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Chapter 21 · Tarzan and the Lost Empire

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  Chapter twenty one of Tarzan and the Lost Empire by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This
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  LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter twenty one. The yearly triumph
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  of Validas Augustus, Emperor of the East, had been a poor thing by
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  comparison with that of Sublattus of Castra Sanguinarius, though dignity and interest was lent
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  the occasion by the presence of the much advertised barbarian chieftain, who strode in
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  chains behind Caesar's chariot. The vain show of imperial power pleased Validas Augustus deceive,
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  perhaps the more ignorant of his subjects, and would have given Eric van
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  Harbin cause for laughter had he not realized the seriousness of his position. No
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  captive chain to the chariot of the greatest Caesar that ever lived had faced a
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  more hopeless situation than he. What though he knew that a regiment of marines
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  or a squadron of Uleans might have reduced this entire empire toge What though he
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  knew that the mayor of many a modern city could have commanded a fighting force
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  far greater and much more effective than this little Caesar? The knowledge was only
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  tantalizing, for the fact remained that Validas Augustus was supreme here, and there
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  was neither regiment of marines nor squadron of uleans to question his behavior toward the
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  subject of a great republic that could have swallowed his entire empire without being conscious
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  of any discomfort. The triumph was over, Van Harbond had been returned to
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  the cell that he occupied with Mallius Lepis. You are back early, said
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  Leppis. How did the triumph of Alitas impress you? It was not much
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  of a show, if I may judge by the amount of enthusiasm displayed by
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  the people. The triumphs of Alidas are always poor things, said Leppis.
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  He would rather put ten talents in his belly or on his back than spend
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  one denarius to amuse the people and the games, asked Van Harbin, Will
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  they be as poor? They do not amount to much, said Lepis.
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  We have few criminals here, and as we have to purchase all our slaves,
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  they are too valuable to waste in this way. Many of the contests
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  are between wild beasts. An occasional thief or murder may be pitted against a
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  gladiator, but for the most part will lead us depends upon professional gladiators and
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  political prisoners, enemies or supposed enemies of Caesar. More often they are like
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  you and I, victims of the lying and jealous intrigues of favorites. There
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  are about twenty such in the dungeons now, and they will furnish the most
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  interesting entertainment of the games. And if we are victorious, we are freed,
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  asked von Harbin. We shall not be victorious, said Melius Leppis.
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  Fulvus Phupus has seen to that. You may rest assured. It is terrible,
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  uttered Von Harbin. You are afraid to die, asked Malius Leppis.
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  It is not that, said Von Harbin. I am thinking of Favonia.
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  And well you may, said Malius Leppis. My sweet cousin would be happier
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  dead than marry to Fulvus Fupus. I feel so helpless, said Van Harbin.
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  Not a friend, not even my faithful body servant Gaboolah. Oh,
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  that reminds me, exclaimed Leppis. They were here looking for him this morning,
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  looking for him. Is he not confined in the dungeon? He was,
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  but he was detailed with other prisoners to prepare the arena last night and
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  during the darkness of early morning, he is supposed to have escaped, But
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  be that as it may, they were looking for him. Good, exclaimed
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  Von Harbin. I shall feel better just knowing that he is at large,
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  though there is nothing that he can do for me. Where could he have
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  gone. Castro Mari is ill guarded along its waterfront, but the lake itself
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  and the crocodiles form a barrier as efficacious as many legionaries. Gaboulam may have
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  scaled the wall, but the chances are that he is hiding within the city,
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  protected by other slaves, or possibly by Septimus Favonius himself. I wish
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  I might feel that the poor faithful fellow had been able to escape the country
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  and return to his own people, said Von Harbin. Malius Lepus shook his
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  head. That is impossible, he said. Though you came down over the
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  cliff, he could not return that way, And even if he could find
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  the pass to the outer world, he would fall into the hands of the
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  soldiers of Castor Sanguinarius or the black barbarians of their outer villages. Now there
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  is no chance that Gaboola will escape. The time passed quickly, all too
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  quickly, between the hour that Erik von Harbin was returned to his cell following
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  his exhibition in the tro tumph of Elitis Augustus, and the coming of the
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  Colosseum guards to drive them into the arena. The Colosseum was packed, the
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  loges of the patricians were filled. The haughty Caesar of the East sat upon
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  an ornate throne shaded by a canopy of purple linen. Septimus Favonius sat with
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  bowed head in his loge, and with him was his wife and Favonia.
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  The girl sat with staring eyes fixed upon the gateway from which the contestants were
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  emerging. She saw her cousin Malius Leppus emerge, and with him Eric van
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  Harbin, and she shuddered and closed her eyes for a moment. When she
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  opened them again, the column was forming, and the contestants were marched across
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  the white sands to receive the commands of Caesar. With Malius Leppus and von
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  Harbin marched the twenty political prisoners, all of whom were of the patrician class.
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  Then came the professional gladiators, coarse, brutal men whose business it was
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  to kill or be killed. Leading these with a bull swagger was one who
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  had been champion gladiator of costru Maari for five years. If the people had
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  an idol, it was he. They roared their approval of him, Claudius
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  Taurus. Clodius Taurus rose above a babel of voices. A few mean thieves,
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  some frightened slaves, and a half dozen lions completed the victims that were
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  to make a Roman holiday. Eric van Harbin had often been fascinated by the
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  stories of the games of ancient Rome. Often had he pictured the colosseum packed
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  with its thousands, and the contestants upon the white sand of the arena.
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  But now he realized that they have been but pictures, but the photographs of
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  his imagination. The people in those dreams have been but picture people, automatons
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  who move only when we look at them. When there had been action on
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  the sand, the audience had been a silent etching, And when the audience
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  had roared and turned its thumbs down, the actors had been mute and motionless.
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  How different this he saw the constant motion in the pack stands, the
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  mosaic of a thousand daubs of color that became kaleidoscopic with every move of the
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  multitude. He heard the hum of voices and since the offensive odor of many
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  human bodies. He saw the hawkers and venders passing along the aisles, shouting
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  their wares. He saw the legionary stationed everywhere. He saw the rich in
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  their canopy loges and the poor in the hot sun of the cheap seats.
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  Sweat was trickling down the back of the neck of the patrician marching just in
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  front of him. He glanced at Claudius Torus. He saw that his tunic
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  was faded, and that his hairy legs were dirty. He had always thought
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  of gladiators as clean, limbed and resplendent. Claudius Torus shocked him as they
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  formed in solid rank before the Loge of Caesar. Von Harbon smelt the black
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  men pressing close behind him. The air was hot and oppressive. The whole
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  thing was disgusting. There was no grandeur to it, no dignity. He
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  wondered if it had been like this in Rome. He then looked up into
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  the Loge of Caesar. He saw the men in gorgeous Robes sitting upon his
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  carved throne. He saw naked black swaying long handled fans of feathers. Above
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  the head of Caesar. He saw large men in gorgeous tunics and cairasses of
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  shining gold. He saw the wealth and pomp and circumstance of power, and
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  something told him that, after all, ancient Rome had probably been much as
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  this was, that its populace had smelled, and that its glad eaters had
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  had hairy legs with dirt on them, and that its patricians had sweated behind
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  the ears. Perhaps Validus Augustus was as great as Caesar, as any of
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  them, for did he not rule half of his known world? Few of
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  them had done more than this. His eyes wandered along the row of Lojes.
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  The prefect of the Games was speaking, and von Harbin heard his voice,
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  but the words did not reach his brain, for his eyes had suddenly
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  met those of a girl. He saw the anguish and hopeless horror in her
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  face, and he tried to smile as he looked at her, a smile
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  of encouragement and hope. But she only saw the beginning of the smile,
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  for the tears came, and the image of the man she loved was only
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  a dull blur, like the pain in her heart. A movement in the
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  stands behind the lojes attracted Von Harbin's eyes, and he puckered his brows,
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  straining his faculties to assure himself that he must be mistaken. But he was
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  not. What he had seen was Gaboolah. He was moving toward the Imperial
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  Loge, where he disappeared behind the hangings that formed the background of Seizure's throne.
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  Then the Prefect ordered them from the arena, and as Van Harbin moved
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  across the sand, he tried to find some explanation of Gaboula's presence there.
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  What Erran had brought him to so dangerous a place. The contestants had traversed
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  but half the width of the arena, returning to their cells, when a
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  sudden scream ringing out behind them caused them all to turn. Von Harbin saw
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  that the disturbance came from the Imperial Loge. But the scene that met his
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  startled gaze seemed too preposterous to have greater substance than a dream. Perhaps it
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  was all a dream, Perhaps there was no costum mari. Perhaps there was
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  no Validus Augustus. Perhaps there was no Ah, but that could not be
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  true. There was a Favonia. And this preposterous thing then that he was
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  looking at was true too. He saw a black man holding Caesar by the
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  throat and driving a dagger into his heart with the other and the black man
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  was Gabulah. It all happened so quickly, and was over so quickly that
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  scarcely had Caesar shak rung through the colosseum. Then he lay dead at the
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  foot of his carved throne, and Gaboolah the assassin, in a single leap,
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  had cleared the arena wall and was running across the sand toward Von Harbin.
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  I have avenged Upana, cried the black man. No matter what they
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  do to you, you are avenged. A great groan arose from the audience,
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  and then a cheer as some one shouted, Caesar is dead. A
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  hope flashed to the breast of Van Harbin. He turned and grabbed Malius Leppus
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  by the arm. Caesar is dead, he whispered, Now is our chance?
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  What do you mean? Demanded Malius Leppis in a confusion. We can
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  escape, we can hide in the city, and at night we can take
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  Favonia with us and go away where, asked Malius Leppis. God, I
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  do not know, exclaimed von Harbon. But anywhere will be better than here
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  for Fulvus fupus is Caesar. And if we do not say Favonna tonight,
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  it will be too late. You are right, said Malius Leppis. Pass
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  the word to the others, said Van Harbin. The more there are who
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  try to escape, the better chance there will be for some of us to
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  succeed. The legionaries and their officers, as well as the vast multitude,
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  could attend only upon what was happening in the loge of Caesar. So few
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  of them had seen what really occurred there that as yet there had been no
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  pursuit of Gaboulah. Malius Leppus turned to the other prisoners. The gods have
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  been good to us, he cried. Caesar is dead, and in the
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  confusion we can escape. Come. As Malius Leppus started on a run toward
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  the gateway that led to the cells beneath the Colosseum, the shouting prisoners fell
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  in behind him. Only those of the professional gladiators who were freemen held aloof,
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  but they made no effort to stop them. Good luck, shouted Claudius
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  Taris, as van Harbin passed him. Now, if some one would kill
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  Phovas Pupus, we might have a caesar who is a caesar. The sudden
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  rush of the escaping prisoners so confuse and upset the few guards beneath the colosseum
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  that they were easily overpowered, And a moment later the prisoners found themselves in
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  the streets of costro Mare where now cried one, we must scatter, Malius
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  Leppis, each man for himself. We shall stick together, Malius Leppis,
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  said von Harbin. To the end, replied the Roman. And here is
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  Gabullah, said von Harbin, as the Black joined them, He shall come
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  with us. We cannot desert the brave Gaboulah, said Malius Leppis. But
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  the first thing for us to do is to find a hiding place. There
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  is a low wall across the avenue, said von Harbin, and there are
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  trees beyond it. Come, then, said Malius Leppis. It is as
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  good for now as any other place. The three men hurried across the avenue
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  and scaled the low wall, finding themselves in a garden so overgrown with weeds
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  and underbrush that they at once assumed that it was deserted. Creeping through the
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  weeds and forcing their way through the underbrush, they came to the rear of
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  a house. A broken door hanging by one hinge, windows from which the
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  wooden blinds had fallen. An accumulation of rubbish upon the threshold marked the dilapidated
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  structure as a deserted house. Perhaps this is just a place for us to
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  hide until night, said von Harbon. Its proximity to the Colosseum is its
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  greatest advantage, said Melius Lepis, for they will be sure to believe that
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  we have rushed as far from our dungeon as we could. Let us go
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  in and investigate. We must be sure that the place is uninhabited. The
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  rear room, which had been the kitchen, had a crumbling brick oven in
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  one corner, a bench and a dilapidated table. Crossing the kitchen, they
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  entered an apartment beyond, and that these two tombs constituted all that there was
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  to the house. The front room was large, and as the blinds at
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  the windows facing the avenue had not fallen, it was dark within it.
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  In one corner they saw a ladder reaching to a trap door in the ceiling,
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  which evidently led to the roof of the building, and two or three
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  feet below the ceiling and running entirely across the end of the room where the
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  ladder arose, was a false ceiling which formed a tiny loft just below the
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  roof beams, a place utilized by former tenants as a storage room. A
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  more careful examination of the room revealed nothing more than a pile of filthy rags
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  against one wall, the remains perhaps of some homeless beggar's bed. It could
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  not have been better, said Mallius Leppis, if this had been built for
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  us. Why we have three exits if we are hard pressed, one into
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  the back garden, one into the avenue in front, and the third to
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  the roof. We can remain in safety, then, said von Harbin,
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  until after dark, when it should be easy to make our way unseen through
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  the dark streets, to the home of Septimus Favonius. End of chapter twenty one