King of Fang and Claw

Book One of Ka-Zar of the Beasts King of Claw and Fang
by Bob Byrd
Originally Copyrighted by Manvis Publishing, Inc. in 1936. No notice
of renewal.
Through the menacing brooding jungle stalked the mighty white youth
Ka-Zar discovering, fighting, conquering beasts, savages and white
men who came to kill, and steal the golden treasures from this primeval
heart of the Congo.

CHAPTER I
Heart of Darkness
THE Congo--heart of darkest Africa--two degrees south of the Equator.
Abruptly the sun was blotted out and a sudden deluge descended from
the heavens. It fell steadily in a silver sheet for five minutes, then as
abruptly stopped. It was the first rain, marking the beginning of the
rainy season.
The brassy sun showed its molten face again, hotter than before. From
the floor of the primeval jungle a miasmic mist steamed slowly upward.
The air was sullen, brooding, oppressive.
From a thousand giant trees, matted and festooned with an
impenetrable tangle of vines, the lemurs scolded querulously at one
another. Vividly plumed birds screamed hoarsely as they flitted from
tree to tree. And the beasts of the earth snarled and spat at each other as
they wrangled over their kill

Darkest Africa, where Nature had been prodigal and profligate. She had
peopled this, her richest land, with a myriad of living things--plant,
beast, bird and fish. And then, as if regretting her generosity, she had
pitted the one against the other. Let the Law be that of Claw and Fang;
let the strong survive.
Suddenly, above the teeming noises of earth and air, a mighty roar
reverberated between the trees. As if blasted by an evil curse the jungle
was hushed.
Then, a moment later, with a majestic stride a mighty lion pushed
through the brush and stepped into a small, open clearing that bordered
a lake of cerulean blue.
Zar the Mighty paused a moment on the edge of the clearing. Slowly,
disdainfully he swung his massive head from side to side as he
surveyed his domain. His tawny mane was ruffed; his tufted tail
switched nervously from side to side.
Again he tilted back his head. Again the rumbling bass note of his
defiance filled the clearing. But there was no one who dared answer his
challenge.
Zar snorted contemptuously, lashed his tail once more and proceeded
slowly down to the water's edge. This respectful silence that greeted his
coming was fitting to his might and dignity. For wasn't he Zar the
Mighty--Lord of the Jungle?
He drank, long and deeply. But minutes before he had his fill his head
snapped up. A snarl rumbled in his throat; his leather lungs expanded
and the talons of his fore-paws arched.
From high over head came an angry, droning buzz that grew louder,
more insistent with every moment's passing. Zar threw back his head
and looked up between the trees. What fool of a bird was this who
dared challenge the might of his claw and fang?
And then he saw it, first as a speck looming out of the south. It

advanced rapidly, with incredible speed, flying low; and the roar of its
coming put even Zar's stentorian bellow to shame.
This was not Pindar the Eagle or Kru come to the vulture's feast. Zar
had never seen such a bird before--one with such an incredible spread
of wing--one that screamed its defiance as it flew like an arrow.
However, he felt no fear in its presence. His muscles simply bulged in
anger.
From slitted, amber eyes he watched the strange bird as it soared above
the clearing. It cleared the far side, then suddenly, without warning, a
jet of black smoke belched forth from its side.
Zar's snarl rose on a higher note. He held his ground but crouched low.
What trick was this? What strange method of attack from this strange
bird?
Then, still watching, he saw the winged thing stagger in mid-air, pivot
around on its mighty spread of shining wings and glide down for the
clearing where he stood.
Zar ruled the jungle because of his cunning as well as his strength.
Confronted by the unknown for the first time in his life, he decided to
stalk this new enemy. With one bound he cleared the shore of the lake;
with another he was crouched low in the tangle of brush that bordered
the clearing.
Above him he heard a rushing roar of air that made him think of the
times when the jungle trees bent to the storm’s fury. And high above
this sound came an eerie wail that grated down the long length of his
supple spine.
Crouching low he looked up. The bird was swooping down headed
straight for him. Smoke still jetted from its belley. It was clearing the
trees now at the far