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.