



Produced by Judith Boss









PELLUCIDAR


By

Edgar Rice Burroughs





CONTENTS

CHAPTER

       PROLOGUE
    I  LOST ON PELLUCIDAR
   II  TRAVELING WITH TERROR
  III  SHOOTING THE CHUTES--AND AFTER
   IV  FRIENDSHIP AND TREACHERY
    V  SURPRISES
   VI  A PENDENT WORLD
  VII  FROM PLIGHT TO PLIGHT
 VIII  CAPTIVE
   IX  HOOJA'S CUTTHROATS APPEAR
    X  THE RAID ON THE CAVE-PRISON
   XI  ESCAPE
  XII  KIDNAPED!
 XIII  RACING FOR LIFE
  XIV  GORE AND DREAMS
   XV  CONQUEST AND PEACE




PROLOGUE

Several years had elapsed since I had found the opportunity to do any
big-game hunting; for at last I had my plans almost perfected for a
return to my old stamping-grounds in northern Africa, where in other
days I had had excellent sport in pursuit of the king of beasts.

The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks.  No
schoolboy counting the lagging hours that must pass before the
beginning of "long vacation" released him to the delirious joys of the
summer camp could have been filled with greater impatience or keener
anticipation.

And then came a letter that started me for Africa twelve days ahead of
my schedule.

Often am I in receipt of letters from strangers who have found
something in a story of mine to commend or to condemn.  My interest in
this department of my correspondence is ever fresh.  I opened this
particular letter with all the zest of pleasurable anticipation with
which I had opened so many others.  The post-mark (Algiers) had aroused
my interest and curiosity, especially at this time, since it was
Algiers that was presently to witness the termination of my coming sea
voyage in search of sport and adventure.

Before the reading of that letter was completed lions and lion-hunting
had fled my thoughts, and I was in a state of excitement bordering upon
frenzy.

It--well, read it yourself, and see if you, too, do not find food for
frantic conjecture, for tantalizing doubts, and for a great hope.

Here it is:

DEAR SIR: I think that I have run across one of the most remarkable
coincidences in modern literature.  But let me start at the beginning:

I am, by profession, a wanderer upon the face of the earth.  I have no
trade--nor any other occupation.

My father bequeathed me a competency; some remoter ancestors lust to
roam.  I have combined the two and invested them carefully and without
extravagance.

I became interested in your story, At the Earth's Core, not so much
because of the probability of the tale as of a great and abiding wonder
that people should be paid real money for writing such impossible
trash.  You will pardon my candor, but it is necessary that you
understand my mental attitude toward this particular story--that you
may credit that which follows.

Shortly thereafter I started for the Sahara in search of a rather rare
species of antelope that is to be found only occasionally within a
limited area at a certain season of the year.  My chase led me far from
the haunts of man.

It was a fruitless search, however, in so far as antelope is concerned;
but one night as I lay courting sleep at the edge of a little cluster
of date-palms that surround an ancient well in the midst of the arid,
shifting sands, I suddenly became conscious of a strange sound coming
apparently from the earth beneath my head.

It was an intermittent ticking!

No reptile or insect with which I am familiar reproduces any such
notes.  I lay for an hour--listening intently.

At last my curiosity got the better of me.  I arose, lighted my lamp
and commenced to investigate.

My bedding lay upon a rug stretched directly upon the warm sand.  The
noise appeared to be coming from beneath the rug.  I raised it, but
found nothing--yet, at intervals, the sound continued.

I dug into the sand with the point of my hunting-knife.  A few inches
below the surface of the sand I encountered a solid substance that had
the feel of wood beneath the sharp steel.

Excavating about it, I unearthed a small wooden box.  From this
receptacle issued the strange sound that I