For a time silence reigned in the Kor-ul-ja. The tribesmen waited,
looking now down upon the dead thing that had been their chief,
now at one another, and now at Om-at and the two who stood upon his
either side. Presently Om-at spoke. "I am Om-at," he cried. "Who
will say that Om-at is not gund of Kor-ul-ja?"
He waited for a taker of his challenge. One or two of the larger
young bucks fidgeted restlessly and eyed him; but there was no
reply.
"Then Om-at is gund," he said with finality. "Now tell me, where
are Pan-at-lee, her father, and her brothers?"
An old warrior spoke. "Pan-at-lee should be in her cave. Who
should know that better than you who are there now? Her father and
her brothers were sent to watch Kor-ul-lul; but neither of these
questions arouse any tumult in our breasts. There is one that does:
Can Om-at be chief of Kor-ul-ja and yet stand at bay against his
own people with a Ho-don and that terrible man at his side--that
terrible man who has no tail? Hand the strangers over to your
people to be slain as is the way of the Waz-don and then may Om-at
be gund."
Neither Tarzan nor Ta-den spoke then, they but stood watching Om-at
and waiting for his decision, the ghost of a smile upon the lips
of the ape-man. Ta-den, at least, knew that the old warrior had
spoken the truth--the Waz-don entertain no strangers and take no
prisoners of an alien race.
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