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Volume 5144
Woodrow Edgar Nichols, Jr.
J. Allen St. John: Tarzan at the Earth's Core - wraparound DJ -  different b/w FP
Part Fourteen
            The Phelians may not be as scary as the Horibs, but when we last left Jason and Thoar as the approached the village with six-guns unholstered, we were given a suggestion of evil eyes gazing at them from the concealment of the forest. What could that possibly mean?

    Jason Gridley ran swiftly up the hill toward the Phelian village in which he hoped to find The Red Flower of Zoram and at his side was Thoar, ready with spear and knife to rescue or avenge his sister, while behind them, concealed by the underbrush that grew beneath the trees along the river’s bank, a company of swarthy, bearded men watched the two.
    To Thoar’s surprise no defending warriors rushed from the building they were approaching, nor did any sound come from the interior. “Be careful,” he cautioned Jason, “we may be running into a trap,” and the American, profiting by the advice of his companion, advanced more cautiously. To the very entrance of the building they came and as yet no opposition to their advance had manifested itself.
    Jason stopped and looked through the low doorway, then, stooping, he entered with Thoar at his heels.
    “There is no one here,” said Jason; “the building is deserted.”
    “Better luck in the next one then,” said Thoar; but there was no one in the next building, nor in the next; nor in any of the buildings of the Phelian village.
    “They have all gone,” said Jason.
    “Yes,” replied Thoar, “but they will return. Let us go down among the trees at the riverside and wait for them there in hiding.”
    Unconscious of danger, the two walked down the hillside and entered the underbrush that grew luxuriant beneath the trees. They followed a narrow trail, worn by Phelian sandals.
    Scarcely had the foliage closed about them when a dozen men sprang upon them and bore them to the ground. In an instant they were disarmed and their wrists bound behind their backs; then they were jerked roughly to their feet and Jason Gridley’s eyes went wide as they got the first glimpse of his captors.
    “Well, for Pete’s sake!” he exclaimed. “I have learned to look with comparative composure upon wooly rhinoceroses, mammoths, trachodons, pterodactyls and dinosarus, but I never expected to see Captain Kidd, Lafitte and Sir Henry Morgan in the heart of Pellucidar.”
    In his surprise he reverted to his native tongue, which, of course, none of the others understood.
    “What language is that?” demanded one of their captors. “Who are you and from what country do you come?”
    “That is good old American, from the U.S.A.,” replied Jason; “but who the devil are you and why have you captured us?” and then turning to Thoar “these are not the Phelians, are they?”
    “No,” replied Thoar. “These are strange men, such as I have never before seen.”
    “We know who you are,” said one of the bearded men. “We know the country from which you come. Do not try to deceive us.”
    “Very well, then, if you know, turn me loose, for you must know that we haven’t a war on with anyone.”
            That’s a good one, where an American can remember a time when we didn’t have some kind of war going on somewhere. And have you noticed how, as we near the end of the book, ERB has finally brought the Korsars into the picture? After all, to rescue David Innes from them was the purpose of the expedition in the first place.
    “Your country is always at war with Korsar,” replied the speaker. “You are a Sarian. I know it by the weapons that you carry. The moment I saw them I knew that you were from distant Sari. The Cid will be glad to have you and so will Bulf. Perhaps,” he added, turning to one of his fellows, “this is Tanar, himself. Did you see him when he was a prisoner in Korsar?”
    “No, I was away upon a cruise,” replied the other. “I did not see him, but if this is indeed he we shall be well rewarded.”
    “We might as well return to the ship now,” said the first speaker. “There is no use waiting any longer for these flat-footed natives with but one chance in a thousand of finding a good-looking among them.”
    “They told us further down the river that these people sometimes captured women from Zoram. Perhaps it would be well to wait.”
    “No,” said the other, “I should like well enough to see one of these women from Zoram that I have heard of all my life, but the natives will not return as long as we are in the vicinity. We have been gone from the ship too long now and if I know the captain, he will be wanting to slit a few throats by the time we get back.”
    Moored to a tree along the shore and guarded by five other Korsars was a ship’s longboat, but of a style that was reminiscent of Jason’s boyhood reading as were the bearded men with their bizarre costumes, their great pistols and cutlasses and their ancient arquebuses.
    The prisoners were bundled into the boat, the Korsars entered and the craft was pushed off into the stream, which here was narrow and swift.
    As the current bore them rapidly along Jason had an opportunity to examine his captors. They were as villainous a looking crew as he had ever imagined outside of fiction and were more typically piratical than the fiercest pirates of his imagination. What with earrings and, in some instances, nose rings of gold, with the gay handkerchiefs bound about their heads and body sashes around their waists, they would have presented a gorgeous and colorful picture at a distance sufficiently great to transform their dirt and patches into a pleasing texture.
    Although in the story of Tanar of Pellucidar that Jason had received by radio from Perry, he had become familiar with the appearance and nature of the Korsars, yet he now realized that heretofore he had accepted them more as he had accepted the pirates of history and of his boyhood reading – as fictionary or, at best, legendary – and not men of flesh and bone such as he saw before him, their mouths filled with oaths and coarse jokes, the grime and filth of reality making them as real human beings.
            ERB tries to make the reader believe these are real men by having them curse like sailors, but in a way that he does not appear too coarse himself, since he only refers to the language and not the actual words. He knows that our imaginations will fill in the gaps.
    In these savage Korsars, their boat, their apparel and their ancient firearms, Jason saw conclusive proof of their descent from men of the outer crust and realized how they must have carried to the mind of David Innes an overwhelming conviction of the existence of a polar opening leading from Pellucidar to the outer world.
    While Thoar was disheartened by the fate that had thrown them into the hands of these strange people, Jason was not at all sure but that it might prove a stroke of fortune for himself, as from the conversation and comments that he had heard since their capture it seemed reasonable to assume that they were to be taken to Korsar, the city in which David Innes was confined and which was, therefore, the first goal of their expedition to effect the rescue of the Emperor of Pellucidar.
    That he would arrive there alone and a prisoner were not in themselves causes for rejoicing; yet, on the whole, he would be no worse off than to remain wandering aimlessly through a country filled with unknown dangers without the faintest shadow of a hope of ever being able to locate his fellows. Now, at least, he was almost certain of being transported to a place that they also were attempting to reach, and thus the chances of a reunion were so much the greater.
    The stream down which they floated wound through a swampy forest, crossing numerous lagoons that sometimes were of a size that raised them to the dignity of lakes. Everywhere the water and the banks teemed with reptilian life, suggesting to Jason Gridley that he was reviewing a scene such as might have been enacted in a Mesozoic paradise countless ages before upon the outer crust. So numerous and oftentimes so colossal and belligerent were the savage reptiles that the descent of the river became a running fight, during which the Korsars were constantly upon the alert and frequently were compelled to discharge their arquebuses in defense of their lives. More often than not the noise of the weapons frightened off the attacking reptiles, but occasionally one would persist in its attack until it had been killed; nor was the possibility ever remote that in one of these encounters some fierce and brainless saurian might demolish their craft and with its fellows devour the crew.
    Jason and Thoar had been placed in the middle of the boat, where they squatted upon the bottom, their wrists still secured behind their backs. Close to Jason was a Korsar whose fellows addressed him as Lajo. There was something about this fellow that attracted Jason’s particular attention. Perhaps it was his more open countenance or a less savage and profane demeanor. He had not joined the others in the coarse jokes that were directed against their captives; in fact, he paid little attention to anything other than the business of defending the boat against the attacking monsters.
    There seemed to be no one in command of the party, all matters being discussed among them and in this way a decision arrived at; yet Jason had noticed that the others listened attentively when Lajo spoke, which was seldom, though always intelligently and to the point. Guided by the result of these observations he selected Lajo as the most logical Korsar through whom to make a request. At the first opportunity, therefore, he attracted the man’s attention.
    “What do you want?” asked Lajo.
    “Who is in command here?” asked Jason.
    “No one,” replied the Korsar. “Our officer was killed on the way up. Why do you ask?”
    “I want the bonds removed from our wrists,” replied Jason. “We cannot escape. We are unarmed and outnumbered and, therefore, cannot harm you; while in the event the boat is destroyed or capsized by any of these reptiles we shall be helpless with our wrists tied behind our backs.”
    Lajo drew his knife.
    “What are you going to do?” asked one of the other Korsars who had been listening to the conversation.
    “I am going to cut their bonds,” replied Lajo. “There is nothing to be gained by keeping them bound.”
    “Who are you to say that their bonds shall be cut?” demanded the other belligerently.
    “Who are you to say that they shall not?” returned Lajo quietly, moving toward the prisoners.
    “I’ll show you who I am,” shouted the other, whipping out his knife and advancing toward Lajo.
    There was no hesitation. Like a panther Lajo swung upon his adversary, striking up the other’s knife-hand with his left forearm and at the same time plunging his villainous looking blade to the hilt in the other’s breast. Voicing a single blood-curdling scream the man sank lifeless to the bottom of the boat. Lajo wrenched the knife from the corpse, wiped it upon his adversary’s shirt and quietly cut the bonds that confined the wrists of Thoar and Jason. The other Korsars looked on, apparently unmoved by the killing of their fellow, except for a coarse joke or two at the expense of the dead man and a grunt of approbation for Lajo’s act.
    The killer removed the weapons from the body of the dead man and cast them aft out of reach of the prisoners, then he motioned to the corpse. “Throw it overboard,” he commanded, addressing Jason and Thoar.
    “Wait,” cried another member of the crew, “I want his boots.”
    “His sash is mine,” cried another, and presently half a dozen of them were quarreling over the belongings of the corpse like a pack of dogs over a bone. Lajo took no part in this altercation and presently the few wretched belongings that had served to cover the nakedness of the dead man were torn from his corpse and divided among them by the simple expedient of permitting the stronger to take what they could; then Jason and Thoar eased the naked body over the side, where it was immediately seized upon by voracious denizens of the river.
    Interminable, to an unknown destination, seemed the journey to Jason. They ate and slept many times and still the river wound through the endless swamp. The luxuriant vegetation and flowering blooms which lined the banks long since had ceased to interest, their persistent monotony making them almost hateful to the eyes.
    Jason could not but wonder at the superhuman efforts that must have been necessary to row this large, heavy boat upstream in the face of all the terrific assaults which must have been launched upon it by the reptilian hordes that contested every mile of the downward journey.
    But presently the landscape changed, the river widened and the low swamp gave way to rolling hills. The forests, which still lined the banks, were freer from underbrush, suggesting that they might be the feeding grounds of droves of herbivorous animals, a theory that was both substantiated by sight of grazing herds, among which Jason recognized red deer, bison, bos and several other species of herbivorous animals. The forest upon the right bank was open and sunny and with its grazing herds presented a cheerful aspect of warmth and life, but the forest upon the left bank was dark and gloomy. The foliage of the trees, which grew to tremendous proportions, was so dense as practically to shut out the sunlight, the space between the boles giving the impression of long, dark aisles, gloomy and forbidding.
    There were fewer reptiles in the stream here, but the Korsars appeared unusually nervous and apprehensive of danger after they entered this stretch of the river. Previously they had been drifting with the current, using but a single oar, scull fashion, from the stern to keep the nose of the boat pointed downstream, but now they manned the oars, pressing Jason and Thoar into service to row with the others. Loaded arquebuses lay beside the oarsmen, while in the bow and stern men were constantly upon watch. They paid little attention to the right bank of the river, but toward the dark and gloomy left they directed their nervous, watchful gaze. Jason wondered what it was that they feared, but he had no opportunity to inquire and there was no respite from the rowing, at least not for him or Thoar, though the Korsars alternated between watching and rowing.
    Between oars and current they were making excellent progress, though whether they were close to the end of the danger zone or not, Jason had no means of knowing any more that he could guess the nature of the menace which must certainly threaten them if aught could be judged by the attitude of the Korsars.
    The two prisoners were on the verge of exhaustion when Lajo noticed their condition and relieved them from the oars. How long they had been rowing, Jason could not determine, although he knew that while no one had either eaten or slept, since they had entered this stretch of the river, the time must have been considerable. The distance they had come he estimated roughly at something over a hundred miles, and he and Thoar had been continuously at the oars during the entire period, without food or sleeping they had barely thrown themselves to the bottom of the boat when a cry, vibrant with excitement, arose from the bow. “There they are!” shouted the man, and instantly all was excitement aboard the boat.
    “Keep to the oars!” shouted Lajo. “Our best chance is to run through them.”
    Although almost too spent with fatigue to find interest even in impending death, Jason dragged himself to a sitting position that raised his eyes above the level of the gunwales of the boat. At first he could not even vaguely classify the hordes of creatures swimming out upon the bosom of the placid river with the evident intention of intercepting them, but presently he saw that they were man-like creatures riding upon the backs of hideous reptiles. They bore long lances and their scaly mounts sped through the waters at incredible speed. As the boat approached them he saw that the creatures were not men, though they had the forms of men, but were grotesque and horrid reptiles with the heads of lizards to whose naturally frightful mein, pointed ears and short horns added a certain horrid grotesquery.
    “My God!” he exclaimed. “What are they?”
    Thoar, who had also dragged himself to a sitting posture, shuddered. “They are the Horibs,” he said. “It is better to die than to fall into their clutches.”
    Carried downstream by the current and urged on by the long sweeps and it own terrific momentum, the heavy boat shot straight toward the hideous horde. The distance separating them was rapidly closing; the boat was almost upon the leading Horib when an arquebus in the bow spoke. Its loud report broke the menacing silence that had overhung the river like a pall. Directly in front of the boat’s prow the horde of Horibs separated and a moment later they were racing along either side of the craft. Arquebuses were belching smoke and fire, scattering the bits of iron and pebbles with which they were loaded among the hissing enemy, but for every Horib that fell there were two to take its place.
    Now they withdrew to a little distance, but apparently with no effort whatever their reptilian mounts kept pace with the boat and then, one after another on either side, a rider would dart in and cast his lance; nor apparently ever did one miss its mark. So deadly was their aim that the Korsars were compelled to abandon their oars and drop down into the bottom of the boat, raising themselves above the gunwales only long enough to fire their arquebuses, when they would again drop down into concealment to reload. But even these tactics could not preserve them for long, since the Horibs, darting in still closer to the side of the boat, could reach over the edge and lance the inmates. Straight to the muzzles of the arquebuses they came, apparently entirely devoid of any conception of fear; great holes were blown entirely through the bodies of some, others were decapitated, while more than a score lost a hand, or even an arm, yet still they came.
            Some ERB readers, of course, love his descriptions of gore and mayhem, and he always made sure these readers had their fill. With the popularity of slasher films today, likely little has changed since this novel came out. Perhaps this perverse pleasure waned a little after the carnage of WWII, at least it did for ERB.
    Presently one succeeded in casting the noose of a long leather rope over a cleat upon the gunwale and instantly several of the Horibs seized it and headed their mounts toward the river’s bank.
    Practically exhausted and without weapons to defend themselves, Jason and Thoar had remained lying upon the bottom of the boat almost past caring what fate befell them. Half covered by the corpses of the Korsars that had fallen, they lay in a pool of blood. About them arquebuses still roared amid screams and curses, and above all rose the shrill, hissing screech that seemed to be the war cry of the Horibs.
    The boat was dragged to shore and the rope made fast about the bole of a tree, though three times the Korsars had cut the line and three times the Horibs had been forced to replace it.
    There was only a handful of the crew who had not been killed or wounded when the Horibs left their mounts and swarmed over the gunwales to fall upon their prey. Cutlasses, knives and arquebuses did their deadly work, but still the slimy snake-men came, crawling over the bodies of their dead to fall upon the survivors until the latter were practically buried by greater numbers.
            Isn't ERB amazing in his relentless ability to keep the reader on his or her toes? Just when you thought the plot was returning to normal, he goes and throws something totally out of left field at you. So much for David Innes.
    When the battle was over there were but three Korsars who had escaped death or serious wounds – Lajo was one of them. The Horibs bound their wrists and took them ashore, after which they started unloading the dead and wounded from the boat, killing the more seriously wounded with their knives. Coming at last upon Jason and Thoar and finding them unwounded, they bound them as they had the living Korsars and placed them with the other prisoners on the shore.
    The battle was over, the prisoners secured, the Horibs now fell upon the corpses of the dead, nor did they rest until they had devoured them all, while Jason and his fellow prisoners sat nauseated with horror during the grizzly feast. Even the Korsars, cruel and heartless as they were, shuddered at the sight.
    “Why do you suppose they are saving us?” asked Jason.
    Lajo shook his head. “I do not know,” he said.
    “Doubtless to feed us to their women and children,” said Thoar. “They say that they keep their human prisoners and fatten them up.”
    “You know what they are? You have seen them before?” Lajo asked Thoar.
    “Yes, I know what they are,” said Thoar, “but these are the first that I have ever seen. They are the Horibs, the snake people. They dwell between the Rela Am and the Gyor Cors.”
    As Jason watched the Horibs at their grizzly feast, he became suddenly conscious of a remarkable change that was taking place in their appearance. When he had first seen them and all during the battle they had been of a ghastly bluish color, the hands, feet and faces being several shades paler than the balance of the body, but as they settled down to their gory repast this hue gradually faded to be replaced by a reddish tinge, which varied in intensity in different individuals, the faces and extremities of a few of whom became almost crimson as the feast progressed.
    If the appearance and blood-thirsty ferocity of the creatures appalled him, he was no less startled when he first heard them converse in the common language of the men of Pellucidar.
    The general conformation of the creatures, their weapons, which consisted of long lances and stone knives, the apron-like apparel which they wore and the evident attempt at ornamentation as exemplified by the insignia upon the breasts of their garments and the armlets which they wore, all tended toward establishing a suggestion of humanity that was at once grotesque and horrible, but when to these other attributes was added human speech the likeness to man created an impression that was indescribably repulsive.
    So powerful was the fascination that the creatures aroused in the mind of Jason that he could divert neither his thoughts nor his eyes from them. He noticed that while the majority of them were about six feet in height, there were many much smaller, ranging downward to about four feet, while there was one tremendous individual that must have been fully nine feet tall; yet all were proportioned identically and the difference in height did not have the appearance of being at all related to a difference in age, except that the scales upon the largest of them were considerably thicker and coarser. Later, however, he was to learn that difference in size predicated differences in age, the growth of these creatures being governed by the same law which governs the growth of reptiles, which, unlike mammals, continue to grow throughout the entire duration of their lives.
    When they had gorged themselves upon the flesh of the Korsars, the Horibs lay down, but whether to sleep or not Jason never knew since their lidless eyes remained constantly staring. And now a new phenomenon occurred. Gradually the reddish tinge faded from their bodies to be replaced by a dull brownish gray, which harmonized with the ground upon which they lay.
    Exhausted by his long tour of the oars and by the horrors that he had witnessed, Jason gradually drifted off into deep slumber, which was troubled by hideous dreams in which he saw Jana in the clutches of a Horib. The creature was attempting to devour The Red Flower of Zoram, while Jason struggled with the bonds that secured him.
            Luckily, Jason does not know how close to the truth that dream really was. ERB was no stranger to nightmares. He woke up almost every night screaming like a mad man, he was haunted so much by his dreams. A lot of his friends believed that this was the source for so much of his creativity, but I’m sure his gratefulness for his gift was tinged by the regret of so much loss of good sleep.
    He was awakened by a sharp pain in his shoulder and opening his eyes he saw one of the homosaurians, as he had mentally dubbed them, standing over him, prodding him with the point of his sharp lance. “Make less noise,” said the creature, and Jason realized that he must have been raving in his sleep.
    The other Horibs were rising from the ground, voicing strange whistling hisses, and presently from the waters of the river and from the surrounding aisles of the gloomy forest their hideous mounts came trooping in answer to the summons.
    “Stand up!” said the Horib who had awakened Jason. “I am going to remove your bonds,” he continued. “You cannot escape. If you try to you will be killed. Follow me,” he then commanded after he had removed the thongs which secured Jason’s wrists.
    Jason accompanied the creature into the midst of the herd of periosauri that was milling about, snapping and hissing along the shore of the river.
    Although the Gorobors all looked alike to Jason, it was evident that the Horibs differentiated between individuals among them for he who was leading Jason threaded his way through the mass of slimy bodies until he reached the sides of a particular individual.
    “Get up,” he said, motioning Jason to mount the creature. “Sit well forward on its neck.”
    It was with a sensation of the utmost disgust that Jason vaulted onto the back of the Gorobor. The feel of its cold, clammy, rough hide against his naked legs sent a chilly shudder up his spine. The reptileman mounted behind him and presently the entire company was on the march, each of the other prisoners being mounted in front of a Horib.
    Into the gloomy forest the strange cavalcade marched down dark, winding corridors overhung with dense vegetation, much of which was of a dead pale cast through lack of sunlight. A clammy chill, unusual for Pellucidar, pervaded the atmosphere and a feeling of depression weighed heavily upon all the prisoners.
    “What are you going to do with us?” asked Jason after they had proceeded in silence for some distance.
    “You will be fed upon eggs until you are fit to be eaten by the females and the little ones,” replied the Horib. “They tire of fish and Gyor flesh. It is not often that we get as much gilak meat as we have just had.”
    Jason relapsed into silence, discovering that, as far as he was concerned, the Horib was conversationally a total loss and for long after the horror of the creature’s reply weighed upon his mind. It was not that he feared death; it was the idea of being fattened for slaughter that was peculiarly abhorrent.
    As they rode between the never ending trees he tried to speculate as to the origin of these gruesome creatures. It seemed to him that they might constitute a supreme effort on the part of Nature to reach a higher goal by a less devious route than that which evolution had pursued upon the outer crust from the age of reptiles upwards to the age of man.
    During the march Jason caught occasional glimpses of Thoar and the other prisoners, though he had no opportunity to exchange words with them, and after what seemed an interminable period of time the cavalcade emerged from the forest into the sunlight and Jason saw in the distance the shimmering blue waters of an inland lake. As they approached its shores he discerned throngs of Horibs, some swimming or lolling in the waters of the lake, while others lay or squatted upon the muddy bank. As the company arrived among them they showed only a cold, reptilian interest in the returning warriors, though some of the females and young evinced a suggestive interest in the prisoners.
    The adult females differed but slightly from the males. Aside from the fact that they were hornless and went naked, Jason could discover no other distinguishing feature. He saw no signs of a village, nor any indication of arts or crafts other than those necessary to produce their crude weapons and the simple apron-like armor that the warriors wore to protect the soft skin of their bellies.
    The prisoners were now dragged from their mounts and herded together by several of the warriors, who conducted them along the edge of the lake toward a slightly higher bank.
    On the way they passed a number of females laying eggs, which they deposited in the soft, warm mud just above the water line, covering them lightly with mud, afterwards pushing a slender stake into the ground at the spot to mark the nest. All along the shore at this point were hundreds of such stakes and further on Jason saw several tiny Horibs, evidently but just hatched, wriggling upward out of the mud. No one paid the slightest attention to them as they stumbled and reeled about trying to accustom themselves to the use of their limbs, upon all four of which they went at first, like tiny, grotesque lizards.
    Arrived at the higher bank the warrior in charge of Thoar, who was in the lead, suddenly clapped his hand over the prisoner’s mouth, pinching Thoar’s nose tightly between his thumb and first finger, and, without other preliminaries, dove head foremost into the waters of the lake carrying his victim with him.
    Jason was horrified as he saw his friend and companion disappear beneath the muddy waters, which, after a moment of violent agitation, settled down again, leaving only an ever widening circular ripple to mark the spot where the two had disappeared. An instant later another Horib dove in with Lajo and in rapid succession the other two Korsars shared a similar fate.
    With a superhuman effort Jason sought to tear himself free from the clutches of his captor, but the cold, clammy hands held him tightly. One of them was suddenly clapped over his mouth and nose and an instant later he felt the warm waters of the lake close about him.
    Still struggling to free himself he was conscious that the Horib was carrying him swiftly beneath the surface. Presently he felt slimy mud beneath him, along which his body was being dragged. His lungs cried out in tortured agony for air, his senses reeled and momentarily all went black before him, though no blacker than the stygian darkness of the hole into which he was being dragged, and then the hand was removed from his mouth and nose; mechanically his lungs gasped for air and as consciousness slowly returned Jason realized that he was not drowned, but that he was lying upon a bed of mud inhaling air not water.
    Total darkness surrounded him; he felt a clammy body scrape against his, and then another and another. There was a sound of splashing, gurgling water and then silence – the silence of the tomb.
            Yes, you guessed it – we must leave our hopeless prisoners behind as we pick up the story of Tarzan and Jana in the hands of the Horibs. How do you like the prison into which the Horibs put Jason and Thoar? For a moment I imagined they were being taken down into an underwater city like in the first movie in the Star Wars franchise, but no, it was just a muddy hole above the water line that can only be accessed from under the lake’s surface. And, wouldn’t you know it? they’re buried alive in pitch blackness, a theme always at the top of ERB’s homage to Edgar Allan Poe.
Until next time.
Tarzan at the Earth's Core :: TEXT



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