Across a Continent

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 pen of Edgar Rice Burrows.

Tarzan, the bronze, white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burrows, the story of a cross-a-continent. For many years Africa has been a haven for the lost souls of Europe.

Criminals and political refugees, misfits, outcasts and social pariahs, all of them have poured into the dark continent. From Lisbon they sail to Casablanca, from Marseille they cross to Algiers, from Sicily they flee to Tunis or perhaps Tripoli.

And from a dozen seething cauldrons of Europe, they filter into the obscure port of Becorata, A soil disreputable city that's sweltered in the equatorial sun. It seemed a strange place indeed to find Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle.

Pardon me. I wonder if you could direct me to the office of Eric von Horn. Office? Why do you laugh? Mr. von Horn is the government agricultural advisor to the natives, is he not? I see. He draws a salary for that too.

Well, then tell me where his office is if you can. You're standing right in front of it. This, his office, but it's a cafe. Yes, it's a cafe and Mr. Van Horn owns it. He dispenses information on agriculture, chief liquor at expensive prices and anything else he can make a profit on.

I see. This picture in front, the girl. Surely she can have no connection with the place like this. Oh, yeah, she caught your eye, did she? I can't say I blame you. She's the best looking man trap Von Horn's ever had singing here.