Tarzan and the Hooded Death

In the heart of the jungle comes a savage cry of victory. This is Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. From the black core of dark Africa, land of enchantment, mystery and violence comes one of the most colorful figures of all time, transcribed from the immortal pan of Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Tarzan, the bronzed white son of the jungle. And now, in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of Tarzan and the hooded death. Tarzan had long since come to the conclusion that man was the cruelest of all the jungle creatures.

And although the native tribe with whom he had spent the past few months have been friendly enough, it was good to be alone again. He wore a contented smile as he entered the clearing near his sea coast cabin.

Suddenly, he stood motionless. inside the cabin came the scent of man he crept to the door noiselessly and then he flung it open who's in here I sense your presence behind that curtain step out into the room where I'll send an arrow through your heart no no don't shoot no go on a native boy who are you what do you want I am no goo and I mean no harm I

came only because I heard of Tarzan's magic I have no magic no goo find much magic here. Small animals that hang on wall and do not move or make sound. A few simple pictures. Thin white bark bearing many strange bugs. Printed books. Sitting mats with long legs like twigga. Mats with legs like a giraffe. Oh, those are what

the time I'm gonna call chairs. These things belong to my real parents whom I never knew. They are strange to you perhaps but they're not magic. But Tarzan has much magic. Everywhere in the jungle men speak of him, Nugu travel many moons to find Tarzan.