African lions, panthera leo, are known worldwide as “king of the beasts.” Why are they called that? My daughter Julie and I were about to discover why.

Imagine yourself in wild Africa today — or 3,000 years ago — with nothing between you and eternity but a grass-walled hut or flimsy canvas tent. As darkness settles and the sun hemorrhages in red glory, your fire dies low and the shadows steal ever closer. Then, out of the impregnable walls of blackness a deep, penetrating roar shatters the night, loud as cannon fire, shaking your innermost being.

You jerk, snap up your head and stare into the darkness of the source, suddenly shaking.

Then another roar joins the first and yet another, the volume and incredible authority rising to nerve-rattling heights, a crescendo of might and indisputable power stabbing through your very fiber, shrinking you, diminishing you while a creeping dread seeps through your every pore.

It goes on and on, overwhelming, cowering, then it suddenly stops. Now they are fanning out, silent, deadly, quartering the night, hunting for prey. Just as a mouse would, you cower, wishing for a deep hole to scurry into before they come…

Millions of men and women experienced such terrifying nights, their dread suddenly realized in a blur of fangs, tearing claws and terror even greater than they imagined until, hopefully, a sudden oblivion.

When Julie and I arrived at Walk with Lions in South Africa we were not prepared for our experience. Here in the good old USA, clever advertisers toss out any phrase and come on they can imagine to lure you into paying for something perhaps less exciting than advertised. We’re used to it and adjust mentally. Lawyers lurk in the shadows, anyone willing to take a risk of their free will and choice are prohibited, lawsuits peeking around every piece of cracked sidewalk, cup of hot coffee or foolishness of the individual.

So, oftentimes all risk is eliminated as well as the thrill of possible danger.

As we signed into the park a large notice made it abundantly clear we were entering these premises of our own free will. Anyone ignoring the rules, regulations and instructions of the handlers did so at their own jeopardy. Boiled down, it said there’s danger here, possibly fatal. If you are not willing to accept these conditions, stay out, your choice.

I smiled. What? Be responsible for yourself? How less and less American that seems.

Glancing at the receptionist, I asked, “Oh, this place isn’t fool proof?” It took a second but she got it and laughed, nodding her head in agreement.

After instructions — don’t lag behind, no loud noises, keep your hands close to your sides, don’t stare into their eyes, don’t crouch, listen to every direction given — we entered the cheetah area. The handler cautiously assessed the cat’s disposition and asked who’d like to pet her. Knowing house cats can quickly decide when petting time is over, I went first, then Julie. Stroking her head she suddenly whipped it up and began licking my hand.

Whew, that cat’s quick motion, scary! The same with Julie, ignore that urge to instinctively jerk your hand away.

The next large area contained lions. They are incredibly BIG! In American zoos they’re too far away to really tell. At a touching distance there’s no doubt. A 400-pound lioness is incredibly impressive, heavy-bodied, large-headed, huge paws, enormous yellow golden eyes with long fangs. They are, well, lethal looking. They can and do kill Cape buffalo weighing up to a ton, nasty, tenacious animals themselves.

Twenty feet farther on, 20 yards away, a huge, heavy-maned, 500-pound male raised his magnificent, shaggy head toward us. Julie stared at him, raised her cell phone for a photo and squatted down. All no-no. This triggered the lion who in an instant spun and charged directly at us, I was just to her side. What the h—?!

In a blur of fluid motion he streaked across those 20 yards screeching to a halt 18-inches from her face, right at the bars. From his chest came a deep, guttural, grunt-growl, glowing eyes piercing into her soul. That said it all: “But for these bars, but for these bars, you were mine!”

Turning, he stalked contemptuously away, lifted his magnificent head and roared. A deafening, enormous blast of explosive sound, joined immediately by three other huge lions.

We stood dumbfounded, totally engulfed, swallowed by a thundering ocean of impossible volume and intensity, an overwhelming acoustic avalanche burying you, smothering, swallowing you in its power. Immense, menacing, consuming, a bulldozing proclamation of inconceivable command and unimaginable might. An immensity of sound that bludgeons, intimidates and cowers, a crushing display of supremacy that instantly strips away your vanity, reducing your imagined self-importance to that of table scraps.

What you thought you were, your silly preconceived notions of worth are slaughtered in that crucible of soul-shaking powder, stripped away and revealed to be absolutely nothing before this majestic, crushing display of regal power primeval.

Finally, the roaring stopped, releasing us from its authority. Julie and I stared open-mouthed at each other. What we’d just experienced was all-consuming, overpowering, totally intimidating.

The great, shaggy head once again turned our way, the fierce, fearless eyes fixed upon us. Now, knowing our place, we trembled and turned away.