Official Edgar Rice Burroughs Tribute and Weekly Webzine Site Since 1996 ~ Over 10,000 Web Pages in Archive Presents Volume 5142

ERB'S INNER WORLD: TARZAN AT THE EARTH’S CORE by Woodrow Edgar Nichols, Jr. Part Twelve

            All right, we are entering the last third of our adventure. Yes, I know there are a lot of loose ends ERB needs to tie up, especially since everyone, in searching for others, only have gotten themselves into more trouble. So, without wasting any more time, let’s get back to that crazy Stegosaur.

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XII: THE PHELIAN SWAMP

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    As Jason Gridley leaped down the canyon side toward the lone warrior who stood facing the attack of the tremendous reptile gliding swiftly through the air from the top of the opposite cliff side, there flashed upon the screen of his recollection the picture of a restoration of a similar extinct reptile and he recognized the creature as a stegosaurus of the Jurassic; but how inadequately had the picture that he had seen carried to his mind the colossal proportions of the creature, or remotely suggested its terrifying aspect.
    Jason saw the lone warrior standing there facing inevitable doom, but in his attitude there was no outward sign of fear, in his right hand he held his puny spear, and in his left his crude stone knife. He would die, but he would give a good account of himself. There was no panic of terror, no futile flight.
    The distance between Jason and the stegosaurus was over great for a revolver shot, but the American hoped that he might at least divert the attention of the reptile from its prey and even, perhaps, frighten it away by the unaccustomed sound of the report of the weapon, and so he fired twice in rapid succession as he leaped downward toward the bottom of the canyon. That at least one of the shots struck the reptile was evidenced by the fact that it veered from its course, simultaneously emitting a loud, screaming sound.
    Attracted to Jason by the report of the revolver and evidently attributing its hurt to this new enemy, the reptile, using its tail as a rudder and tilting its spine plates up on one side, veered in the direction of the American.
    As the two shots shattered the silence of the canyon, the warrior turned his eyes in the direction of the man leaping down the declivity toward him, and then he saw the reptile veer in the direction of the newcomer.
    Heredity and training, coupled with experience, had taught this primitive savage that every man’s hand was against him, unless that man was a member of his own tribe. Only upon a single occasion in his life had experience controverted these teachings, and so it seemed inconceivable that this stranger, whom he immediately recognized as such, was deliberately risking his life in an effort to succor him; yet there seemed no other explanation, and so the perplexed warrior, instead of seeking to escape now that the attention of the reptile was diverted from him, ran swiftly toward Jason to join forces with him in combatting the attack of the creature.
    From the instant that the stegosaurus had leaped from the summit of the cliff, it had hurtled through the air with a speed which seemed entirely out of proportion to its tremendous bulk, so that all that had transpired in the meantime had occupied but a few moments of time, and Jason Gridley found himself facing this onrushing death almost before he had had time to speculate upon the possible results of he venturesome interference.
    With wide distended jaws and uttering piercing shrieks, the terrifying creature shot toward him, but now at last it presented an easy target and Jason Gridley was entirely competent to take advantage of the altered situation.
    He fired rapidly with both weapons, trying to reach the tiny brain, at the location of which he could only guess and for which his bullets were searching through the roof of the open mouth. His greatest hope, however, was that the beast could not for long face that terrible fusillade of shots, and in this he was right. The strange and terrifying sound and the pain and shock of the bullets tearing into its skull proved too much for the stegosaurus. Scarcely half a dozen feet from Gridley it swerved upward and passed over his head, receiving two or three bullets in its belly as it did so.
    Still shrieking with rage and pain it glided to the ground beyond him. Almost immediately it turned to renew the attack. This time it came upon its four feet, and Jason saw that it was likely to prove fully as formidable upon the ground as it had been in the air, for considering its tremendous bulk it moved with great agility and speed.
    As he stood facing the returning creature, the warrior reached his side.
    “Get on that side of him,” said the warrior, “and I will attack him on this. Keep out of the way of its tail. Use your spear; you cannot frighten a dyrodor away by making a noise.”
    Jason Gridley leaped quickly to one side to obey the suggestions of the warrior, smiling inwardly at the naive suggestion of the other of that his Colt had been used solely to frighten the creature.
    The warrior took his place upon the opposite side of the approaching reptile, but before he had time to cast his spear or Jason to fire again the creature stumbled forward, its nose dug into the ground and it rolled over upon its side dead.
    “It is dead!” said the warrior in a surprised tone. “What could have killed it? Neither one of us has cast a spear.”
    Jason slipped his Colts into their holsters. “These killed it,” he said, tapping them.
    “Noises do not kill,” said the warrior skeptically. “It is not the bark of the jalok or the growl of the ryth that rends the flesh of man. The hiss of the thipdar kills no one.”
    “It was not the noise that killed it,” said Jason, “but if you will examine its head and especially the roof of its mouth you will see what happened when my weapons spoke.”
    Following Jason’s suggestion the warrior examined the head and mouth of the dyrodor and when he had seen the gaping wounds he looked at Jason with a new respect. “Who are you?” he asked, “and what are you doing in the land of Zoram?”
    “My God!” exclaimed Jason. “Am I in Zoram?”
    “You are.”
    “And you are one of the men of Zoram?” demanded the American.
    “I am; but who are you?”
    “Tell me, do you know Jana, The Red Flower of Zoram?” insisted Jason.
    “What do you know of The Red Flower of Zoram?” demanded the other. And then suddenly his eyes widened to a new thought. “Tell me,” he cried, “by what name do they call you in the country from which you come?”
    “My name is Gridley,” replied the American; “Jason Gridley.”
    “Jason!” exclaimed the other; “yes, Jason Gridley, that is it. Tell me, man, where is The Red Flower of Zoram? What did you with her?”
    “That is what I am asking you,” said Jason. “We became separated and I have been searching for her. But what do you know of me?”
    “I followed you for a long time,” replied the other, “but the waters fell and obliterated your tracks.”
    “Why did you follow me?” asked Jason.
    “I followed because you were with The Red Flower of Zoram,” replied the other. “I followed to kill you, but he said you would not harm her; he said that she went with you willingly. Is that true?”
    “She came with me willingly for a while,” replied Jason, “and then she left me; but I did not harm her.”
    “Perhaps he was right then,” said the warrior. “I shall wait until I find her and if you have not harmed her, I shall not kill you.”
    “Whom do you mean by ‘he’?” asked Jason. “There is no one in Pellucidar who could possibly know anything about me, except Jana.”
    “Do you not know Tarzan?” asked the warrior.
    “Tarzan!” exclaimed Jason. “You have seen Tarzan? He is alive?”
    “I saw him. We hunted together and we followed you and Jana, but he is not alive now; he is dead.”

            ERB is having some sly fun. Tarzan is under the mistaken belief that Jason is dead because of what Jana told him, and now Jason is led to believe that Tarzan is dead because of Jana’s brother, for everyone has surely guessed by now that the warrior from Zoram is Thoar. Imagine their surprise when they discover they are wrong.

            Which reminds me of a story that happened about ten years ago. One night, after a long hiatus, I returned to one of my favorite watering holes, the Silver Dollar Hofbrau. The regulars sit at a reserved spot at the eastern end of the long mahogany bar with thousands of silver dollars embedded on its top. As I approached the regulars from the front entrance they all froze and their faces turned ashen white. They looked as if they had seen a ghost. One of them exclaimed, “But you’re dead?”

              I swore to them that I was not a ghost and asked them why they thought I was dead. It seems that one of my old Chinese clients had told them that I had died in a car wreck because he had read about it in the newspapers. Now I will admit that a lot of attorneys in the area were dying during that period, most of them in their fifties – most were heavy smokers, and one did die when he fell asleep coming back from Merced on Highway 99 and ran off the road and crashed into a tree – and likely he had mistaken one of these for myself. Other than that I had no explanation for it, but it sure was funny. They had really believed with absolute certainty that I was dead. Maybe even some of them had wished it were true. Heheheheh.

    “Dead! You are sure that he is dead?”
    “Yes, he is dead.”
    “How did it happen?”
    “We were crossing the summit of the mountains when he was seized by a thipdar and carried away.”
    Tarzan dead! He had feared as much and yet now that he had proof it seemed unbelievable. His mind could scarcely grasp the significance of the words that he had heard as he recalled the strength and vitality of that man of steel. It seemed incredible that that giant frame should cease to pulsate with life; that those mighty muscles no longer rolled beneath the sleek, bronzed hide; that the courageous heart should no longer beat.
    “You were very fond of him?” asked the warrior, noticing the silence and dejection of the other.
    “Yes,” said Jason.
    “So was I,” said the warrior; “but neither Tar-gash nor I could save him, the thipdar struck so swiftly and was gone before we could cast a weapon.”
    “Who is Tar-gash?” asked Jason.
    “A Sagoth – one of the hairy men,” replied the warrior. “They live in the forest and are often used as warriors by the Mahars.”
    “And he was with you and Tarzan?” inquired Jason.
    “Yes. They were together when I first saw them, but now Tarzan is dead and Tar-gash has gone back to his own country and I must proceed upon my search for The Red Flower of Zoram. You have saved my life, man from another country, but I do not know that you have not harmed Jana. Perhaps you have slain her. How am I to know? I do not know what I should do.”
    “I, too, am looking for Jana,” said Jason. “Let us look for her together.”
    “Then if we find her, she shall tell me whether or not I shall kill you,” said the warrior.
    Jason could not but recall how angry Jana had been with him. She had almost killed him herself. Perhaps she would find it easier to permit this warrior to kill him. Doubtless the man was her sweetheart and if he knew the truth he would need no urging to destroy a rival, but nether by look nor word did he reveal any apprehension as he replied.
    “I will go with you,” he said, “and if I have harmed The Red Flower of Zoram you may kill me. What is your name?”
    “Thoar,” replied the warrior.
    Jana had spoken of her brother to Jason, but if she had ever mentioned his name, the American had forgotten it, and so he continued to think that Thoar was the sweetheart and possibly the mate of The Red Flower and is reaction to this belief was unpleasant; yet why it should have been he could not have explained. The more he thought of the matter the more certain he was that Thoar was Jana’s mate, for who was there who might naturally desire to kill one who had wronged her. Yes, he was sure that the man was Jana’s mate. The thought made him angry for she had certainly led him to believe that she was not mated. That was just like a woman, he meditated; they were all flirts; they would make a fool of man merely to pass an idle hour, but she had not made a fool of him. He had not fallen victim to her lures, that is why she had been so angry – her vanity had been piqued – and being a primitive young person the first thought that had come to her mind had been to kill him. What a little devil she was trying to get him to make love to her when she already had a mate, and thus Jason almost succeeded in working himself into a rage until his sense of humor came to his rescue; yet even though he smiled, way down deep within him something hurt and he wondered why.
    “Where did you last see Jana?” asked Thoar. “We can return there and try and locate her tracks.”
    “I do not know that I can explain,” replied Jason. “It is very difficult for me to locate myself or anything else where there are no points of compass.”
    “We can start together at the point where we found your tracks with Jana’s,” said Thoar.
    “Perhaps that will not be necessary if you are familiar with the country on the other side of the range,” said Jason. “Returning toward the mountains from the spot where I first saw Jana, there was a tremendous gorge upon our left. It was toward this gorge that the two men of the four that had been pursuing her ran after I had killed two of their number. Jana tried to find a way to the summit, far to the right of this gorge, but our path was blocked by a deep rift which paralleled the base of the mountains, so that she was compelled to turn back again toward the gorge, into which she descended. The last I saw of her she was going up the gorge, so that if you know where this gorge lies it will not be necessary for us to go all the way back to the point at which I first met her.”
    “I know this gorge,” said Thoar, “and if the two Phelians entered it is possible that they captured her. We will search in the direction of the gorge then and if we do not find any trace of her, we shall drop down to the country of the Phelians in the lowland.”
    Through a maze of jagged peaks Thoar led the way. To him time meant nothing; to Jason Gridley it was little more than a memory. When they found food they ate; when they were tired they slept, and always just ahead there were perilous crags to skirt and stupendous cliffs to scale. To the American it would have seemed incredible that a girl ever could find her way here had he not had occasion to follow where The Red Flower of Zoram led.
    Occasionally they were forced to take a lower route which led into the forests that climbed higher along the slopes of the mountains, and here they found more game and with Thoar’s assistance Jason fashioned a garment from the hide of a mountain goat. It was at best a sketchy garment; yet it sufficed for the purpose for which it was intended and left his arms and legs free. Nor was it long before he realized its advantages and wondered why civilized man of the outer crust should so encumber himself with useless clothing, when the demands of temperature did not require it.
    As Jason became better acquainted with Thoar he found his regard for him changing from suspicion to admiration, and finally to a genuine liking for the savage Pellucidarian, in spite of the fact that this sentiment was tinged with a feeling that, while not positive animosity, was yet akin to it. It was difficult for Jason to fathom the sentiment which seemed to animate him. There could be no rivalry between him and this primitive warrior and yet Jason’s whole demeanor and attitude toward Thoar was such as might be scrupulously observed by any honorable man toward an honorable opponent or rival.
    They seldom, if ever, spoke of Jana; yet thoughts of her were uppermost in the mind of each of them. Jason often found himself reviewing every detail of his association with her; every little characteristic gesture and expression was indelibly printed upon his memory, as were the contours of her perfect figure and the radiant loveliness of her face. Not even the bitter words with which she had parted with him could erase the memory of her joyous comradeship. Never before in his life had he missed the companionship of any woman. At times he tried to crowd her from his thoughts by recalling incidents of his friendship with Cynthia Furnois or Barbara Green, but the vision of The Red Flower of Zoram remained persistently in the foreground, while that of Cynthia and Barbara always faded gradually into forgetfulness.
    This state of mental subjugation to the personality of an untutored savage, however beautiful, annoyed his ego and he tried to escape it by dwelling upon the sorrow entailed by the death of Tarzan; but somehow he never could convince himself that Tarzan was dead. It was one of those things that it was simply impossible to conceive.

            Thank God ERB felt the same way. And I wonder just how much he suggests that there was some hanky-panky with Jason’s relationships with Cynthia and Mrs. Green. I mean, I take it that he was having sexual fantasies to keep his mind off The Red Flower of Zoram, especially off “the contours of her perfect figure.” But perhaps everyone is not like me.

            And be honest now, don’t you find the search for Jana a little boring since we already know she has been captured by the Clovi? You would think that ERB would know that.

    Failing in this, he would seek to occupy his mind with conjectures concerning the fate of Von Horst, Muviro and the Waziri warriors, or upon what was transpiring aboard the great dirigible in search of which his eyes were often scanning the cloudless Pellucidarian sky. But travel where it would, even to his remote Tarzana hills in far off California, it would always return to hover around the girlish figure of The Red Flower of Zoram.
    Thoar, upon his part, found in the American a companion after his own heart – a dependable man of quiet ways, always ready to assume his share of the burden and responsibilities of the savage trail they trod.
    So the two came at last to the rim of the great gorge and though they followed it up and down for a great distance in each direction they found no trace of Jana, nor any sign that she had passed that way.
    “We shall go down to the lowlands,” said Thoar, “to the country that is called Pheli and even though we may not find her, we shall avenge her.”
    The idea of primitive justice suggested by Thoar’s decision aroused no opposing questions of ethics in the mind of the civilized American; in fact, it seemed quite the most natural thing in the world that he and Thoar should constitute themselves a court of justice as well as the instrument of its punishment, for thus easily does man slough off the thin veneer of civilization, which alone differentiates him from his primitive ancestors.
    Thus a gap of perhaps a hundred thousand years which yawned between Thoar of Zoram, and Jason Gridley of Tarzana was closed. Imbued with the same hatred, they descended the slopes of the Mountains of the Thipdars toward the land of Pheli, and the heart of each was hot with the lust to kill. No greedy munitions manufacturer was needed here to start a war.

            ERB was getting hip to the unconstitutional power of the military-industrial complex in America. ERB remained a patriot to his last day, but he saw that war was destroying the moral fabric of society and gave up his war mongering ways. I don’t believe he would have been shocked and dismayed to learn the role that it had played in President Kennedy’s assassination.

    Down through the stately forests and across rolling foothills went Thoar and Jason toward the land of Pheli. The country teemed with game of all descriptions and their way was beset by fierce carnivores, by stupid, irritable herbivores of ponderous weight and short tempers or by gigantic reptiles beneath whose charging feet the earth trembled. It was by the exercise of the superior intelligence of man combined with a considerable share of luck that they passed unscathed to the swamp land where Pheli lies. Here the world seemed dedicated to the reptilia. They swarmed in countless thousands and in all sizes and infinite varieties. Aquatic and amphibious, carnivores and herbivores, they hissed and screamed and fought and devoured one another constantly, so that Jason wondered in what intervals they found the time to propagate their kind and he marvelled that the herbivores among them could exist at all. A terrific orgy of extermination seemed to constitute the entire existence of a large proportion of the species and yet the tremendous size of many of them, including several varieties of the herbivores, furnished ample evidence that considerable numbers of them lived to a great age, for unlike mammals, reptiles never cease to grow while they are living.
    The swamp, in which Thoar believed the villages of the Phelians were to be found, supported a tremendous forest of gigantic trees and so interlaced were their branches that oftentimes the two men found it expedient to travel among them rather than upon the treacherous, boggy ground. Here, too, the reptiles were smaller, though scarcely less numerous. Among them, however, there were exceptions, and those which caused them the greatest anxiety were snakes of such titanic proportions that when he first encountered one Jason could not believe the testimony of his own eyes. They came upon the creature suddenly as it was in the act of swallowing a trachodon that was almost as large as an elephant. The huge herbivorous dinosaur was still alive and battling bravely to extricate itself from the jaws of the serpent, but not even its giant strength nor its terrific armament of teeth, which included a reserve supply of over four hundred in the lower jaw alone, availed it in its unequal struggle with the colossal creature that was slowly swallowing it alive.
    Perhaps it was their diminutive size as much as their brains or luck that saved the two men from the jaws of these horrid creatures. Or, again, it may have been the dense stupidity of the reptiles themselves, which made it comparatively easy for the men to elude them.
    Here in this dismal swamp of horrors not even the giant tarags or the equally ferocious lions and leopards of Pellucidar dared venture, and how man existed there it was beyond the power of Jason to conceive. In fact he doubted that the Phelians or any other race of men made their homes here.
    “Men could not exist in such a place,” he said to Thoar. “Pheli must lie elsewhere.”
    “No,” said his companion, “members of my tribe have come down here more than once in the memory of man to avenge the stealing of a woman and the stories that they have brought back have familiarized us all with the conditions existing in the land of Pheli. This is indeed it.”
    “You may be right,” said Jason, “but, like these snakes that we have seen, I shall have to see the villages of the Phelians before I will believe that they exist here and even then I won’t know whether to believe it or not.”
    “It will not be long now,” said Thoar, “before you shall see the Phelians in their own village.”
    “What makes you think so?” asked Jason.
    “Look down below you and you will see what I have been searching for,” replied Thoar, pointing.
    Jason did as he was bid and discovered a small stream meandering through the swamp. “I see nothing but a brook,” he said.
    “That is what I have been searching for,” replied Thoar. “All of my people who have been here say that Phelians live upon the banks of a river that runs through the swamp. In places the land is high and upon these hills the Phelians build their homes. They do not live in caverns as do we, but they make houses of great trees so strong that not even the largest reptiles can break into them.”
    “But why should anyone choose to live in such a place?” demanded the American.
    “To eat and to breed in comparative peace and contentment,” replied Thoar. “The Phelians, unlike the mountain people, are not a race of warriors. They do not like to fight and so they have hidden their villages away in this swamp where no man would care to come and thus they are practically free from human enemies. Also, here, meat abounds in such quantities that food lies always at their doors. For them then the conditions are ideal and here, more than elsewhere in Pellucidar, may they find contentment.”
    As they advanced now they exercised the greatest caution, knowing that any moment they might come within sight of a Phelian village. Nor was it long before Thoar halted and drew back behind the bole of a tree through which they were passing, then he pointed forward. Jason, looking, saw a bare hill before them, just a portion of which was visible through the trees. It was evident that the hill had been cleared by man, for many stumps remained. Within the range of his vision was but a single house, if such it might be called.
    It was constructed of logs, a foot or two in diameter. Three or four of these logs, placed horizontally and lying one upon the other, formed the wall that was presented to Jason’s view. The other side was paralleled it at a distance of five or six feet, and across the top of the upper logs were laid sections of smaller trees, about six inches in diameter, and placed not more than a foot apart. These supported the roof, which consisted of several logs, a little longer than the logs constituting the walls. The roof logs were laid close together, the interstices being filled with mud. The front of the building was formed by shorter logs set upright in the ground, a single small aperture being left to form a doorway. But the most noticeable feature of Phelian architecture consisted of long pointed stakes, which protruded diagonally from the ground at an angle of about forty-five degrees, pointing outward from the base of the walls entirely around the building at intervals of about eighteen inches. The stakes themselves were six or eight inches in diameter and about ten feet long, being sharpened at the upper end, and forming a barrier against which few creatures, however brainless they might be, would venture to hurl themselves.
    Drawing closer the two men had a better view of the village, which contained upon that side of the hill they were approaching and upon the top four buildings similar to that which they had first discovered. Close about the base of the hill grew the dense forest, but the hill itself had been entirely denuded of vegetation so that nothing, either large or small, could approach the habitation of the Phelians without being discovered.
    No one was in sight about the village, but that did not deceive Thoar, who guessed that anything that transpired upon the hillside would be witnessed by many eyes peering through the openings between the wall logs from the dim interiors of the long buildings, beneath whose low ceilings Phelians must spend their lives either squatting or lying down, since there was not sufficient headroom to permit an adult to stand erect.
    “Well,” said Jason, “here we are. Now, what are we going to do?”
    Thoar looked longingly at Jason’s two Colts. “You have refused to use them for fear of wasting the deaths which they spit from their blue mouths,” he said, “but with one of those we might soon find Jana if she was here or quickly avenge her if she is not.”
    “Come on then,” said Jason. “I would sacrifice more than my ammunition for The Red Flower of Zoram.” As he spoke he descended from the tree and started toward the nearest Phelian dwelling. Close behind was Thoar and neither saw the eyes that watched them from among the trees that grew thickly upon the river side of the hill – cruel eyes that gleamed from whiskered faces.

            Yes, we are again left hanging, just when it was starting to get interesting again. But at least we can find out what Tarzan is up to with The Red Flower of Zoram when our adventure continues.