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 upon the altar the only creature
that ever had aroused the fires of love within her virgin breast;
she saw the beast-faced fanatic who would one day be her mate,
unless she found another less repulsive, standing with the burning
torch ready to ignite the pyre; yet with all her mad passion for
the ape-man she would give the word to apply the flame if Tarzan's
final answer was unsatisfactory. With heaving bosom she leaned