TARZAN AND THE LOST EMPIRE
again. Again the terrible hold was clamped upon him, and again he was hurled heavily to the floor of the arena.
The crowd screamed with delight. Every thumb in the Colosseum was pointed downward. They wanted Tarzan to kill his adversary. The ape-man looked up into Caesar’s loge, where sat the master of the games with Sublatus.
“Is not this enough?” he demanded, pointing at the prostrate figure of the stunned gladiator.
The praefect waved a hand in an all-including gesture which took in the audience. “They demand his death,” he said. “While he remains alive in the arena, you are not the victor.”
“Does Caesar require that I kill this defenseless man?” demanded Tarzan, looking straight into the face of Sublatus. “You have heard the noble praefect,” replied the Emperor, haughtily.
“Good,” said Tarzan. “The rules of the contest shall be fulfilled.” He stooped and seized the unconscious form of his antagonist and raised it above his head. “Thus I carried your Emperor from his throne-room to the avenue!” he shouted to the audience.
Screams of delight measured the appreciation of the populace, while Caesar went white and red in anger and mortification. He half rose from his seat, but what he contemplated was never fulfilled, for at that instant Tarzan swung the body of the murderer downward and back like a huge pendulum and then upward with a mighty surge, hurling it over the arena wall, full into the loge of Sublatus, where it struck Caesar, knocking him to the floor.
“I am alive and alone in the arena,” shouted Tarzan, turning to the people, “and by the terms of the contest I am victor,” and not even Caesar dared question the decision that was voiced by the shrieking, screaming, applauding multitude.
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