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Chapter 14 · Tarzan and the Lost Empire

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  Chapter fourteen of Tarzan and the Lost Empire by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox
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  recording is in the public domain. Tarzan and the Lost Empire, Chapter fourteen.
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  A great sun rising into a cloudless sky ushered in the nuns of August.
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  It looked down upon the fresh raped sands of the deserted arena, upon
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  the crowds that lined the Via Principalas that bisected Castra Sanguinarius. Brown artisans and
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  tradesmen in their smart tunics jostled one another for places of vantage along the shady
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  avenue. Among them moved black barbarians from the outer villages, sporting their finest
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  feathers and most valued ornaments and skins. And mingling with the others were the
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  slaves of the city, all eagerly waiting for the pageant that would inaugurate the
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  triumph of Sublatis. Upon the low rooftops of their homes, the patricians reclined
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  upon rugs at every point where the avenue might be seen between or beneath the
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  branches of trees. All Castra Sanguinarius was there technically to honor Caesar, but
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  actually merely to be entertained they are buzzed with talk and laughter. Hawkers of
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  sweetmeats and trinkets elbowed through the crowd, crying their wares. Legionaries posted at
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  intervals the full distance from the palace to the Colosseum kept the center of the
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  avenue clear. Since the evening of the preceding day, the throng had been
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  gathering. During the cold night, they had huddled with close drawn cloaks.
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  There had been talk and laughter, and brawls and near riots, and many
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  would be spectators had been hailed off to the dungeons, where their exuberance might
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  be permitted to cool against cold stone. As the morning dragged on, the
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  crowd became restless. At first. As some patrician who was to have a
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  part in the pageant passed in his ornate litter, he would be viewed in
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  respectful and interested silence, or if he were well known and favorably thought of
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  by the multitude, he might be greeted with cheers. But with the passing
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  of time and the increasing heat of the day, each occasional litter that passed
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  elicited deep throated groans or raucous cat calls. As the patience and the temper
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  of the mob became thinner, but presently from afar in the direction of the
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  palace sounded the martial notes of trumpets. The people forgot their fatigue and their
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  discomfort as the shrill notes galvanized them into joyous expectancy. Slowly along the avenue
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  came the pageant, led by a score of trumpeters, behind whom marched a
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  maniple of the Imperial Guard, waving crests surmounted their burnished helmets, metal of
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  two hundred cairasses, pikes and shields shot back the sunlight that filtered through the
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  streets beneath which they marched. They made a proud showing as they strode haughtily
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  between the lines of admiring eyes, led by the patrician officers in gold and
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  embossed leather and embroidered linen. As the legionaries passed, a great shout of
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  applause arose a roar of human voices that started at the palace, rolled slowly
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  along the Via Principalas toward the Colosseum, as Caesar himself, resplendent and purple
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  and gold, rode alone in a chariot drawn by lions led on golden leashes,
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  by huge blacks. Caesar may have expected for himself the plaudits of the
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  populace, but there was a question as to whether these were elicited as much
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  by the presence of the emperor as by the sight of the captives chained to
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  Caesar's chariot. For Caesar was an old story to the people of Castra Sanguinarius,
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  while the prisoners were a novelty, and furthermore something that promised rare sport
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  in the arena. Never before, in the memory of the citizens of Castra
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  Sanguinarius had an emperor exhibited such noteworthy captives in his triumph. There was Muto,
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  the black chief of the Bagigos. There was Cecilius Metellus, a centurion
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  of the legions of the Emperor of the East, and Cassius Hasta, the
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  nephew of that emperor. But perhaps he who aroused their greatest enthusiasm because of
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  the mad stories that had been narrated of his feats of strength and agility,
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  was the great white barbarian, with a shock of black hair and his well
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  worn leopard skin, the collar of gold, and the golden chain that held
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  him in leash to the chariot. Of Caesar curiously enough imparted to his appearance,
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  no suggestion of fear or humiliation. He walked proudly with head erect,
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  a lion tethered to lions. And there was that in the easy sinuosity of
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  his stride that accentuated his likeness to the jungle beasts, that drew the chariot
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  of Caesar along the broad via Principalis of Castra Sanguinarius. As the pageant moved
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  its length slowly to the color um, the crowd found other things to hold
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  their interest. There were the bagigo captives, chained neck to neck, and
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  stalwart gladiators resplendent in new armour. White men and brown men were numbered among
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  these, and many black warriors from the outer villages, to the number of
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  two hundred. They marched captives, condemned criminals, and professional gladiators. But
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  before them, and behind them, and on either side marched veteran legionaries,
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  whose presence spoke in no uncertain terms of the respect in which Caesar held the
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  potential power of these bitter, savage fighting men. There were floats depicting historic
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  events in the history of Castra Sanguinarius and ancient Rome, there were litters bearing
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  the high officers of the court and the senators of the city, while bringing
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  up the rear were the captured flocks and herds of the big Egos. That
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  Sublattus failed to exhibit Maximus Proclaius in his triumph evidence the popularity of this noble
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  day. Young Roman, but Delecta, watching the procession from the roof of
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  her father's house, was filled with anxiety when she noted the absence of her
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  lover, for she knew that sometimes men who entered the dungeons of Caesar were
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  never heard of more. But there was none who could tell her whether Maximus
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  Proclarus lived or not, And so with her mother she made her way to
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  the Colosseum to witness the opening of the Games. Her heart was heavy lest
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  she should see Maximus Proclarus entered there and his blood upon the white sand.
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  Yet also she feared that she might not see him and thus be faced by
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  the almost definite assurance that he had been secretly done to death by the agents
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  of Faestus. A great multitude had gathered in the Colosseum to witness the entry
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  of Caesar and the pageant of his triumph, and the majority of these remained
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  in their seats for the opening of the games, which commenced early in the
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  afternoon. It was not until then that the sections reserved for the Patricia began
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  to fill the lows reserve for Dion Splendidas. The senator was close to that
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  of Caesar. It afforded an excellent view of the arena, and with cushions
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  and rugs, was so furnished as to afford the maximum comfort to those who
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  occupied it. Never had a Caesar essayed so pretentious. A fect entertainment of
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  the rarest description was vouchsafed each lucky spectator. Yet never before in her life
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  had Delecta loathed and dreaded any occurrence as she now loathed and dreaded the games
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  that were about to open. Always Heretofore, her interest in the contestants had
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  been impersonal. Professional gladiators were not of the class to come within the ken
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  or acquaintance of the daughter of a patrician. The black warriors and slaves were
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  to her of no greater importance than the beasts against which they sometimes contended,
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  while the condemned criminals, many of whom expiated their sins within the arena aroused
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  within her heart only the remotest suggestion of sympathy. She was a sweet and
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  lovely girl whose sensibilities would doubtless have been shocked by the brutality of the prize
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  ring or a varsity football game. But she could look upon the bloody cruelties
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  of a Roman arena without a qualm, because by custom and heredity they had
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  become a part of the national life of her people. But to day she
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  trembled. She saw the games as a personal menace to her own happiness and
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  the life of one she loved. Yet by no outward sign did she divulge
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  her perturbation. Calm, serene, and entirely beautiful, Delecta, the daughter
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  of Dion Splendidis, awaited the signal for the opening of the games, that
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  was marked by the arrival of Caesar. Soubladys came and after he had taken
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  his seat, there emerged from one of the barred gates at the far end
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  of the arena the head of a procession, again led by trumpeters, who
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  were followed by those who were to take part in the games during the week.
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  It consisted for the most part of the same captives who had been exhibited
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  in the pageant, to which were added a number of wild beasts, some
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  of which were led or dragged along by black slaves, while others, more
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  powerful and ferocious, were drawn in wheeled cages. These consisted principally of lions
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  and leopards, but there were also a couple of bull buffaloes, and several
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  cages in which were confined huge men like apes. The participants were formed in
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  a solid phalanx facing Seblattis, where they were addressed by the Emperor. Freedom
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  and reward being promised the victors, and then, sullen and louring, they
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  were herded back to their dungeons and cages. Delecta's eyes scanned the faces of
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  the contestants as they stood in solid rank before the loge of Caesar, But
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  nowhere among them could she discover Maximus Proclarus. Breathless and tense, with fearful
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  apprehension, she leaned forward in her sea eat across the top of the arena
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  wall as a man entered the loche from behind and sat upon the bench beside
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  her. He is not there, said the man. The girl turned quickly
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  toward the speaker Fastus. She exclaimed how do you know that he is not
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  there? It is by my order, replied the prince. He is dead,
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  cried Delecta. You have had him killed, No, denied Fastus.
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  He is safe in his cell. What is to become of him, asked
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  the girl. His fate lies in your hands, replied Fastus. Give him
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  up and promise to become the wife of Fastus, and I will see that
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  he is not forced to appear in the arena. He would not have it,
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  so, said the girl. Fastest shrugged, as you will, he
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  said, But remember that his life is in your hands. With sword or
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  dagger or pike, he has no equal, said the girl proudly. If
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  he were entered in the contest, he would be victorious. Caesar has been
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  known to pit unarmed men against lions. Fastus reminded her tauntingly. Of what
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  avail then is prowess with any weapon? That would be murder, said Delecta.
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  A harsh term to apply to an act of Caesar, returned Fastus.
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  Menacingly, I speak my mind, said the girl. Caesar or no Caesar,
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  it would be a cowardly and contemptible act. But I doubt not that
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  either Caesar or his son is capable of even worse. Her voice trembled with
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  scathing contempt. With a crooked smile upon his lips, Fastest arose. It
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  is not a matter to be determined without thought, he said, And your
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  answer concerns not Maximus Proclarus alone, nor you nor me. What do you
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  mean, she asked? There are Dionceplendidas, and your mother, and Festivitus,
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  the mother of Priclarus. And with this warning he turned and left the
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  loge. The games progressed amid the din of trumpets, the crash of arms,
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  the growling of beasts, and the murmuring of the great audience that sometimes
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  rose to wild acclaim or deep throated menacing disapproval. Beneath fluttering banners and waving
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  scarfs. The cruel, terrible, thousand eyed thing that is a crowd looked
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  down upon the blood and suffering of its fellow men, munching sweetmeats while a
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  victim died, and cracking coarse jokes as slaves dragged the body from the arena
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  and raped clean sand over crimson spots. Soubladis had worked long and carefully with
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  the prefect in charge of the games that the resultant program might afford the greatest
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  possible entertainment for Caesar and the populace, thus willing for the emperor a certain
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  popularity that his own personality did not command. Always, the most popular events
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  were those in which men of the patrician class participated, and so he counted
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  much upon Cassius Hasta and Cecidus Mattellus. But of even greater value for his
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  purpose was the giant white barbarian, who already had captured the imagination of the
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  people because of his exploits. Wishing to utilize Tarzan in as many events as
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  possible, Soblatis knew that it would be necessary to reserve the more dangerous ones
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  for the latter part of the week, and so upon the first afternoon of
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  the Games, Tarzan found himself thrust into the arena unarmed, in company with
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  a burly murderer, whom the Master of the Games had clothed in loincloth and
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  leopard skin similar to Tarzan. A guard escorted them across the arena and halted
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  them in the sand below the Emperor, where the Master of the Games announced
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  that these two would fight with bare hands in any way that they saw fit,
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  and that he who remained alive or a loan in the arena at the
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  end of the combat would be considered victorious. The gate to the dungeons will
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  be left open, he said, and if either contestant gets enough, he
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  may quit the arena. But whoever does so forfeits the contest to the other.
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  The crowds booed. It was not to see such tame exhibitions as this
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  that they had come to the colisseum. They wanted blood, they wanted thrills,
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  but they waited for perhaps this contest might afford comedy that they enjoyed too.
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  If one greatly outclassed the other, it would be amusing to see the
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  weaker seek escape. They cheered Tarzan, and they cheered the low browed murderer.
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  They shouted insults at the noble patrician who was master of the games,
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  for they knew the safety and irresponsibility of numbers. As the word was given
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  the contestants to engage one another, Tarzan turned to face the low browed,
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  hulking brute against whom he had been pitted, and he saw that some one
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  had been at pains to select a worthy antagonist for him. The man was
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  somewhat shorter than Tarzan, but great hard muscles bulged beneath his brown hide,
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  bulking so thick across his back and shoulders as almost to suggest deformity. His
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  long arms hung almost to his knees, and his thick, gnarled legs suggested
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  a man of bronze upon a pedestal of granite. The fellow circled Tarzan,
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  looking for an opening. He scowled ferociously, as though to frighten his adversary.
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  There is the gate, Barbarian, he cried, in a low voice,
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  pointing to the far end of the arena. Escape while you are yet
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  alive. The crowd roared in approbation. It enjoyed glorious sally such as these.
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  I shall tear you limb from limb, shouted the murderer, and again
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  the crowd applauded. I am here, said Tarzan, calmly. Flee,
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  screamed the murderer, and lowering his head hears like an angry bull. The
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  ape man sprang into the air and came down upon his antagonist. And what
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  happened happened so quickly that no one there other than Tarzan knew how it had
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  been accomplished. Only he knew that he clamped a reverse headlock upon the murderer.
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  What the crowd saw was the hulking figure hurling to a hard fall.
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  They saw him lying half stunned upon the sand, while the giant barbarian stood
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  with folded arms, looking down upon him. The thicker crowd rose from its
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  benches, shrieking with delight. Hebbit herbit, they cried, and thousands of
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  close fists were outstretched with the thumbs pointing downward. But Tarzan only stood there
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  waiting as the murderer, shaking his head to clear his brain, crawled slowly
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  to his feet. The fellow looked about him, half bewildered, and then
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  his eyes found Tarzan, and with a growl of rage, he charged again.
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  Again. The terrible hole was clamped upon him, and again he was
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  hurled heavily to the floor of the arena. The crowd screamed with delight.
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  Every thumb in the colosseum was pointed downward. They wanted Tarzan to kill his
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  adversary. The ape man looked up into Caesar's loage, where sat the master
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  of the games with sublatis. Is not this enough? He demanded, pointing
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  at the prostrate figure of the stunned gladiator. The Prefect waved a hand in
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  an all including gesture which took in the audience. They demand his death,
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  he said, while he remains alive in the arena, you are not the
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  victor. Does Caesar require that I kill this defenseless man, demanded Tarzan,
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  looking straight into the face of Sublatis. You have heard, the noble prefect,
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  replied the emperor. Haughtily good, said Tarzan. The rules of the
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  contest shall be fulfilled. He stooped and seized the unconscious form of his antagonist
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  and raised it above his head. Thus I carried your emperor from his throne
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  room to the avenue, he shouted to the audience. Screams of delight measured
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  the appreciation of the populace, while Caesar went white and red in anger and
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  mortification. He half rose from his seat. But what he contemplated was never
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  fulfilled, for at that instant Tarzan swung the body of the murder downward and
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  back like a huge pendulum, and then upward with a mighty surge, hurling
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  it over the arena wall full into the loge of Cebladus, where it struck
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  Caesar, knocking him to the floor. I am alive and alone in the
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  arena, shouted Tarzan, turning to the people, and by the terms of
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  the contest, I am victor. And not even Caesar dared question the decision
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  that was voiced by the shrieking, screaming, applauding multitude. End of Chapter fourteen.