there was that about him that marked him of dif­ferent clay from them, and soon there were whis­pers running through the throng, for the slaves who had entered with him had passed the word of his identity to the others, and who, even in the bowels of the earth, had not heard of the wondrous giant captured by Zoanthrohago during the battle with the Trohanadalmakusians?

Presently a young girl, kneeling above a bra­zier over which she was grilling a cut of flesh, caught his eye and motioned him to her. As he came he saw that she was very beautiful, with a pale, translucent skin the whiteness of which was accentuated by the blue-black of a wealth of lus­trous hair.

"You are the giant?" she asked.

"I am Zuanthrol," he replied.

"He has told me about you," said the girl. "I will cook for you, too. I cook for him. Un­less," she added with a trace of embarrassment, "there is another you would rather have cook for you."

"There is no one I would rather have cook for me," Tarzan told her; "but who are you and who is he?"

"I am Talaskar," she replied; "but I know him only by his number. He says that while he remains a slave he has no name, but will go al­ways by his number, which is Eight Hundred Cubed, Plus Nineteen. I see that you are Eight