“But you?” he asked.
“I am high priestess—I alone am safe from the dead. It is I who at rare intervals bring them a human sacrifice from the world above. I alone may enter here in safety.”
“Why have they not seized me?” he asked, humoring her grotesque belief.
She looked at him quizzically for a moment. Then she replied:
“It is the duty of a high priestess to instruct, to interpret—according to the creed that others, wiser than herself, have laid down; but there is nothing in the creed which says that she must believe. The more one knows of one’s religion the less one believes—no one living knows more of mine than I.”
“Then your only fear in aiding me to escape is that your fellow mortals may discover your duplicity?”
“That is all—the dead are dead; they cannot harm—or help. We must therefore depend entirely upon ourselves, and the sooner we act the better it will be. I had difficulty in eluding their vigilance but now in bringing you this morsel of food. To attempt to repeat the thing daily would be the height of folly. Come, let us see how far we may go toward liberty before I must return.”
She led him back to the chamber beneath the altar room. Here she turned into one of the several corridors leading from it. In the darkness Tarzan could not see which one. For ten minutes they groped slowly along a winding passage, until at length they came to a closed door. Here he heard her fumbling with a key, and presently came the sound of a metal bolt grating against metal. The door swung in on scraping hinges, and they entered.
“You will be safe here until tomorrow night,” she said.
Then she went out, and, closing the door, locked it behind her.