ed, "and make ready the
sacrifice."

The warped things advanced and entered the shelter. They laid hands
upon Tarzan and bore him forth, and as they chanted they kept time with
their crooked bodies, swaying to and fro to the rhythm of their song of
blood and death. Behind them came La, swaying too; but not in unison
with the chanted cadence. White and drawn was the face of the High
Priestess--white and drawn with unrequited love and hideous terror of
the moments to come. Yet stern in her resolve was La. The infidel
should die! The scorner of her love should pay the price upon the
fiery altar. She saw them lay the perfect body there upon the rough
branches. She saw the High Priest, he to whom custom would unite
her--bent, crooked, gnarled, stunted, hideous--advance with the flaming
torch and stand awaiting her command to apply it to the faggots
surrounding the sacrificial pyre. His hairy, bestial face was
distorted in a yellow-fanged grin of anticipatory enjoyment. His hands
were cupped to receive the life blood of the victim--the red nectar
that at Opar would have filled the golden sacrificial goblets.

La approached with upraised knife, her face turned toward the rising
sun and upon her lips a prayer to the burning deity of her people. The
High Priest looked questioningly toward her--the brand was burning
close to his hand and the faggots lay temptingly near. Tarzan closed
his eyes and awaited the end. He knew that he would suffer, for he
recalled the faint memories of past burns. He knew that he would
suffer and die; but he did not flinch. Death is no great adventure to
the jungle bred who walk hand-in-hand with the grim specter by day and
lie down at his side by night through all the years of their lives. It
is doubtful that the ape-man even speculated upon what came after
death. As a matter of fact as his end approached, his mind was
occupied by thoughts of the pretty pebbles he had lost, yet his every
faculty still was open to what passed around him.

He felt La lean over him and he opened his eyes. He saw her white,
drawn face and he saw tears blinding her eyes. "Tarzan, my Tarzan!"
she moaned, "tell me that you love me--that you will return to Opar
with me--and you shall live. Even in the face of the anger of my
people I will save you. This last chance I give you. What is your
answer?"

At the last moment the woman in La had triumphed over the High
Priestess of a cruel cult. She saw up