La shuddered at the thought. Dusk came and after dusk came night.
A great fire blazed within the little thorn boma about the camp.
The flames played upon the new altar erected in the center of the
clearing, arousing in the mind of the High Priestess of the Flaming
God a picture of the event of the coming dawn. She saw this giant
and perfect form writhing amid the flames of the burning pyre. She
saw those smiling lips, burned and blackened, falling away from
the strong, white teeth. She saw the shock of black hair tousled
upon Tarzan's well-shaped head disappear in a spurt of flame.
She saw these and many other frightful pictures as she stood with
closed eyes and clenched fists above the object of her hate--ah!
was it hate that La of Opar felt?

The darkness of the jungle night had settled down upon the camp,
relieved only by the fitful flarings of the fire that was kept up
to warn off the man-eaters. Tarzan lay quietly in his bonds. He
suffered from thirst and from the cutting of the tight strands
about his wrists and ankles; but he made no complaint. A jungle
beast was Tarzan with the stoicism of the beast and the intelligence
of man. He knew that his doom was sealed--that no supplications
would avail to temper the severity of his end and so he wasted no
breath in pleadings; but waited patiently in the firm conviction
that his sufferings could not endure forever.

In the darkness La stooped above him. In her hand was a sharp knife
and in her mind the determination to initiate his torture without
further delay. The knife was pressed against his side and La's face
was close to his when a sudden burst of flame from new branches
thrown upon the fire without, lighted up the interior of the shelter.
Close beneath her lips La saw the perfect features of the forest