Tarzan looked at him. "Who are they?" he demanded, "and why have they been killed?"
"They are not dead, my friend," replied Komodoflorensal. "They are the nobles whose duty it is to prevent the use of wine. They are not dead—they are drunk."
"But the blood beneath the head of this one at my feet!" demanded the ape-man.
"It is red wine, not blood," his companion assured him. Then Tarzan smiled.
"They could not have chosen a better night for their orgy," he said. "Had they remained sober the door through which we entered from the storeroom would have been securely fastened, I imagine."
"Assuredly, and we would have had a sober guard of warriors to deal with in this chamber, instead of ten drunken nobles. We are very fortunate, Zuanthrol."
He had scarcely ceased speaking when a door in the opposite side of the room swung open, revealing two warriors, who stepped immediately into the chamber. They eyed the two who faced them and then glanced about the room at the inert forms of its other occupants.
"What do you here, slaves?" demanded one of the newcomers.
"Sh-sh-sh!" cautioned Tarzan, placing a finger to his lips. "Enter and close the door, lest others hear."
"There is no one near to hear," snapped one of them, but they entered and he closed the door. "What is the meaning of this?"