"What you are not accustomed to is hearing the truth. Everyone is afraid of you. The reason you are interested in me is because I am not. It might do you goad to hear the truth more often." "For instance?" "I am not going to undertake the thankless job of regenerating royalty," Tarzan assured her with a laugh. "Let us stop quarreling. Nemone forgives you." "I do not quarrel," said Tarzan; "only the weak and the wrong quarrel." "Now answer my question. Are you a lion man in your own country?"
"I am a noble," replied the ape-man, "but I can tell you that that means little; a ditch digger may become a noble if he control enough votes, or a rich brewer if he subscribe a large amount of money to the political party in power." "And which were you," demanded Nemone, "a ditch digger or a rich brewer?" "Neither," laughed Tarzan.
"Then why are you a noble?" insisted the Queen. "For even less reason than either of those," admitted the ape-man. "I am a noble through no merit of my own but by an accident of birth; my family for many generations has been noble." "Ah!" exclaimed Nemone. "It is just as I thought; you are a lion man!" "And what of it?" demanded Tarzan.
"It simplifies matters," she explained, but she did not amplify the explanation nor did Tarzan either understand or inquire as to its implication. As a matter of fact he was not greatly interested in the subject. Nemone extended a hand and laid it on his, a soft, warm hand that trembled just a little. "I am going to give you your freedom," she said, "but on one condition."
"And what is that?" asked the ape-man. "That you remain here, that you do not try to leave Onthar—or me." Her voice was eager and just a little husky, as though she spoke under suppressed emotion. Tarzan remained silent. He would not promise, and so he did not speak. He realized, too, how easy it would be to remain if Nemone bid one do so. She fascinated him; she seemed to exercise a subtle influence, mysterious, hypnotic; yet he was determined to make no promise.
"I will make you a noble of Cathne," whispered Nemone. She was sitting erect now, her face close to Tarzan's. He could feel the warmth of her body close to his; the aura of some exotic scent was in his nostrils; her fingers closed upon his arm with a fierceness that hurt. "I will have made for you helmets of gold and habergeons of ivory, the most magnificent in Cathne; I will give you lions, fifty, a hundred; you shall be the richest, the most powerful noble of my court!"