“But why are you more human than the others?” asked the man.
“For some reason the women have not reverted to savagery so rapidly as the men. It may be because only the lower types of men remained here at the time of the great catastrophe, while the temples were filled with the noblest daughters of the race. My strain has remained clearer than the rest because for countless ages my foremothers were high priestesses—the sacred office descends from mother to daughter. Our husbands are chosen for us from the noblest in the land. The most perfect man, mentally and physically, is selected to be the husband of the high priestess.”
“From what I saw of the gentlemen above,” said Tarzan, with a grin, “there should be little trouble in choosing from among them.”
The girl looked at him quizzically for a moment.
“Do not be sacrilegious,” she said. “They are very holy men—they are priests.”
“Then there are others who are better to look upon?” he asked.
“The others are all more ugly than the priests,” she replied.
Tarzan shuddered at her fate, for even in the dim light of the vault he was impressed by her beauty.
“But how about myself?” he asked suddenly. “Are you going to lead me to liberty?”
“You have been chosen by The Flaming God as his own,” she answered solemnly. “Not even I have the power to save you—should they find you again. But I do not intend that they shall find you. You risked your life to save mine. I may do no less for you. It will be no easy matter—it may require days; but in the end I think that I can lead you beyond the walls. Come, they will look here for me presently, and if they find us together we shall both be lost—they would kill me did they think that I had proved false to my god.”