Tarzan and the Manuema

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 times, transcribed from the immortal pen 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 Manuema. Once again the moon was full and still the rains did not come.

In the Shamba near the village the half formed ears of the Kafir corn had dried up. The plantains were like hard stones and the cassava roots were dust that would yield no meal for bread.

The men and women of the Punea tribe that grown gaunt and the children cried because of the pangs of emptiness that rack their small bodies. Heh heh heh heh. Hush, Targo, Hush, Dogo, Hungry. Nagama knows her bailoo is hungry, her heart reads.

But there is nothing to do if Dogo's friend does anywhere he... He could do something. Nagama is afraid that even Tarzan could do nothing. What's that? The people of the village. They are filled with excitement.

Perhaps, Cassandra, of which doctor has found rain. It will take more than a dead running rod this time. No, Gama, she better open door and see what people... They come this way, Taco. I should think about a village come to us.

What? It's... It's toys! Oh, I'm... I'm... John-Borne Nagama. John-Borne? Tugo, he is all right. Don't go right behind me. There's no dazang. I will speak with you later, people of Punea. Let us go inside.