In two swift bounds a
lithe figure crossed the room and before ever the knife of Bu-lot
reached its goal his wrist was seized from behind and a terrific
blow crashing to the base of his brain dropped him, lifeless,
to the floor. Bu-lot, coward, traitor, and assassin, died without
knowing who struck him down.
As Tarzan of the Apes leaped into the pool in the gryf pit of
the temple at A-lur one might have accounted for his act on the
hypothesis that it was the last blind urge of self-preservation to
delay, even for a moment, the inevitable tragedy in which each some
day must play the leading role upon his little stage; but no--those
cool, gray eyes had caught the sole possibility for escape that the
surroundings and the circumstances offered--a tiny, moonlit patch
of water glimmering through a small aperture in the cliff at
the surface of the pool upon its farther side. With swift, bold
strokes he swam for speed alone knowing that the water would in no
way deter his pursuer. Nor did it. Tarzan heard the great splash
as the huge creature plunged into the pool behind him; he heard
the churning waters as it forged rapidly onward in his wake. He
was nearing the opening--would it be large enough to permit the
passage of his body? That portion of it which showed above the
surface of the water most certainly would not.
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