Trophy Room

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 Trophy Rome. Wild beast in the scream of a woman.

Tarzan grasped a hanging vine and hurled himself into the middle level of jungle growth. Swinging from tree to tree with incredible speed, he neared the spot where a beautiful blonde girl crouched in fear. A few feet from an angry lioness.

On the ground between the girl and the she-lion, lay a rifle. Now the girl gathered courage and reached out for the weapon, but the lioness seeming to censor intentions struck out with prone talons, breaking the girl's slender arm.

Santa blood was strong now and the lioness leaped forward. But a metal tip arrow seeming to come from nowhere, caught the lioness in mid-air, and plunge deep into its savage heart. Everything! I've spoiled everything but by saving your life?

I could have reached the gun I would have reached it. I see. Well then I apologize for interfering. Apologies won't help now. I have no intention of claiming the animal. I can find meat elsewhere.

Meat! I didn't want the lioness for food. The attitude is most strange and in fact the very presence of a white woman here is most mysterious. There's nothing mysterious about my presence at all. This land belongs to my husband.