Tarzan and the Killer

From 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 panobedgar rice burrows, Tarzan, the bronzed white sun of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burrows, the story of Tarzan and the killer. The city of Loanda, south of the equator, deep in Africa, most of no Yankee stadium or Madison Square Garden.

But wherever men gather, they will pay to see other men fight. The low rambling wooden building was jammed with its monthly crowd, and great arc lights added to the almost intolerable heat, as two sweat-soaked men in the center of a crude ring swung savagely at each other.

One was a shining black with rippling muscles, the other a white giant who was more than seven feet tall and weighed over 300 pounds. His eyes were red rimmed. The great sorrows for its own bread.

You're right. Killer! Money this wide! The blackest dad shit, pull him. They threw me up.

Hey, well, I'll help you up, Governor. You took 21 to do it. Yeah. What this coder will you shout is? Who are you? Nimes Herbert Graves. Mom, you're a friend, you know? Ah, they won't let me fight here, I guess.

them and their rules. Have had a spot of trouble before? All over. If they let me fight my way, I could be the world's champion. I'd be famous. I'd be rich. I'll make you a rich mighty.

So you don't like to fight under the marquee of Queens Bobby Rules, I, Chairman? I start out all right. But then I get hit and I go crazy. I want to kill the other guy.