Tarzan in Captivity

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.

Transcribe from the immortal pan of Edgar Rice Burrows. Tarzan, the bronzed white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burrows, the story of Tarzan in captivity. Tarzan had left the city of Groutendall several days before.

He had traveled both night and day, anxious to be in his jungle once again. And now his goal reached, he rested in the crotch of a tree, slept as peacefully as you or I might sleep on a feather bed.

He was completely relaxed because he was confident that even in sleep his sensitive nostrils would catch the scent of an approaching enemy, his acute hearing worn him of the coming of man or beast. And yet Tarzan did not stir as the gray-bearded Arab walked noiselessly along the jungle path, climbed the tree where Tarzan rested, and crouched on a nearby branch, looking at the jungle man curiously.

Allah grants such sleep only to the innocent. What? Who are you? What do you want? You need not reach for your knife Tarzan. It meant you harm I would not have delayed my act until you awakened.

Yes, huh. I suppose that's true. As Allah is my witness it is true. The wise need not mask their words in falsehoods when truth conquers citadels. Your words are as strange to me as your actions.

Perhaps it's because I am confused, never before is anyone approached me without giving some hint of his coming. I heard no sound, I caught no sense. In every age there lives one who surmounts the obstacles of the seven senses.