the sanded depths of his shady lair. From the dense foliage that hides the sapphire sky comes a mixed chorus of shrill chirping. Below the canopy of green on the platform of branches sit Jane Porter and Tarzan. Through half closed eyes Tarzan waters the jungle trail. Jane looks into the cool depths below and thinks about the events of the past few weeks. In her own mind she's satisfied that her father and his party have not left the jungle and despite its present quiet Jane knows that underneath the jungle is still savage, fierce, relentless. She turns to Tarzan. Sometimes quite thin it's almost impossible to realize that the jungle can be so terrible. Look at it now. Beautiful. The air is heavy with a fragrance of orchid. At home the same flowers would cost thousands of dollars. Here they grow wild on every hand. Tarzan nods his head. In a short time he has learned much of this strange new language. Often there are words he cannot understand but he can grasp their meaning. He looks at Jane. Yes, Jane. Jungle beautiful. Jungle beautiful. Jane no more frightened. Yes, White Skin, you are right. But when night comes and the lions, the lepers, all these fierce brutes are on the prowl. I'm afraid. I'm afraid. I can't help it. Jane got gunned. No more frightened. That's true White Skin. The gun does help. But still this jungle is hardly the place for a woman, even if she has a gun. Of course it's foolish for me to expect you to understand that, since I suppose you have been in this jungle all your life. Jungle, same as many jungles. Yes, just it, White Skin. You put it briefly but very much to the point. The jungle is the jungle and won't change. As long as I am with you I'm safe. But what about Daddy? Mr. Philander, Cecil, out there looking for me. Cecil? Cecil? Oh, of course. Stupid of me. You don't know Cecil. Father, out in jungle, no more White Skin. Jungle, kill, father. No kill. Jungle, no kill. Father got gunned. But White Skin, you don't know father. Just when he's most liable to need a gun, then is when he will most certainly forget it. Tarzan does not quite know what to make of Jane's statement. However, he's been turning over in his mind the thought. Now, if he can only express it in words, Jane will understand. Jane, father, go, goman, Gany Hut. Father, go, man Hut. Goman, Gany Hut. Father, go. You mean that father might be a pecanable village? Village? Village. Many Hut. Yes, Nightman Village. Nightman? Yes, White Skin, Dayman, Jane, Daywoman. Goman, Gany, Nightman. Goman, Gany, Nightman. Oh, Black. Night is Black. I see. Black man, White Skin. Goman, Gany, Black man. Father, go. Many Hut. Village, Black man. You may do right, White Skin. And if he has... Jane's thoughts and speech are interrupted by the arrival of Targ, one of the great apes of the tribe of Kerchak. The hairy monster swings from the overhanging branches all to the platform and talks to Tarzan. Kerchak, who let that... White Skin, meet Dundum. Come back quick. Oh, White Skin, I hate to be left. Even if things are quiet. Jane, no frighten. White Skin, talk, talk, talk, talk. You mean, Targ will stay here with me? Yes, talk, talk, talk. All right, but White Skin, come back quickly. And Tarzan nods his head as he swings off into the trees in the direction of the Dundum, where a disagreement between two bull apes awaits his solution. In the cannibal crowd, Professor Porter has just lowered the gourd of poisoned liquid from his lips. There's a strained half-question and expression in his eyes. The others, Clayton, Belanda, Darno, are watching him in tense, nervous silence. Black Skin, White Skin, come back quickly. The witch doctor says you are the next Monsieur Clayton to be the stop-professor. Let's get this over. He's getting on my nerves. Hello, I'm White Skin. To me, I shall drink. Black File, sorry. Here, Monsieur Belandaire. It smells like, um, the self-surrated hydrogen. It tastes worse. All right, I'm trying. Professor Porter hands the half-empty gourd to the witch doctor. The witch doctor takes the gourd and, with an evil smile, twisting his grotesque features, he drinks. I don't. Be patient. No, I do not be too sure of that, Monsieur. Do not be alarmed. I do not think it's deadly. I'm not. If the witch doctor can drink it, I can. I feel slightly, if they so may, I want to go to sleep. If that stuff has that effect, Darno, you must control your faculties. Do not permit that feeling of sleep to overcome you. Keep moving. Keep moving. If you do fall asleep, nothing can save you. Professor, can you take more poison? Why yes, Sir Lander, if it's necessary. I have a scheme in mind. Darno, ask for a second gourd. But, Monsieur... You and I ask, we'll finish this witch doctor once and for all. But yes, not aware. I shall drink last. You don't have to drink much this time. Beneath his hands, the freshly filled gourd to Professor Porter. Every eye is fixed on the group as the professor pretends to take a long drink. He passes the gourd to Clayton. And the Englishman hiding a grimace behind the uplifted gourd drinks. Darno takes the poison from Clayton, drinks, and passes it to Philander. He landerlores the gourd from his lips. He drops something into the liquid. Now he hands it to the witch doctor. The horrible looking figure raises the gourd in his scraggy, twisted hands. A reddish yellow foam bubbles up in the gourd. It runs down the side. The witch doctor stares at it aghast. He looks at Professor Porter, then holds the gourd out to the native who bought it. The blacks insist that he drink, Monsieur. What did you do for that? Two tablets, nothing dangerous. I take one occasion, a little headache. Whatever done, we'll have this witch doctor and have an immediate effect on him right away. The witch doctor is frightened out of his wit. And the natives are apparently insisting that he drink. The paint-stopped medicine man glares vengefully at the yelling natives, then at Professor Porter. At last, with an effort, he raises the gourd and sleeps. With a shriek, he throws the thing from him. His black lips are streaked with yellowish foam and he throws himself to the ground, groveling. Darno, before he finds out he's not going to die, tell the people that we will cure him. Bye, Asana. Let's bring him up and carry him to our hut. Yes, we don't want him to recover in front of the natives. Yes, then make quite a ceremony, carry him to his hut. Now we can bring this back gentleman to our hut. That's all together, Professor. I think so, Clayton. He evidently thinks that he's going to die. So it's natural that he'll agree to our terms. Monsieur, what are our terms? Getting us out of this compounded village. Isn't that a little too fast? It can't be too fast for me. I don't see how anyone could possibly want to linger. Perfectly true, Clayton. But if we can invigorate these natives into helping us find Jane, that would be the best solution, would it not? Like Joe, I see. That's an idea. And also, since we are embarked on a campaign of deceit, we might as well do it properly. Darno, Monsieur, do you not think that in order to impress our native friends further, we should in the future be able to tell exactly what it is they want? I do not understand, Monsieur. I simply mean, if the witch doctor will tell us beforehand what is required by the tribe, then we can forestall their asking and do what they require, insofar as they know, because of our second sight. I can tell you now what the main complaint is. Oh, what is it? It is rain! They have been through a lengthy period of doubt. And that, for our first problem, seems to be quite a faser. Yes, I don't believe that even we can make rainfall. No, Monsieur, but if you will handle the necessary ceremonies, I can tell when you may expect rain. Darno! Of course! With my accoutrement, in the other hut is my compass, which contains also a parametre. I say, this flight seems to be coming to an end. Then we have better start about exacting the required promises. While Professor Porter and his party work over the now thoroughly frightened witch doctor, Jane Porter sits on the platform in the trees, watching Tog, the ape left by Tarzan to guard her, as he hunts for beetles at the base of the trees. Tog looks up when he hears Jane call his name. That this white hairless she should be able to call him by name does not surprise him, but that she does not understand him, or help him search for the grubs he considers delicacies. That's something he cannot understand. Again, Tog looks up. A tenuous model lengthwhips itself from the surrounding green and twines itself about Tog's massive sword. What happened to Jane during Tarzan's absence?