TARZAN, turning, discovered the man standing behind him on the top level of the ivy-covered east tower of the Palace of Diamonds. His knife leaped from its sheath at the touch of his quick fingers. But almost simultaneously his hand dropped to his side, and he stood contemplating the other, with an expression of incredulity upon his face that but reflected a similar emotion registered upon the countenance of the stranger. For what Tarzan saw was no Bolgani, nor a Gomangani, but a white man, bald and old and shriveled, with a long, white beard—a white man, naked but for barbaric ornaments of gold spangles and diamonds.
“God!” exclaimed the strange apparition.
Tarzan eyed the other quizzically. That single English word opened up such tremendous possibilities for conjecture as baffled the mind of the ape-man.
“What are you? Who are you?” continued the old man, but this time in the dialect of the great apes.
“You used an English word a moment ago,” said Tarzan. “Do you speak that language?” Tarzan himself spoke in English.
“Ah, dear God!” cried the old man, “that I should have lived to hear that sweet tongue again.” And he, too, now spoke in English, halting English, as might one who was long unaccustomed to voicing the language.
“Who are you?” asked Tarzan, “and what are you doing here?”
“It is the same question that I asked you,” replied the old man. “Do not be afraid to answer me. You are evidently an Englishman, and you have nothing to fear from me.”
“I am here after a woman, captured by the Bolgani,” replied Tarzan.
The other nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I know. She is here.”