lievable:

"Stranger," said the newcomer, "in the name of the Holy Mountain, and
in the Mountain's language and words, I bid you welcome."

And Rawson, too stunned for coherent thought, could only stammer in
what was half a shout: "But you're speaking my language. You're
talking the way we talk on earth. Am I crazy? Stark, raving crazy?"

But even the sound of the man's voice could not have prepared him for
what followed. There was amazement written on the face of the man. And
the girl who stood beside him--her eyes that had been smiling were
wide and staring in utter fear. Then she and the man and the other
white figures nearby dropped suddenly to kneel humbly before him.
Their faces were hidden from him, covered by their hands as they bent
their heads low. He heard the man's voice:

"He speaks with the tongue of the Mountain! He comes from the Land of
the Sun, from Lah-o-tah, at the top of the world! And I, Gor, am
permitted to hear his voice!"

CHAPTER XVIII

_The Dance of Death_

Through an airplane's thick windows of shatter-proof glass, so tough
and resilient that a machine-gun bullet would only make a temporary
dent, the midday sun flashed brightly as the big ship rolled. Along
each side of the small room, high up under the curve of the cabin
roof, windows were ranged. Others like them were in the floor. And,
above, the same glass made a transparent dome from which an observer
could see on all sides.

Outside was the thunderous roar of ten giant motors, but inside the
cabin--the fire-control room of a dreadnought of the air--that blast
of sound became more a reverberation and a trembling than actual
noise.

Certainly the sound of motors and of slashing propellers, as the
battle plane roared up into the sky, did not prevent free
conversation among the three men in the room. Yet there was neither
laughter nor idle talk.

At a built-in desk, before a battery of instruments, sat Farrell, the
captain of the ship. Farther aft, in solidly anchored chairs, Colonel
Culver and Smithy were seated. Occasionally the captain spoke into a
transmitter, cutting in by phone on different stations about the ship.

"Check up on that right-wing gun, Sergeant--number two of the top
wing-battery. Recoil mechanism is reported stiff.... Tell Chicago,
Lieutenant, we will want one thousand gallons in the air--gas only--no
oil needed.... Gun room? Have the gun crews get some sleep. They'll
have to stand by later on....