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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Red Nails
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Title: Red Nails
Author: Robert E. Howard
Release date: June 9, 2010 [eBook #32759]
Most recently updated: July 21, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32759
Credits: Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED NAILS ***
Red Nails
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.
Title: Red Nails
Author: Robert E. Howard
Release date: June 9, 2010 [eBook #32759]
Most recently updated: July 21, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32759
Credits: Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED NAILS ***
Red Nails
Page 4
By ROBERT E. HOWARD
One of the strangest stories ever written—the tale
of a barbarian adventurer, a woman pirate, and a
weird roofed city inhabited by the most peculiar
race of men ever spawned
1. The Skull on the Crag
T he woman on the horse reined in her weary steed. It stood with its legs
wide-braced, its head drooping, as if it found even the weight of the
gold-tasseled, red-leather bridle too heavy. The woman drew a booted
foot out of the silver stirrup and swung down from the gilt-worked saddle.
She made the reins fast to the fork of a sapling, and turned about, hands on
her hips, to survey her surroundings.
They were not inviting. Giant trees hemmed in
Nearly four years the small pool where her horse had just drunk.
ago, WEIRD TALES Clumps of undergrowth limited the vision that
published a story quested under the somber twilight of the lofty
called "The Phoenix arches formed by intertwining branches. The
on the Sword," built woman shivered with a twitch of her magnificent
around a barbarian shoulders, and then cursed.
adventurer named She was tall, full-bosomed and large-limbed,
Conan, who had with compact shoulders. Her whole figure
become king of a reflected an unusual strength, without detracting
country by sheer from the femininity of her appearance. She was
force of valor and all woman, in spite of her bearing and her
brute strength. The
garments. The latter were incongruous, in view
One of the strangest stories ever written—the tale
of a barbarian adventurer, a woman pirate, and a
weird roofed city inhabited by the most peculiar
race of men ever spawned
1. The Skull on the Crag
T he woman on the horse reined in her weary steed. It stood with its legs
wide-braced, its head drooping, as if it found even the weight of the
gold-tasseled, red-leather bridle too heavy. The woman drew a booted
foot out of the silver stirrup and swung down from the gilt-worked saddle.
She made the reins fast to the fork of a sapling, and turned about, hands on
her hips, to survey her surroundings.
They were not inviting. Giant trees hemmed in
Nearly four years the small pool where her horse had just drunk.
ago, WEIRD TALES Clumps of undergrowth limited the vision that
published a story quested under the somber twilight of the lofty
called "The Phoenix arches formed by intertwining branches. The
on the Sword," built woman shivered with a twitch of her magnificent
around a barbarian shoulders, and then cursed.
adventurer named She was tall, full-bosomed and large-limbed,
Conan, who had with compact shoulders. Her whole figure
become king of a reflected an unusual strength, without detracting
country by sheer from the femininity of her appearance. She was
force of valor and all woman, in spite of her bearing and her
brute strength. The
garments. The latter were incongruous, in view
Page 5
author of that story of her present environs. Instead of a skirt she
was Robert E. wore short, wide-legged silk breeches, which
Howard, who was ceased a hand's breadth short of her knees, and
already a favorite were upheld by a wide silken sash worn as a
with the readers of girdle. Flaring-topped boots of soft leather came
this magazine for his almost to her knees, and a low-necked, wide-
stories of Solomon collared, wide-sleeved silk shirt completed her
Kane, the dour costume. On one shapely hip she wore a straight
English Puritan and double-edged sword, and on the other a long
redresser of wrongs. dirk. Her unruly golden hair, cut square at her
The stories about shoulders, was confined by a band of crimson
Conan were speedily satin.
acclaimed by our
readers, and the Against the background of somber, primitive
barbarian's weird forest she posed with an unconscious
adventures became picturesqueness, bizarre and out of place. She
immensely popular. should have been posed against a background of
The story presented sea-clouds, painted masts and wheeling gulls.
herewith is one of the There was the color of the sea in her wide eyes.
most powerful and And that was as it should have been, because this
eery weird tales yet was Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, whose
written about Conan. deeds are celebrated in song and ballad wherever
We commend this seafarers gather.
story to you, for we She strove to pierce the sullen green roof of the
know you will enjoy arched branches and see the sky which
it through and presumably lay about it, but presently gave it up
through. with a muttered oath.
Leaving her horse tied she strode off toward the
east, glancing back toward the pool from time to time in order to fix her
route in her mind. The silence of the forest depressed her. No birds sang in
the lofty boughs, nor did any rustling in the bushes indicate the presence of
any small animals. For leagues she had traveled in a realm of brooding
stillness, broken only by the sounds of her own flight.
She had slaked her thirst at the pool, but she felt the gnawings of hunger
and began looking about for some of the fruit on which she had sustained
was Robert E. wore short, wide-legged silk breeches, which
Howard, who was ceased a hand's breadth short of her knees, and
already a favorite were upheld by a wide silken sash worn as a
with the readers of girdle. Flaring-topped boots of soft leather came
this magazine for his almost to her knees, and a low-necked, wide-
stories of Solomon collared, wide-sleeved silk shirt completed her
Kane, the dour costume. On one shapely hip she wore a straight
English Puritan and double-edged sword, and on the other a long
redresser of wrongs. dirk. Her unruly golden hair, cut square at her
The stories about shoulders, was confined by a band of crimson
Conan were speedily satin.
acclaimed by our
readers, and the Against the background of somber, primitive
barbarian's weird forest she posed with an unconscious
adventures became picturesqueness, bizarre and out of place. She
immensely popular. should have been posed against a background of
The story presented sea-clouds, painted masts and wheeling gulls.
herewith is one of the There was the color of the sea in her wide eyes.
most powerful and And that was as it should have been, because this
eery weird tales yet was Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, whose
written about Conan. deeds are celebrated in song and ballad wherever
We commend this seafarers gather.
story to you, for we She strove to pierce the sullen green roof of the
know you will enjoy arched branches and see the sky which
it through and presumably lay about it, but presently gave it up
through. with a muttered oath.
Leaving her horse tied she strode off toward the
east, glancing back toward the pool from time to time in order to fix her
route in her mind. The silence of the forest depressed her. No birds sang in
the lofty boughs, nor did any rustling in the bushes indicate the presence of
any small animals. For leagues she had traveled in a realm of brooding
stillness, broken only by the sounds of her own flight.
She had slaked her thirst at the pool, but she felt the gnawings of hunger
and began looking about for some of the fruit on which she had sustained
Page 6
herself since exhausting the food she had brought in her saddle-bags.
Ahead of her, presently, she saw an outcropping of dark, flint-like rock that
sloped upward into what looked like a rugged crag rising among the trees.
Its summit was lost to view amidst a cloud of encircling leaves. Perhaps its
peak rose above the tree-tops, and from it she could see what lay beyond—
if, indeed, anything lay beyond but more of this apparently illimitable forest
through which she had ridden for so many days.
A narrow ridge formed a natural ramp that led up the steep face of the crag.
After she had ascended some fifty feet she came to the belt of leaves that
surrounded the rock. The trunks of the trees did not crowd close to the crag,
but the ends of their lower branches extended about it, veiling it with their
foliage. She groped on in leafy obscurity, not able to see either above or
below her; but presently she glimpsed blue sky, and a moment later came
out in the clear, hot sunlight and saw the forest roof stretching away under
her feet.
She was standing on a broad shelf which was about even with the tree-tops,
and from it rose a spire-like jut that was the ultimate peak of the crag she
had climbed. But something else caught her attention at the moment. Her
foot had struck something in the litter of blown dead leaves which carpeted
the shelf. She kicked them aside and looked down on the skeleton of a man.
She ran an experienced eye over the bleached frame, but saw no broken
bones nor any sign of violence. The man must have died a natural death;
though why he should have climbed a tall crag to die she could not imagine.
he scrambled up to the summit of the spire and looked toward the horizons.
The forest roof—which looked like a floor from her vantage-point—was
just as impenetrable as from below. She could not even see the pool by
which she had left her horse. She glanced northward, in the direction from
which she had come. She saw only the rolling green ocean stretching away
and away, with only a vague blue line in the distance to hint of the hill-
range she had crossed days before, to plunge into this leafy waste.
Ahead of her, presently, she saw an outcropping of dark, flint-like rock that
sloped upward into what looked like a rugged crag rising among the trees.
Its summit was lost to view amidst a cloud of encircling leaves. Perhaps its
peak rose above the tree-tops, and from it she could see what lay beyond—
if, indeed, anything lay beyond but more of this apparently illimitable forest
through which she had ridden for so many days.
A narrow ridge formed a natural ramp that led up the steep face of the crag.
After she had ascended some fifty feet she came to the belt of leaves that
surrounded the rock. The trunks of the trees did not crowd close to the crag,
but the ends of their lower branches extended about it, veiling it with their
foliage. She groped on in leafy obscurity, not able to see either above or
below her; but presently she glimpsed blue sky, and a moment later came
out in the clear, hot sunlight and saw the forest roof stretching away under
her feet.
She was standing on a broad shelf which was about even with the tree-tops,
and from it rose a spire-like jut that was the ultimate peak of the crag she
had climbed. But something else caught her attention at the moment. Her
foot had struck something in the litter of blown dead leaves which carpeted
the shelf. She kicked them aside and looked down on the skeleton of a man.
She ran an experienced eye over the bleached frame, but saw no broken
bones nor any sign of violence. The man must have died a natural death;
though why he should have climbed a tall crag to die she could not imagine.
he scrambled up to the summit of the spire and looked toward the horizons.
The forest roof—which looked like a floor from her vantage-point—was
just as impenetrable as from below. She could not even see the pool by
which she had left her horse. She glanced northward, in the direction from
which she had come. She saw only the rolling green ocean stretching away
and away, with only a vague blue line in the distance to hint of the hill-
range she had crossed days before, to plunge into this leafy waste.
Page 7
S West
and
east
the view
was the
same;
though
the blue
hill-line
was
lacking in
those
directions
. But
when she
turned
her eyes
southwar
d she
stiffened
and
caught
her
breath. A "Convinced that his death was upon him, the Cimmerian acted according to his
mile instinct."
away in
that direction the forest thinned out and ceased abruptly, giving way to a
cactus-dotted plain. And in the midst of that plain rose the walls and towers
of a city. Valeria swore in amazement. This passed belief. She would not
have been surprised to sight human habitations of another sort—the
beehive-shaped huts of the black people, or the cliff-dwellings of the
mysterious brown race which legends declared inhabited some country of
this unexplored region. But it was a startling experience to come upon a
walled city here so many long weeks' march from the nearest outposts of
any sort of civilization.
and
east
the view
was the
same;
though
the blue
hill-line
was
lacking in
those
directions
. But
when she
turned
her eyes
southwar
d she
stiffened
and
caught
her
breath. A "Convinced that his death was upon him, the Cimmerian acted according to his
mile instinct."
away in
that direction the forest thinned out and ceased abruptly, giving way to a
cactus-dotted plain. And in the midst of that plain rose the walls and towers
of a city. Valeria swore in amazement. This passed belief. She would not
have been surprised to sight human habitations of another sort—the
beehive-shaped huts of the black people, or the cliff-dwellings of the
mysterious brown race which legends declared inhabited some country of
this unexplored region. But it was a startling experience to come upon a
walled city here so many long weeks' march from the nearest outposts of
any sort of civilization.
Page 8
Her hands tiring from clinging to the spire-like pinnacle, she let herself
down on the shelf, frowning in indecision. She had come far—from the
camp of the mercenaries by the border town of Sukhmet amidst the level
grasslands, where desperate adventurers of many races guard the Stygian
frontier against the raids that come up like a red wave from Darfar. Her
flight had been blind, into a country of which she was wholly ignorant. And
now she wavered between an urge to ride directly to that city in the plain,
and the instinct of caution which prompted her to skirt it widely and
continue her solitary flight.
Her thoughts were scattered by the rustling of the leaves below her. She
wheeled cat-like, snatched at her sword; and then she froze motionless,
staring wide-eyed at the man before her.
He was almost a giant in stature, muscles rippling smoothly under his skin
which the sun had burned brown. His garb was similar to hers, except that
he wore a broad leather belt instead of a girdle. Broadsword and poniard
hung from this belt.
"Conan, the Cimmerian!" ejaculated the woman. "What are you doing on
my trail?"
He grinned hardly, and his fierce blue eyes burned with a light any woman
could understand as they ran over her magnificent figure, lingering on the
swell of her splendid breasts beneath the light shirt, and the clear white
flesh displayed between breeches and boot-tops.
"Don't you know?" he laughed. "Haven't I made my admiration for you
plain ever since I first saw you?"
"A stallion could have made it no plainer," she answered disdainfully. "But I
never expected to encounter you so far from the ale-barrels and meat-pots
of Sukhmet. Did you really follow me from Zarallo's camp, or were you
whipped forth for a rogue?"
He laughed at her insolence and flexed his mighty biceps.
"You know Zarallo didn't have enough knaves to whip me out of camp," he
grinned. "Of course I followed you. Lucky thing for you, too, wench! When
down on the shelf, frowning in indecision. She had come far—from the
camp of the mercenaries by the border town of Sukhmet amidst the level
grasslands, where desperate adventurers of many races guard the Stygian
frontier against the raids that come up like a red wave from Darfar. Her
flight had been blind, into a country of which she was wholly ignorant. And
now she wavered between an urge to ride directly to that city in the plain,
and the instinct of caution which prompted her to skirt it widely and
continue her solitary flight.
Her thoughts were scattered by the rustling of the leaves below her. She
wheeled cat-like, snatched at her sword; and then she froze motionless,
staring wide-eyed at the man before her.
He was almost a giant in stature, muscles rippling smoothly under his skin
which the sun had burned brown. His garb was similar to hers, except that
he wore a broad leather belt instead of a girdle. Broadsword and poniard
hung from this belt.
"Conan, the Cimmerian!" ejaculated the woman. "What are you doing on
my trail?"
He grinned hardly, and his fierce blue eyes burned with a light any woman
could understand as they ran over her magnificent figure, lingering on the
swell of her splendid breasts beneath the light shirt, and the clear white
flesh displayed between breeches and boot-tops.
"Don't you know?" he laughed. "Haven't I made my admiration for you
plain ever since I first saw you?"
"A stallion could have made it no plainer," she answered disdainfully. "But I
never expected to encounter you so far from the ale-barrels and meat-pots
of Sukhmet. Did you really follow me from Zarallo's camp, or were you
whipped forth for a rogue?"
He laughed at her insolence and flexed his mighty biceps.
"You know Zarallo didn't have enough knaves to whip me out of camp," he
grinned. "Of course I followed you. Lucky thing for you, too, wench! When
Page 9
you knifed that Stygian officer, you forfeited Zarallo's favor and protection,
and you outlawed yourself with the Stygians."
"I know it," she replied sullenly. "But what else could I do? You know what
my provocation was."
"Sure," he agreed. "If I'd been there, I'd have knifed him myself. But if a
woman must live in the war-camps of men, she can expect such things."
Valeria stamped her booted foot and swore.
"Why won't men let me live a man's life?"
"That's obvious!" Again his eager eyes devoured her. "But you were wise to
run away. The Stygians would have had you skinned. That officer's brother
followed you; faster than you thought, I don't doubt. He wasn't far behind
you when I caught up with him. His horse was better than yours. He'd have
caught you and cut your throat within a few more miles."
"Well?" she demanded.
"Well what?" He seemed puzzled.
"What of the Stygian?"
"Why, what do you suppose?" he returned impatiently. "I killed him, of
course, and left his carcass for the vultures. That delayed me, though, and I
almost lost your trail when you crossed the rocky spurs of the hills.
Otherwise I'd have caught up with you long ago."
"And now you think you'll drag me back to Zarallo's camp?" she sneered.
"Don't talk like a fool," he grunted. "Come, girl, don't be such a spitfire. I'm
not like that Stygian you knifed, and you know it."
"A penniless vagabond," she taunted.
He laughed at her.
"What do you call yourself? You haven't enough money to buy a new seat
for your breeches. Your disdain doesn't deceive me. You know I've
commanded bigger ships and more men than you ever did in your life. As
and you outlawed yourself with the Stygians."
"I know it," she replied sullenly. "But what else could I do? You know what
my provocation was."
"Sure," he agreed. "If I'd been there, I'd have knifed him myself. But if a
woman must live in the war-camps of men, she can expect such things."
Valeria stamped her booted foot and swore.
"Why won't men let me live a man's life?"
"That's obvious!" Again his eager eyes devoured her. "But you were wise to
run away. The Stygians would have had you skinned. That officer's brother
followed you; faster than you thought, I don't doubt. He wasn't far behind
you when I caught up with him. His horse was better than yours. He'd have
caught you and cut your throat within a few more miles."
"Well?" she demanded.
"Well what?" He seemed puzzled.
"What of the Stygian?"
"Why, what do you suppose?" he returned impatiently. "I killed him, of
course, and left his carcass for the vultures. That delayed me, though, and I
almost lost your trail when you crossed the rocky spurs of the hills.
Otherwise I'd have caught up with you long ago."
"And now you think you'll drag me back to Zarallo's camp?" she sneered.
"Don't talk like a fool," he grunted. "Come, girl, don't be such a spitfire. I'm
not like that Stygian you knifed, and you know it."
"A penniless vagabond," she taunted.
He laughed at her.
"What do you call yourself? You haven't enough money to buy a new seat
for your breeches. Your disdain doesn't deceive me. You know I've
commanded bigger ships and more men than you ever did in your life. As
Page 10
for being penniless—what rover isn't, most of the time? I've squandered
enough gold in the sea-ports of the world to fill a galleon. You know that,
too."
"Where are the fine ships and the bold lads you commanded, now?" she
sneered.
"At the bottom of the sea, mostly," he replied cheerfully. "The Zingarans
sank my last ship off the Shemite shore—that's why I joined Zarallo's Free
Companions. But I saw I'd been stung when we marched to the Darfar
border. The pay was poor and the wine was sour, and I don't like black
women. And that's the only kind that came to our camp at Sukhmet—rings
in their noses and their teeth filed—bah! Why did you join Zarallo?
Sukhmet's a long way from salt water."
"Red Ortho wanted to make me his mistress," she answered sullenly. "I
jumped overboard one night and swam ashore when we were anchored off
the Kushite coast. Off Zabhela, it was. There a Shemite trader told me that
Zarallo had brought his Free Companies south to guard the Darfar border.
No better employment offered. I joined an east-bound caravan and
eventually came to Sukhmet."
"I t was madness to plunge southward as you did," commented Conan,
"but it was wise, too, for Zarallo's patrols never thought to look for
you in this direction. Only the brother of the man you killed happened
to strike your trail."
"And now what do you intend doing?" she demanded.
"Turn west," he answered. "I've been this far south, but not this far east.
Many days' traveling to the west will bring us to the open savannas, where
the black tribes graze their cattle. I have friends among them. We'll get to
the coast and find a ship. I'm sick of the jungle."
"Then be on your way," she advised. "I have other plans."
enough gold in the sea-ports of the world to fill a galleon. You know that,
too."
"Where are the fine ships and the bold lads you commanded, now?" she
sneered.
"At the bottom of the sea, mostly," he replied cheerfully. "The Zingarans
sank my last ship off the Shemite shore—that's why I joined Zarallo's Free
Companions. But I saw I'd been stung when we marched to the Darfar
border. The pay was poor and the wine was sour, and I don't like black
women. And that's the only kind that came to our camp at Sukhmet—rings
in their noses and their teeth filed—bah! Why did you join Zarallo?
Sukhmet's a long way from salt water."
"Red Ortho wanted to make me his mistress," she answered sullenly. "I
jumped overboard one night and swam ashore when we were anchored off
the Kushite coast. Off Zabhela, it was. There a Shemite trader told me that
Zarallo had brought his Free Companies south to guard the Darfar border.
No better employment offered. I joined an east-bound caravan and
eventually came to Sukhmet."
"I t was madness to plunge southward as you did," commented Conan,
"but it was wise, too, for Zarallo's patrols never thought to look for
you in this direction. Only the brother of the man you killed happened
to strike your trail."
"And now what do you intend doing?" she demanded.
"Turn west," he answered. "I've been this far south, but not this far east.
Many days' traveling to the west will bring us to the open savannas, where
the black tribes graze their cattle. I have friends among them. We'll get to
the coast and find a ship. I'm sick of the jungle."
"Then be on your way," she advised. "I have other plans."
Page 11
"Don't be a fool!" He showed irritation for the first time. "You can't keep on
wandering through this forest."
"I can if I choose."
"But what do you intend doing?"
"That's none of your affair," she snapped.
"Yes, it is," he answered calmly. "Do you think I've followed you this far, to
turn around and ride off empty-handed? Be sensible, wench. I'm not going
to harm you."
He stepped toward her, and she sprang back, whipping out her sword.
"Keep back, you barbarian dog! I'll spit you like a roast pig!"
He halted, reluctantly, and demanded: "Do you want me to take that toy
away from you and spank you with it?"
"Words! Nothing but words!" she mocked, lights like the gleam of the sun
on blue water dancing in her reckless eyes.
He knew it was the truth. No living man could disarm Valeria of the
Brotherhood with his bare hands. He scowled, his sensations a tangle of
conflicting emotions. He was angry, yet he was amused and filled with
admiration for her spirit. He burned with eagerness to seize that splendid
figure and crush it in his iron arms, yet he greatly desired not to hurt the
girl. He was torn between a desire to shake her soundly, and a desire to
caress her. He knew if he came any nearer her sword would be sheathed in
his heart. He had seen Valeria kill too many men in border forays and tavern
brawls to have any illusions about her. He knew she was as quick and
ferocious as a tigress. He could draw his broadsword and disarm her, beat
the blade out of her hand, but the thought of drawing a sword on a woman,
even without intent of injury, was extremely repugnant to him.
"Blast your soul, you hussy!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm going to
take off your——"
He started toward her, his angry passion making him reckless, and she
poised herself for a deadly thrust. Then came a startling interruption to a
wandering through this forest."
"I can if I choose."
"But what do you intend doing?"
"That's none of your affair," she snapped.
"Yes, it is," he answered calmly. "Do you think I've followed you this far, to
turn around and ride off empty-handed? Be sensible, wench. I'm not going
to harm you."
He stepped toward her, and she sprang back, whipping out her sword.
"Keep back, you barbarian dog! I'll spit you like a roast pig!"
He halted, reluctantly, and demanded: "Do you want me to take that toy
away from you and spank you with it?"
"Words! Nothing but words!" she mocked, lights like the gleam of the sun
on blue water dancing in her reckless eyes.
He knew it was the truth. No living man could disarm Valeria of the
Brotherhood with his bare hands. He scowled, his sensations a tangle of
conflicting emotions. He was angry, yet he was amused and filled with
admiration for her spirit. He burned with eagerness to seize that splendid
figure and crush it in his iron arms, yet he greatly desired not to hurt the
girl. He was torn between a desire to shake her soundly, and a desire to
caress her. He knew if he came any nearer her sword would be sheathed in
his heart. He had seen Valeria kill too many men in border forays and tavern
brawls to have any illusions about her. He knew she was as quick and
ferocious as a tigress. He could draw his broadsword and disarm her, beat
the blade out of her hand, but the thought of drawing a sword on a woman,
even without intent of injury, was extremely repugnant to him.
"Blast your soul, you hussy!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm going to
take off your——"
He started toward her, his angry passion making him reckless, and she
poised herself for a deadly thrust. Then came a startling interruption to a
Page 12
scene at once ludicrous and perilous.
"What's that?"
It was Valeria who exclaimed, but they both started violently, and Conan
wheeled like a cat, his great sword flashing into his hand. Back in the forest
had burst forth an appalling medley of screams—the screams of horses in
terror and agony. Mingled with their screams there came the snap of
splintering bones.
"Lions are slaying the horses!" cried Valeria.
"Lions, nothing!" snorted Conan, his eyes blazing. "Did you hear a lion
roar? Neither did I! Listen at those bones snap—not even a lion could make
that much noise killing a horse."
H e hurried down the natural ramp and she followed, their personal feud
forgotten in the adventurers' instinct to unite against common peril.
The screams had ceased when they worked their way downward
through the green veil of leaves that brushed the rock.
"I found your horse tied by the pool back there," he muttered, treading so
noiselessly that she no longer wondered how he had surprised her on the
crag. "I tied mine beside it and followed the tracks of your boots. Watch,
now!"
They had emerged from the belt of leaves, and stared down into the lower
reaches of the forest. Above them the green roof spread its dusky canopy.
Below them the sunlight filtered in just enough to make a jade-tinted
twilight. The giant trunks of trees less than a hundred yards away looked
dim and ghostly.
"The horses should be beyond that thicket, over there," whispered Conan,
and his voice might have been a breeze moving through the branches.
"Listen!"
"What's that?"
It was Valeria who exclaimed, but they both started violently, and Conan
wheeled like a cat, his great sword flashing into his hand. Back in the forest
had burst forth an appalling medley of screams—the screams of horses in
terror and agony. Mingled with their screams there came the snap of
splintering bones.
"Lions are slaying the horses!" cried Valeria.
"Lions, nothing!" snorted Conan, his eyes blazing. "Did you hear a lion
roar? Neither did I! Listen at those bones snap—not even a lion could make
that much noise killing a horse."
H e hurried down the natural ramp and she followed, their personal feud
forgotten in the adventurers' instinct to unite against common peril.
The screams had ceased when they worked their way downward
through the green veil of leaves that brushed the rock.
"I found your horse tied by the pool back there," he muttered, treading so
noiselessly that she no longer wondered how he had surprised her on the
crag. "I tied mine beside it and followed the tracks of your boots. Watch,
now!"
They had emerged from the belt of leaves, and stared down into the lower
reaches of the forest. Above them the green roof spread its dusky canopy.
Below them the sunlight filtered in just enough to make a jade-tinted
twilight. The giant trunks of trees less than a hundred yards away looked
dim and ghostly.
"The horses should be beyond that thicket, over there," whispered Conan,
and his voice might have been a breeze moving through the branches.
"Listen!"
Page 13
Valeria had already heard, and a chill crept through her veins; so she
unconsciously laid her white hand on her companion's muscular brown arm.
From beyond the thicket came the noisy crunching of bones and the loud
rending of flesh, together with the grinding, slobbering sounds of a horrible
feast.
"Lions wouldn't make that noise," whispered Conan. "Something's eating
our horses, but it's not a lion—Crom!"
The noise stopped suddenly, and Conan swore softly. A suddenly risen
breeze was blowing from them directly toward the spot where the unseen
slayer was hidden.
"Here it comes!" muttered Conan, half lifting his sword.
The thicket was violently agitated, and Valeria clutched Conan's arm hard.
Ignorant of jungle-lore, she yet knew that no animal she had ever seen
could have shaken the tall brush like that.
"It must be as big as an elephant," muttered Conan, echoing her thought.
"What the devil——" His voice trailed away in stunned silence.
Through the thicket was thrust a head of nightmare and lunacy. Grinning
jaws bared rows of dripping yellow tusks; above the yawning mouth
wrinkled a saurian-like snout. Huge eyes, like those of a python a thousand
times magnified, stared unwinkingly at the petrified humans clinging to the
rock above it. Blood smeared the scaly, flabby lips and dripped from the
huge mouth.
The head, bigger than that of a crocodile, was further extended on a long
scaled neck on which stood up rows of serrated spikes, and after it, crushing
down the briars and saplings, waddled the body of a titan, a gigantic, barrel-
bellied torso on absurdly short legs. The whitish belly almost raked the
ground, while the serrated back-bone rose higher than Conan could have
reached on tiptoe. A long spiked tail, like that of a gargantuan scorpion,
trailed out behind.
"Back up the crag, quick!" snapped Conan, thrusting the girl behind him. "I
don't think he can climb, but he can stand on his hind-legs and reach us
——"
unconsciously laid her white hand on her companion's muscular brown arm.
From beyond the thicket came the noisy crunching of bones and the loud
rending of flesh, together with the grinding, slobbering sounds of a horrible
feast.
"Lions wouldn't make that noise," whispered Conan. "Something's eating
our horses, but it's not a lion—Crom!"
The noise stopped suddenly, and Conan swore softly. A suddenly risen
breeze was blowing from them directly toward the spot where the unseen
slayer was hidden.
"Here it comes!" muttered Conan, half lifting his sword.
The thicket was violently agitated, and Valeria clutched Conan's arm hard.
Ignorant of jungle-lore, she yet knew that no animal she had ever seen
could have shaken the tall brush like that.
"It must be as big as an elephant," muttered Conan, echoing her thought.
"What the devil——" His voice trailed away in stunned silence.
Through the thicket was thrust a head of nightmare and lunacy. Grinning
jaws bared rows of dripping yellow tusks; above the yawning mouth
wrinkled a saurian-like snout. Huge eyes, like those of a python a thousand
times magnified, stared unwinkingly at the petrified humans clinging to the
rock above it. Blood smeared the scaly, flabby lips and dripped from the
huge mouth.
The head, bigger than that of a crocodile, was further extended on a long
scaled neck on which stood up rows of serrated spikes, and after it, crushing
down the briars and saplings, waddled the body of a titan, a gigantic, barrel-
bellied torso on absurdly short legs. The whitish belly almost raked the
ground, while the serrated back-bone rose higher than Conan could have
reached on tiptoe. A long spiked tail, like that of a gargantuan scorpion,
trailed out behind.
"Back up the crag, quick!" snapped Conan, thrusting the girl behind him. "I
don't think he can climb, but he can stand on his hind-legs and reach us
——"
Page 14
With a snapping and rending of bushes and saplings the monster came
hurtling through the thickets, and they fled up the rock before him like
leaves blown before a wind. As Valeria plunged into the leafy screen a
backward glance showed her the titan rearing up fearsomely on his massive
hind-legs, even as Conan had predicted. The sight sent panic racing through
her. As he reared, the beast seemed more gigantic than ever; his snouted
head towered among the trees. Then Conan's iron hand closed on her wrist
and she was jerked headlong into the blinding welter of the leaves, and out
again into the hot sunshine above, just as the monster fell forward with his
front feet on the crag with an impact that made the rock vibrate.
B ehind the fugitives the huge head crashed through the twigs, and they
looked down for a horrifying instant at the nightmare visage framed
among the green leaves, eyes flaming, jaws gaping. Then the giant
tusks clashed together futilely, and after that the head was withdrawn,
vanishing from their sight as if it had sunk in a pool.
Peering down through broken branches that scraped the rock, they saw it
squatting on its haunches at the foot of the crag, staring unblinkingly up at
them.
Valeria shuddered.
"How long do you suppose he'll crouch there?"
Conan kicked the skull on the leaf-strewn shelf.
"That fellow must have climbed up here to escape him, or one like him. He
must have died of starvation. There are no bones broken. That thing must be
a dragon, such as the black people speak of in their legends. If so, it won't
leave here until we're both dead."
Valeria looked at him blankly, her resentment forgotten. She fought down a
surging of panic. She had proved her reckless courage a thousand times in
wild battles on sea and land, on the blood-slippery decks of burning war-
ships, in the storming of walled cities, and on the trampled sandy beaches
where the desperate men of the Red Brotherhood bathed their knives in one
hurtling through the thickets, and they fled up the rock before him like
leaves blown before a wind. As Valeria plunged into the leafy screen a
backward glance showed her the titan rearing up fearsomely on his massive
hind-legs, even as Conan had predicted. The sight sent panic racing through
her. As he reared, the beast seemed more gigantic than ever; his snouted
head towered among the trees. Then Conan's iron hand closed on her wrist
and she was jerked headlong into the blinding welter of the leaves, and out
again into the hot sunshine above, just as the monster fell forward with his
front feet on the crag with an impact that made the rock vibrate.
B ehind the fugitives the huge head crashed through the twigs, and they
looked down for a horrifying instant at the nightmare visage framed
among the green leaves, eyes flaming, jaws gaping. Then the giant
tusks clashed together futilely, and after that the head was withdrawn,
vanishing from their sight as if it had sunk in a pool.
Peering down through broken branches that scraped the rock, they saw it
squatting on its haunches at the foot of the crag, staring unblinkingly up at
them.
Valeria shuddered.
"How long do you suppose he'll crouch there?"
Conan kicked the skull on the leaf-strewn shelf.
"That fellow must have climbed up here to escape him, or one like him. He
must have died of starvation. There are no bones broken. That thing must be
a dragon, such as the black people speak of in their legends. If so, it won't
leave here until we're both dead."
Valeria looked at him blankly, her resentment forgotten. She fought down a
surging of panic. She had proved her reckless courage a thousand times in
wild battles on sea and land, on the blood-slippery decks of burning war-
ships, in the storming of walled cities, and on the trampled sandy beaches
where the desperate men of the Red Brotherhood bathed their knives in one
Page 15
another's blood in their fights for leadership. But the prospect now
confronting her congealed her blood. A cutlas-stroke in the heat of battle
was nothing; but to sit idle and helpless on a bare rock until she perished of
starvation, besieged by a monstrous survival of an elder age—the thought
sent panic throbbing through her brain.
"He must leave to eat and drink," she said helplessly.
"He won't have to go far to do either," Conan pointed out. "He's just gorged
on horse-meat, and like a real snake, he can go for a long time without
eating or drinking again. But he doesn't sleep after eating, like a real snake,
it seems. Anyway, he can't climb this crag."
Conan spoke imperturbably. He was a barbarian, and the terrible patience of
the wilderness and its children was as much a part of him as his lusts and
rages. He could endure a situation like this with a coolness impossible to a
civilized person.
"Can't we get into the trees and get away, traveling like apes through the
branches?" she asked desperately.
He shook his head. "I thought of that. The branches that touch the crag
down there are too light. They'd break with our weight. Besides, I have an
idea that devil could tear up any tree around here by its roots."
"Well, are we going to sit here on our rumps until we starve, like that?" she
cried furiously, kicking the skull clattering across the ledge. "I won't do it!
I'll go down there and cut his damned head off——"
Conan had seated himself on a rocky projection at the foot of the spire. He
looked up with a glint of admiration at her blazing eyes and tense, quivering
figure, but, realizing that she was in just the mood for any madness, he let
none of his admiration sound in his voice.
"Sit down," he grunted, catching her by her wrist and pulling her down on
his knee. She was too surprised to resist as he took her sword from her hand
and shoved it back in its sheath. "Sit still and calm down. You'd only break
your steel on his scales. He'd gobble you up at one gulp, or smash you like
an egg with that spiked tail of his. We'll get out of this jam some way, but
we shan't do it by getting chewed up and swallowed."
confronting her congealed her blood. A cutlas-stroke in the heat of battle
was nothing; but to sit idle and helpless on a bare rock until she perished of
starvation, besieged by a monstrous survival of an elder age—the thought
sent panic throbbing through her brain.
"He must leave to eat and drink," she said helplessly.
"He won't have to go far to do either," Conan pointed out. "He's just gorged
on horse-meat, and like a real snake, he can go for a long time without
eating or drinking again. But he doesn't sleep after eating, like a real snake,
it seems. Anyway, he can't climb this crag."
Conan spoke imperturbably. He was a barbarian, and the terrible patience of
the wilderness and its children was as much a part of him as his lusts and
rages. He could endure a situation like this with a coolness impossible to a
civilized person.
"Can't we get into the trees and get away, traveling like apes through the
branches?" she asked desperately.
He shook his head. "I thought of that. The branches that touch the crag
down there are too light. They'd break with our weight. Besides, I have an
idea that devil could tear up any tree around here by its roots."
"Well, are we going to sit here on our rumps until we starve, like that?" she
cried furiously, kicking the skull clattering across the ledge. "I won't do it!
I'll go down there and cut his damned head off——"
Conan had seated himself on a rocky projection at the foot of the spire. He
looked up with a glint of admiration at her blazing eyes and tense, quivering
figure, but, realizing that she was in just the mood for any madness, he let
none of his admiration sound in his voice.
"Sit down," he grunted, catching her by her wrist and pulling her down on
his knee. She was too surprised to resist as he took her sword from her hand
and shoved it back in its sheath. "Sit still and calm down. You'd only break
your steel on his scales. He'd gobble you up at one gulp, or smash you like
an egg with that spiked tail of his. We'll get out of this jam some way, but
we shan't do it by getting chewed up and swallowed."
Page 16
She made no reply, nor did she seek to repulse his arm from about her
waist. She was frightened, and the sensation was new to Valeria of the Red
Brotherhood. So she sat on her companion's—or captor's—knee with a
docility that would have amazed Zarallo, who had anathematized her as a
she-devil out of hell's seraglio.
Conan played idly with her curly yellow locks, seemingly intent only upon
his conquest. Neither the skeleton at his feet nor the monster crouching
below disturbed his mind or dulled the edge of his interest.
The girl's restless eyes, roving the leaves below them, discovered splashes
of color among the green. It was fruit, large, darkly crimson globes
suspended from the boughs of a tree whose broad leaves were a peculiarly
rich and vivid green. She became aware of both thirst and hunger, though
thirst had not assailed her until she knew she could not descend from the
crag to find food and water.
"We need not starve," she said. "There is fruit we can reach."
Conan glanced where she pointed.
"If we ate that we wouldn't need the bite of a dragon," he grunted. "That's
what the black people of Kush call the Apples of Derketa. Derketa is the
Queen of the Dead. Drink a little of the juice, or spill it on your flesh, and
you'd be dead before you could tumble to the foot of this crag."
"Oh!"
She lapsed into dismayed silence. There seemed no way out of their
predicament, she reflected gloomily. She saw no way of escape, and Conan
seemed to be concerned only with her supple waist and curly tresses. If he
was trying to formulate a plan of escape, he did not show it.
"If you'll take your hands off me long enough to climb up on that peak," she
said presently, "you'll see something that will surprise you."
He cast her a questioning glance, then obeyed with a shrug of his massive
shoulders. Clinging to the spire-like pinnacle, he stared out over the forest
roof.
waist. She was frightened, and the sensation was new to Valeria of the Red
Brotherhood. So she sat on her companion's—or captor's—knee with a
docility that would have amazed Zarallo, who had anathematized her as a
she-devil out of hell's seraglio.
Conan played idly with her curly yellow locks, seemingly intent only upon
his conquest. Neither the skeleton at his feet nor the monster crouching
below disturbed his mind or dulled the edge of his interest.
The girl's restless eyes, roving the leaves below them, discovered splashes
of color among the green. It was fruit, large, darkly crimson globes
suspended from the boughs of a tree whose broad leaves were a peculiarly
rich and vivid green. She became aware of both thirst and hunger, though
thirst had not assailed her until she knew she could not descend from the
crag to find food and water.
"We need not starve," she said. "There is fruit we can reach."
Conan glanced where she pointed.
"If we ate that we wouldn't need the bite of a dragon," he grunted. "That's
what the black people of Kush call the Apples of Derketa. Derketa is the
Queen of the Dead. Drink a little of the juice, or spill it on your flesh, and
you'd be dead before you could tumble to the foot of this crag."
"Oh!"
She lapsed into dismayed silence. There seemed no way out of their
predicament, she reflected gloomily. She saw no way of escape, and Conan
seemed to be concerned only with her supple waist and curly tresses. If he
was trying to formulate a plan of escape, he did not show it.
"If you'll take your hands off me long enough to climb up on that peak," she
said presently, "you'll see something that will surprise you."
He cast her a questioning glance, then obeyed with a shrug of his massive
shoulders. Clinging to the spire-like pinnacle, he stared out over the forest
roof.
Page 17
H e stood a long moment in silence, posed like a bronze statue on the
rock.
"It's a walled city, right enough," he muttered presently. "Was that where
you were going, when you tried to send me off alone to the coast?"
"I saw it before you came. I knew nothing of it when I left Sukhmet."
"Who'd have thought to find a city here? I don't believe the Stygians ever
penetrated this far. Could black people build a city like that? I see no herds
on the plain, no signs of cultivation, or people moving about."
"How could you hope to see all that, at this distance?" she demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders and dropped down on the shelf.
"Well, the folk of the city can't help us just now. And they might not, if they
could. The people of the Black Countries are generally hostile to strangers.
Probably stick us full of spears——"
He stopped short and stood silent, as if he had forgotten what he was
saying, frowning down at the crimson spheres gleaming among the leaves.
"Spears!" he muttered. "What a blasted fool I am not to have thought of that
before! That shows what a pretty woman does to a man's mind."
"What are you talking about?" she inquired.
Without answering her question, he descended to the belt of leaves and
looked down through them. The great brute squatted below, watching the
crag with the frightful patience of the reptile folk. So might one of his breed
have glared up at their troglodyte ancestors, treed on a high-flung rock, in
the dim dawn ages. Conan cursed him without heat, and began cutting
branches, reaching out and severing them as far from the end as he could
reach. The agitation of the leaves made the monster restless. He rose from
his haunches and lashed his hideous tail, snapping off saplings as if they
had been toothpicks. Conan watched him warily from the corner of his eye,
and just as Valeria believed the dragon was about to hurl himself up the crag
again, the Cimmerian drew back and climbed up to the ledge with the
rock.
"It's a walled city, right enough," he muttered presently. "Was that where
you were going, when you tried to send me off alone to the coast?"
"I saw it before you came. I knew nothing of it when I left Sukhmet."
"Who'd have thought to find a city here? I don't believe the Stygians ever
penetrated this far. Could black people build a city like that? I see no herds
on the plain, no signs of cultivation, or people moving about."
"How could you hope to see all that, at this distance?" she demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders and dropped down on the shelf.
"Well, the folk of the city can't help us just now. And they might not, if they
could. The people of the Black Countries are generally hostile to strangers.
Probably stick us full of spears——"
He stopped short and stood silent, as if he had forgotten what he was
saying, frowning down at the crimson spheres gleaming among the leaves.
"Spears!" he muttered. "What a blasted fool I am not to have thought of that
before! That shows what a pretty woman does to a man's mind."
"What are you talking about?" she inquired.
Without answering her question, he descended to the belt of leaves and
looked down through them. The great brute squatted below, watching the
crag with the frightful patience of the reptile folk. So might one of his breed
have glared up at their troglodyte ancestors, treed on a high-flung rock, in
the dim dawn ages. Conan cursed him without heat, and began cutting
branches, reaching out and severing them as far from the end as he could
reach. The agitation of the leaves made the monster restless. He rose from
his haunches and lashed his hideous tail, snapping off saplings as if they
had been toothpicks. Conan watched him warily from the corner of his eye,
and just as Valeria believed the dragon was about to hurl himself up the crag
again, the Cimmerian drew back and climbed up to the ledge with the
Page 18
branches he had cut. There were three of these, slender shafts about seven
feet long, but not larger than his thumb. He had also cut several strands of
tough, thin vine.
"Branches too light for spear-hafts, and creepers no thicker than cords," he
remarked, indicating the foliage about the crag. "It won't hold our weight—
but there's strength in union. That's what the Aquilonian renegades used to
tell us Cimmerians when they came into the hills to raise an army to invade
their own country. But we always fight by clans and tribes."
"What the devil has that got to do with those sticks?" she demanded.
"You wait and see."
Gathering the sticks in a compact bundle, he wedged his poniard hilt
between them at one end. Then with the vines he bound them together, and
when he had completed his task, he had a spear of no small strength, with a
sturdy shaft seven feet in length.
"What good will that do?" she demanded. "You told me that a blade couldn't
pierce his scales——"
"He hasn't got scales all over him," answered Conan. "There's more than
one way of skinning a panther."
Moving down to the edge of the leaves, he reached the spear up and
carefully thrust the blade through one of the Apples of Derketa, drawing
aside to avoid the darkly purple drops that dripped from the pierced fruit.
Presently he withdrew the blade and showed her the blue steel stained a dull
purplish crimson.
"I don't know whether it will do the job or not," quoth he. "There's enough
poison there to kill an elephant, but—well, we'll see."
V aleria was close behind him as he let himself down among the leaves.
Cautiously holding the poisoned pike away from him, he thrust his
head through the branches and addressed the monster.
feet long, but not larger than his thumb. He had also cut several strands of
tough, thin vine.
"Branches too light for spear-hafts, and creepers no thicker than cords," he
remarked, indicating the foliage about the crag. "It won't hold our weight—
but there's strength in union. That's what the Aquilonian renegades used to
tell us Cimmerians when they came into the hills to raise an army to invade
their own country. But we always fight by clans and tribes."
"What the devil has that got to do with those sticks?" she demanded.
"You wait and see."
Gathering the sticks in a compact bundle, he wedged his poniard hilt
between them at one end. Then with the vines he bound them together, and
when he had completed his task, he had a spear of no small strength, with a
sturdy shaft seven feet in length.
"What good will that do?" she demanded. "You told me that a blade couldn't
pierce his scales——"
"He hasn't got scales all over him," answered Conan. "There's more than
one way of skinning a panther."
Moving down to the edge of the leaves, he reached the spear up and
carefully thrust the blade through one of the Apples of Derketa, drawing
aside to avoid the darkly purple drops that dripped from the pierced fruit.
Presently he withdrew the blade and showed her the blue steel stained a dull
purplish crimson.
"I don't know whether it will do the job or not," quoth he. "There's enough
poison there to kill an elephant, but—well, we'll see."
V aleria was close behind him as he let himself down among the leaves.
Cautiously holding the poisoned pike away from him, he thrust his
head through the branches and addressed the monster.
Page 19
"What are you waiting down there for, you misbegotten offspring of
questionable parents?" was one of his more printable queries. "Stick your
ugly head up here again, you long-necked brute—or do you want me to
come down there and kick you loose from your illegitimate spine?"
There was more of it—some of it couched in eloquence that made Valeria
stare, in spite of her profane education among the seafarers. And it had its
effect on the monster. Just as the incessant yapping of a dog worries and
enrages more constitutionally silent animals, so the clamorous voice of a
man rouses fear in some bestial bosoms and insane rage in others. Suddenly
and with appalling quickness, the mastodonic brute reared up on its mighty
hind legs and elongated its neck and body in a furious effort to reach this
vociferous pigmy whose clamor was disturbing the primeval silence of its
ancient realm.
But Conan had judged his distance with precision. Some five feet below
him the mighty head crashed terribly but futilely through the leaves. And as
the monstrous mouth gaped like that of a great snake, Conan drove his
spear into the red angle of the jaw-bone hinge. He struck downward with all
the strength of both arms, driving the long poniard blade to the hilt in flesh,
sinew and bone.
Instantly the jaws clashed convulsively together, severing the triple-pieced
shaft and almost precipitating Conan from his perch. He would have fallen
but for the girl behind him, who caught his sword-belt in a desperate grasp.
He clutched at a rocky projection, and grinned his thanks back at her.
Down on the ground the monster was wallowing like a dog with pepper in
its eyes. He shook his head from side to side, pawed at it, and opened his
mouth repeatedly to its widest extent. Presently he got a huge front foot on
the stump of the shaft and managed to tear the blade out. Then he threw up
his head, jaws wide and spouting blood, and glared up at the crag with such
concentrated and intelligent fury that Valeria trembled and drew her sword.
The scales along his back and flanks turned from rusty brown to a dull lurid
red. Most horribly the monster's silence was broken. The sounds that issued
from his blood-streaming jaws did not sound like anything that could have
been produced by an earthly creation.
questionable parents?" was one of his more printable queries. "Stick your
ugly head up here again, you long-necked brute—or do you want me to
come down there and kick you loose from your illegitimate spine?"
There was more of it—some of it couched in eloquence that made Valeria
stare, in spite of her profane education among the seafarers. And it had its
effect on the monster. Just as the incessant yapping of a dog worries and
enrages more constitutionally silent animals, so the clamorous voice of a
man rouses fear in some bestial bosoms and insane rage in others. Suddenly
and with appalling quickness, the mastodonic brute reared up on its mighty
hind legs and elongated its neck and body in a furious effort to reach this
vociferous pigmy whose clamor was disturbing the primeval silence of its
ancient realm.
But Conan had judged his distance with precision. Some five feet below
him the mighty head crashed terribly but futilely through the leaves. And as
the monstrous mouth gaped like that of a great snake, Conan drove his
spear into the red angle of the jaw-bone hinge. He struck downward with all
the strength of both arms, driving the long poniard blade to the hilt in flesh,
sinew and bone.
Instantly the jaws clashed convulsively together, severing the triple-pieced
shaft and almost precipitating Conan from his perch. He would have fallen
but for the girl behind him, who caught his sword-belt in a desperate grasp.
He clutched at a rocky projection, and grinned his thanks back at her.
Down on the ground the monster was wallowing like a dog with pepper in
its eyes. He shook his head from side to side, pawed at it, and opened his
mouth repeatedly to its widest extent. Presently he got a huge front foot on
the stump of the shaft and managed to tear the blade out. Then he threw up
his head, jaws wide and spouting blood, and glared up at the crag with such
concentrated and intelligent fury that Valeria trembled and drew her sword.
The scales along his back and flanks turned from rusty brown to a dull lurid
red. Most horribly the monster's silence was broken. The sounds that issued
from his blood-streaming jaws did not sound like anything that could have
been produced by an earthly creation.
Page 20
With harsh, grating roars, the dragon hurled himself at the crag that was the
citadel of his enemies. Again and again his mighty head crashed upward
through the branches, snapping vainly on empty air. He hurled his full
ponderous weight against the rock until it vibrated from base to crest. And
rearing upright he gripped it with his front legs like a man and tried to tear
it up by the roots, as if it had been a tree.
This exhibition of primordial fury chilled the blood in Valeria's veins, but
Conan was too close to the primitive himself to feel anything but a
comprehending interest. To the barbarian, no such gulf existed between
himself and other men, and the animals, as existed in the conception of
Valeria. The monster below them, to Conan, was merely a form of life
differing from himself mainly in physical shape. He attributed to it
characteristics similar to his own, and saw in its wrath a counterpart of his
rages, in its roars and bellowings merely reptilian equivalents to the curses
he had bestowed upon it. Feeling a kinship with all wild things, even
dragons, it was impossible for him to experience the sick horror which
assailed Valeria at the sight of the brute's ferocity.
He sat watching it tranquilly, and pointed out the various changes that were
taking place in its voice and actions.
"The poison's taking hold," he said with conviction.
"I don't believe it." To Valeria it seemed preposterous to suppose that
anything, however lethal, could have any effect on that mountain of muscle
and fury.
"There's pain in his voice," declared Conan. "First he was merely angry
because of the stinging in his jaw. Now he feels the bite of the poison.
Look! He's staggering. He'll be blind in a few more minutes. What did I tell
you?"
For suddenly the dragon had lurched about and went crashing off through
the bushes.
"Is he running away?" inquired Valeria uneasily.
"He's making for the pool!" Conan sprang up, galvanized into swift activity.
"The poison makes him thirsty. Come on! He'll be blind in a few moments,
citadel of his enemies. Again and again his mighty head crashed upward
through the branches, snapping vainly on empty air. He hurled his full
ponderous weight against the rock until it vibrated from base to crest. And
rearing upright he gripped it with his front legs like a man and tried to tear
it up by the roots, as if it had been a tree.
This exhibition of primordial fury chilled the blood in Valeria's veins, but
Conan was too close to the primitive himself to feel anything but a
comprehending interest. To the barbarian, no such gulf existed between
himself and other men, and the animals, as existed in the conception of
Valeria. The monster below them, to Conan, was merely a form of life
differing from himself mainly in physical shape. He attributed to it
characteristics similar to his own, and saw in its wrath a counterpart of his
rages, in its roars and bellowings merely reptilian equivalents to the curses
he had bestowed upon it. Feeling a kinship with all wild things, even
dragons, it was impossible for him to experience the sick horror which
assailed Valeria at the sight of the brute's ferocity.
He sat watching it tranquilly, and pointed out the various changes that were
taking place in its voice and actions.
"The poison's taking hold," he said with conviction.
"I don't believe it." To Valeria it seemed preposterous to suppose that
anything, however lethal, could have any effect on that mountain of muscle
and fury.
"There's pain in his voice," declared Conan. "First he was merely angry
because of the stinging in his jaw. Now he feels the bite of the poison.
Look! He's staggering. He'll be blind in a few more minutes. What did I tell
you?"
For suddenly the dragon had lurched about and went crashing off through
the bushes.
"Is he running away?" inquired Valeria uneasily.
"He's making for the pool!" Conan sprang up, galvanized into swift activity.
"The poison makes him thirsty. Come on! He'll be blind in a few moments,
Page 21
but he can smell his way back to the foot of the crag, and if our scent's here
still, he'll sit there until he dies. And others of his kind may come at his
cries. Let's go!"
"Down there?" Valeria was aghast.
"Sure! We'll make for the city! They may cut our heads off there, but it's our
only chance. We may run into a thousand more dragons on the way, but it's
sure death to stay here. If we wait until he dies, we may have a dozen more
to deal with. After me, in a hurry!"
He went down the ramp as swiftly as an ape, pausing only to aid his less
agile companion, who, until she saw the Cimmerian climb, had fancied
herself the equal of any man in the rigging of a ship or on the sheer face of
a cliff.
T hey descended into the gloom below the branches and slid to the
ground silently, though Valeria felt as if the pounding of her heart must
surely be heard from far away. A noisy gurgling and lapping beyond
the dense thicket indicated that the dragon was drinking at the pool.
"As soon as his belly is full he'll be back," muttered Conan. "It may take
hours for the poison to kill him—if it does at all."
Somewhere beyond the forest the sun was sinking to the horizon. The forest
was a misty twilight place of black shadows and dim vistas. Conan gripped
Valeria's wrist and glided away from the foot of the crag. He made less
noise than a breeze blowing among the tree-trunks, but Valeria felt as if her
soft boots were betraying their flight to all the forest.
"I don't think he can follow a trail," muttered Conan. "But if a wind blew
our body-scent to him, he could smell us out."
"Mitra grant that the wind blow not!" Valeria breathed.
Her face was a pallid oval in the gloom. She gripped her sword in her free
hand, but the feel of the shagreen-bound hilt inspired only a feeling of
still, he'll sit there until he dies. And others of his kind may come at his
cries. Let's go!"
"Down there?" Valeria was aghast.
"Sure! We'll make for the city! They may cut our heads off there, but it's our
only chance. We may run into a thousand more dragons on the way, but it's
sure death to stay here. If we wait until he dies, we may have a dozen more
to deal with. After me, in a hurry!"
He went down the ramp as swiftly as an ape, pausing only to aid his less
agile companion, who, until she saw the Cimmerian climb, had fancied
herself the equal of any man in the rigging of a ship or on the sheer face of
a cliff.
T hey descended into the gloom below the branches and slid to the
ground silently, though Valeria felt as if the pounding of her heart must
surely be heard from far away. A noisy gurgling and lapping beyond
the dense thicket indicated that the dragon was drinking at the pool.
"As soon as his belly is full he'll be back," muttered Conan. "It may take
hours for the poison to kill him—if it does at all."
Somewhere beyond the forest the sun was sinking to the horizon. The forest
was a misty twilight place of black shadows and dim vistas. Conan gripped
Valeria's wrist and glided away from the foot of the crag. He made less
noise than a breeze blowing among the tree-trunks, but Valeria felt as if her
soft boots were betraying their flight to all the forest.
"I don't think he can follow a trail," muttered Conan. "But if a wind blew
our body-scent to him, he could smell us out."
"Mitra grant that the wind blow not!" Valeria breathed.
Her face was a pallid oval in the gloom. She gripped her sword in her free
hand, but the feel of the shagreen-bound hilt inspired only a feeling of
Page 22
helplessness in her.
They were still some distance from the edge of the forest when they heard a
snapping and crashing behind them. Valeria bit her lip to check a cry.
"He's on our trail!" she whispered fiercely.
Conan shook his head.
"He didn't smell us at the rock, and he's blundering about through the forest
trying to pick up our scent. Come on! It's the city or nothing now! He could
tear down any tree we'd climb. If only the wind stays down——"
They stole on until the trees began to thin out ahead of them. Behind them
the forest was a black impenetrable ocean of shadows. The ominous
crackling still sounded behind them, as the dragon blundered in his erratic
course.
"There's the plain ahead," breathed Valeria. "A little more and we'll——"
"Crom!" swore Conan.
"Mitra!" whispered Valeria.
Out of the south a wind had sprung up.
It blew over them directly into the black forest behind them. Instantly a
horrible roar shook the woods. The aimless snapping and crackling of the
bushes changed to a sustained crashing as the dragon came like a hurricane
straight toward the spot from which the scent of his enemies was wafted.
"Run!" snarled Conan, his eyes blazing like those of a trapped wolf. "It's all
we can do!"
Sailor's boots are not made for sprinting, and the life of a pirate does not
train one for a runner. Within a hundred yards Valeria was panting and
reeling in her gait, and behind them the crashing gave way to a rolling
thunder as the monster broke out of the thickets and into the more open
ground.
Conan's iron arm about the woman's waist half lifted her; her feet scarcely
touched the earth as she was borne along at a speed she could never have
They were still some distance from the edge of the forest when they heard a
snapping and crashing behind them. Valeria bit her lip to check a cry.
"He's on our trail!" she whispered fiercely.
Conan shook his head.
"He didn't smell us at the rock, and he's blundering about through the forest
trying to pick up our scent. Come on! It's the city or nothing now! He could
tear down any tree we'd climb. If only the wind stays down——"
They stole on until the trees began to thin out ahead of them. Behind them
the forest was a black impenetrable ocean of shadows. The ominous
crackling still sounded behind them, as the dragon blundered in his erratic
course.
"There's the plain ahead," breathed Valeria. "A little more and we'll——"
"Crom!" swore Conan.
"Mitra!" whispered Valeria.
Out of the south a wind had sprung up.
It blew over them directly into the black forest behind them. Instantly a
horrible roar shook the woods. The aimless snapping and crackling of the
bushes changed to a sustained crashing as the dragon came like a hurricane
straight toward the spot from which the scent of his enemies was wafted.
"Run!" snarled Conan, his eyes blazing like those of a trapped wolf. "It's all
we can do!"
Sailor's boots are not made for sprinting, and the life of a pirate does not
train one for a runner. Within a hundred yards Valeria was panting and
reeling in her gait, and behind them the crashing gave way to a rolling
thunder as the monster broke out of the thickets and into the more open
ground.
Conan's iron arm about the woman's waist half lifted her; her feet scarcely
touched the earth as she was borne along at a speed she could never have
Page 23
attained herself. If he could keep out of the beast's way for a bit, perhaps
that betraying wind would shift—but the wind held, and a quick glance over
his shoulder showed Conan that the monster was almost upon them, coming
like a war-galley in front of a hurricane. He thrust Valeria from him with a
force that sent her reeling a dozen feet to fall in a crumpled heap at the foot
of the nearest tree, and the Cimmerian wheeled in the path of the thundering
titan.
Convinced that his death was upon him, the Cimmerian acted according to
his instinct, and hurled himself full at the awful face that was bearing down
on him. He leaped, slashing like a wildcat, felt his sword cut deep into the
scales that sheathed the mighty snout—and then a terrific impact knocked
him rolling and tumbling for fifty feet with all the wind and half the life
battered out of him.
How the stunned Cimmerian regained his feet, not even he could have ever
told. But the only thought that filled his brain was of the woman lying
dazed and helpless almost in the path of the hurtling fiend, and before the
breath came whistling back into his gullet he was standing over her with his
sword in his hand.
She lay where he had thrown her, but she was struggling to a sitting posture.
Neither tearing tusks nor trampling feet had touched her. It had been a
shoulder or front leg that struck Conan, and the blind monster rushed on,
forgetting the victims whose scent it had been following, in the sudden
agony of its death throes. Headlong on its course it thundered until its low-
hung head crashed into a gigantic tree in its path. The impact tore the tree
up by the roots and must have dashed the brains from the misshapen skull.
Tree and monster fell together, and the dazed humans saw the branches and
leaves shaken by the convulsions of the creature they covered—and then
grow quiet.
Conan lifted Valeria to her feet and together they started away at a reeling
run. A few moments later they emerged into the still twilight of the treeless
plain.
that betraying wind would shift—but the wind held, and a quick glance over
his shoulder showed Conan that the monster was almost upon them, coming
like a war-galley in front of a hurricane. He thrust Valeria from him with a
force that sent her reeling a dozen feet to fall in a crumpled heap at the foot
of the nearest tree, and the Cimmerian wheeled in the path of the thundering
titan.
Convinced that his death was upon him, the Cimmerian acted according to
his instinct, and hurled himself full at the awful face that was bearing down
on him. He leaped, slashing like a wildcat, felt his sword cut deep into the
scales that sheathed the mighty snout—and then a terrific impact knocked
him rolling and tumbling for fifty feet with all the wind and half the life
battered out of him.
How the stunned Cimmerian regained his feet, not even he could have ever
told. But the only thought that filled his brain was of the woman lying
dazed and helpless almost in the path of the hurtling fiend, and before the
breath came whistling back into his gullet he was standing over her with his
sword in his hand.
She lay where he had thrown her, but she was struggling to a sitting posture.
Neither tearing tusks nor trampling feet had touched her. It had been a
shoulder or front leg that struck Conan, and the blind monster rushed on,
forgetting the victims whose scent it had been following, in the sudden
agony of its death throes. Headlong on its course it thundered until its low-
hung head crashed into a gigantic tree in its path. The impact tore the tree
up by the roots and must have dashed the brains from the misshapen skull.
Tree and monster fell together, and the dazed humans saw the branches and
leaves shaken by the convulsions of the creature they covered—and then
grow quiet.
Conan lifted Valeria to her feet and together they started away at a reeling
run. A few moments later they emerged into the still twilight of the treeless
plain.
Page 24
C onan paused an instant and glanced back at the ebon fastness behind
them. Not a leaf stirred, nor a bird chirped. It stood as silent as it must
have stood before Man was created.
"Come on," muttered Conan, taking his companion's hand. "It's touch and
go now. If more dragons come out of the woods after us——"
He did not have to finish the sentence.
The city looked very far away across the plain, farther than it had looked
from the crag. Valeria's heart hammered until she felt as if it would strangle
her. At every step she expected to hear the crashing of the bushes and see
another colossal nightmare bearing down upon them. But nothing disturbed
the silence of the thickets.
With the first mile between them and the woods, Valeria breathed more
easily. Her buoyant self-confidence began to thaw out again. The sun had
set and darkness was gathering over the plain, lightened a little by the stars
that made stunted ghosts out of the cactus growths.
"No cattle, no plowed fields," muttered Conan. "How do these people live?"
"Perhaps the cattle are in pens for the night," suggested Valeria, "and the
fields and grazing-pastures are on the other side of the city."
"Maybe," he grunted. "I didn't see any from the crag, though."
The moon came up behind the city, etching walls and towers blackly in the
yellow glow. Valeria shivered. Black against the moon the strange city had a
somber, sinister look.
Perhaps something of the same feeling occurred to Conan, for he stopped,
glanced about him, and grunted: "We stop here. No use coming to their
gates in the night. They probably wouldn't let us in. Besides, we need rest,
and we don't know how they'll receive us. A few hours' sleep will put us in
better shape to fight or run."
He led the way to a bed of cactus which grew in a circle—a phenomenon
common to the southern desert. With his sword he chopped an opening, and
motioned Valeria to enter.
them. Not a leaf stirred, nor a bird chirped. It stood as silent as it must
have stood before Man was created.
"Come on," muttered Conan, taking his companion's hand. "It's touch and
go now. If more dragons come out of the woods after us——"
He did not have to finish the sentence.
The city looked very far away across the plain, farther than it had looked
from the crag. Valeria's heart hammered until she felt as if it would strangle
her. At every step she expected to hear the crashing of the bushes and see
another colossal nightmare bearing down upon them. But nothing disturbed
the silence of the thickets.
With the first mile between them and the woods, Valeria breathed more
easily. Her buoyant self-confidence began to thaw out again. The sun had
set and darkness was gathering over the plain, lightened a little by the stars
that made stunted ghosts out of the cactus growths.
"No cattle, no plowed fields," muttered Conan. "How do these people live?"
"Perhaps the cattle are in pens for the night," suggested Valeria, "and the
fields and grazing-pastures are on the other side of the city."
"Maybe," he grunted. "I didn't see any from the crag, though."
The moon came up behind the city, etching walls and towers blackly in the
yellow glow. Valeria shivered. Black against the moon the strange city had a
somber, sinister look.
Perhaps something of the same feeling occurred to Conan, for he stopped,
glanced about him, and grunted: "We stop here. No use coming to their
gates in the night. They probably wouldn't let us in. Besides, we need rest,
and we don't know how they'll receive us. A few hours' sleep will put us in
better shape to fight or run."
He led the way to a bed of cactus which grew in a circle—a phenomenon
common to the southern desert. With his sword he chopped an opening, and
motioned Valeria to enter.
Page 25
"We'll be safe from snakes here, anyhow."
She glanced fearfully back toward the black line that indicated the forest
some six miles away.
"Suppose a dragon comes out of the woods?"
"We'll keep watch," he answered, though he made no suggestion as to what
they would do in such an event. He was staring at the city, a few miles
away. Not a light shone from spire or tower. A great black mass of mystery,
it reared cryptically against the moonlit sky.
"Lie down and sleep. I'll keep the first watch."
She hesitated, glancing at him uncertainly, but he sat down cross-legged in
the opening, facing toward the plain, his sword across his knees, his back to
her. Without further comment she lay down on the sand inside the spiky
circle.
"Wake me when the moon is at its zenith," she directed.
He did not reply nor look toward her. Her last impression, as she sank into
slumber, was of his muscular figure, immobile as a statue hewn out of
bronze, outlined against the low-hanging stars.
2. By the Blaze of the Fire-Jewels
V aleria awoke with a start, to the realization that a gray dawn was
stealing over the plain.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Conan squatted beside the cactus, cutting off
the thick pears and dexterously twitching out the spikes.
"You didn't awake me," she accused. "You let me sleep all night!"
"You were tired," he answered. "Your posterior must have been sore, too,
after that long ride. You pirates aren't used to horseback."
She glanced fearfully back toward the black line that indicated the forest
some six miles away.
"Suppose a dragon comes out of the woods?"
"We'll keep watch," he answered, though he made no suggestion as to what
they would do in such an event. He was staring at the city, a few miles
away. Not a light shone from spire or tower. A great black mass of mystery,
it reared cryptically against the moonlit sky.
"Lie down and sleep. I'll keep the first watch."
She hesitated, glancing at him uncertainly, but he sat down cross-legged in
the opening, facing toward the plain, his sword across his knees, his back to
her. Without further comment she lay down on the sand inside the spiky
circle.
"Wake me when the moon is at its zenith," she directed.
He did not reply nor look toward her. Her last impression, as she sank into
slumber, was of his muscular figure, immobile as a statue hewn out of
bronze, outlined against the low-hanging stars.
2. By the Blaze of the Fire-Jewels
V aleria awoke with a start, to the realization that a gray dawn was
stealing over the plain.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Conan squatted beside the cactus, cutting off
the thick pears and dexterously twitching out the spikes.
"You didn't awake me," she accused. "You let me sleep all night!"
"You were tired," he answered. "Your posterior must have been sore, too,
after that long ride. You pirates aren't used to horseback."
Page 26
"What about yourself?" she retorted.
"I was a kozak before I was a pirate," he answered. "They live in the saddle.
I snatch naps like a panther watching beside the trail for a deer to come by.
My ears keep watch while my eyes sleep."
And indeed the giant barbarian seemed as much refreshed as if he had slept
the whole night on a golden bed. Having removed the thorns, and peeled off
the tough skin, he handed the girl a thick, juicy cactus leaf.
"Skin your teeth in that pear. It's food and drink to a desert man. I was a
chief of the Zuagirs once—desert men who live by plundering the
caravans."
"Is there anything you haven't been?" inquired the girl, half in derision and
half in fascination.
"I've never been king of an Hyborian kingdom," he grinned, taking an
enormous mouthful of cactus. "But I've dreamed of being even that. I may
be too, some day. Why shouldn't I?"
She shook her head in wonder at his calm audacity, and fell to devouring
her pear. She found it not unpleasing to the palate, and full of cool and
thirst-satisfying juice. Finishing his meal, Conan wiped his hands in the
sand, rose, ran his fingers through his thick black mane, hitched at his
sword-belt and said:
"Well, let's go. If the people in that city are going to cut our throats they
may as well do it now, before the heat of the day begins."
His grim humor was unconscious, but Valeria reflected that it might be
prophetic. She too hitched her sword-belt as she rose. Her terrors of the
night were past. The roaring dragons of the distant forest were like a dim
dream. There was a swagger in her stride as she moved off beside the
Cimmerian. Whatever perils lay ahead of them, their foes would be men.
And Valeria of the Red Brotherhood had never seen the face of the man she
feared.
Conan glanced down at her as she strode along beside him with her
swinging stride that matched his own.
"I was a kozak before I was a pirate," he answered. "They live in the saddle.
I snatch naps like a panther watching beside the trail for a deer to come by.
My ears keep watch while my eyes sleep."
And indeed the giant barbarian seemed as much refreshed as if he had slept
the whole night on a golden bed. Having removed the thorns, and peeled off
the tough skin, he handed the girl a thick, juicy cactus leaf.
"Skin your teeth in that pear. It's food and drink to a desert man. I was a
chief of the Zuagirs once—desert men who live by plundering the
caravans."
"Is there anything you haven't been?" inquired the girl, half in derision and
half in fascination.
"I've never been king of an Hyborian kingdom," he grinned, taking an
enormous mouthful of cactus. "But I've dreamed of being even that. I may
be too, some day. Why shouldn't I?"
She shook her head in wonder at his calm audacity, and fell to devouring
her pear. She found it not unpleasing to the palate, and full of cool and
thirst-satisfying juice. Finishing his meal, Conan wiped his hands in the
sand, rose, ran his fingers through his thick black mane, hitched at his
sword-belt and said:
"Well, let's go. If the people in that city are going to cut our throats they
may as well do it now, before the heat of the day begins."
His grim humor was unconscious, but Valeria reflected that it might be
prophetic. She too hitched her sword-belt as she rose. Her terrors of the
night were past. The roaring dragons of the distant forest were like a dim
dream. There was a swagger in her stride as she moved off beside the
Cimmerian. Whatever perils lay ahead of them, their foes would be men.
And Valeria of the Red Brotherhood had never seen the face of the man she
feared.
Conan glanced down at her as she strode along beside him with her
swinging stride that matched his own.
Page 27
"You walk more like a hillman than a sailor," he said. "You must be an
Aquilonian. The suns of Darfar never burnt your white skin brown. Many a
princess would envy you."
"I am from Aquilonia," she replied. His compliments no longer irritated her.
His evident admiration pleased her. For another man to have kept her watch
while she slept would have angered her; she had always fiercely resented
any man's attempting to shield or protect her because of her sex. But she
found a secret pleasure in the fact that this man had done so. And he had not
taken advantage of her fright and the weakness resulting from it. After all,
she reflected, her companion was no common man.
T he sun rose behind the city, turning the towers to a sinister crimson.
"Black last night against the moon," grunted Conan, his eyes clouding
with the abysmal superstition of the barbarian. "Blood-red as a threat of
blood against the sun this dawn. I do not like this city."
But they went on, and as they went Conan pointed out the fact that no road
ran to the city from the north.
"No cattle have trampled the plain on this side of the city," said he. "No
plowshare has touched the earth for years, maybe centuries. But look: once
this plain was cultivated."
Valeria saw the ancient irrigation ditches he indicated, half filled in places,
and overgrown with cactus. She frowned with perplexity as her eyes swept
over the plain that stretched on all sides of the city to the forest edge, which
marched in a vast, dim ring. Vision did not extend beyond that ring.
She looked uneasily at the city. No helmets or spear-heads gleamed on
battlements, no trumpets sounded, no challenge rang from the towers. A
silence as absolute as that of the forest brooded over the walls and minarets.
The sun was high above the eastern horizon when they stood before the
great gate in the northern wall, in the shadow of the lofty rampart. Rust
Aquilonian. The suns of Darfar never burnt your white skin brown. Many a
princess would envy you."
"I am from Aquilonia," she replied. His compliments no longer irritated her.
His evident admiration pleased her. For another man to have kept her watch
while she slept would have angered her; she had always fiercely resented
any man's attempting to shield or protect her because of her sex. But she
found a secret pleasure in the fact that this man had done so. And he had not
taken advantage of her fright and the weakness resulting from it. After all,
she reflected, her companion was no common man.
T he sun rose behind the city, turning the towers to a sinister crimson.
"Black last night against the moon," grunted Conan, his eyes clouding
with the abysmal superstition of the barbarian. "Blood-red as a threat of
blood against the sun this dawn. I do not like this city."
But they went on, and as they went Conan pointed out the fact that no road
ran to the city from the north.
"No cattle have trampled the plain on this side of the city," said he. "No
plowshare has touched the earth for years, maybe centuries. But look: once
this plain was cultivated."
Valeria saw the ancient irrigation ditches he indicated, half filled in places,
and overgrown with cactus. She frowned with perplexity as her eyes swept
over the plain that stretched on all sides of the city to the forest edge, which
marched in a vast, dim ring. Vision did not extend beyond that ring.
She looked uneasily at the city. No helmets or spear-heads gleamed on
battlements, no trumpets sounded, no challenge rang from the towers. A
silence as absolute as that of the forest brooded over the walls and minarets.
The sun was high above the eastern horizon when they stood before the
great gate in the northern wall, in the shadow of the lofty rampart. Rust
Page 28
flecked the iron bracings of the mighty bronze portal. Spiderwebs glistened
thickly on hinge and sill and bolted panel.
"It hasn't been opened for years!" exclaimed Valeria.
"A dead city," grunted Conan. "That's why the ditches were broken and the
plain untouched."
"But who built it? Who dwelt here? Where did they go? Why did they
abandon it?"
"Who can say? Maybe an exiled clan of Stygians built it. Maybe not. It
doesn't look like Stygian architecture. Maybe the people were wiped out by
enemies, or a plague exterminated them."
"In that case their treasures may still be gathering dust and cobwebs in
there," suggested Valeria, the acquisitive instincts of her profession waking
in her; prodded, too, by feminine curiosity. "Can we open the gate? Let's go
in and explore a bit."
Conan eyed the heavy portal dubiously, but placed his massive shoulder
against it and thrust with all the power of his muscular calves and thighs.
With a rasping screech of rusty hinges the gate moved ponderously inward,
and Conan straightened and drew his sword. Valeria stared over his
shoulder, and made a sound indicative of surprise.
They were not looking into an open street or court as one would have
expected. The opened gate, or door, gave directly into a long, broad hall
which ran away and away until its vista grew indistinct in the distance. It
was of heroic proportions, and the floor of a curious red stone, cut in square
tiles, that seemed to smolder as if with the reflection of flames. The walls
were of a shiny green material.
"Jade, or I'm a Shemite!" swore Conan.
"Not in such quantity!" protested Valeria.
"I've looted enough from the Khitan caravans to know what I'm talking
about," he asserted. "That's jade!"
thickly on hinge and sill and bolted panel.
"It hasn't been opened for years!" exclaimed Valeria.
"A dead city," grunted Conan. "That's why the ditches were broken and the
plain untouched."
"But who built it? Who dwelt here? Where did they go? Why did they
abandon it?"
"Who can say? Maybe an exiled clan of Stygians built it. Maybe not. It
doesn't look like Stygian architecture. Maybe the people were wiped out by
enemies, or a plague exterminated them."
"In that case their treasures may still be gathering dust and cobwebs in
there," suggested Valeria, the acquisitive instincts of her profession waking
in her; prodded, too, by feminine curiosity. "Can we open the gate? Let's go
in and explore a bit."
Conan eyed the heavy portal dubiously, but placed his massive shoulder
against it and thrust with all the power of his muscular calves and thighs.
With a rasping screech of rusty hinges the gate moved ponderously inward,
and Conan straightened and drew his sword. Valeria stared over his
shoulder, and made a sound indicative of surprise.
They were not looking into an open street or court as one would have
expected. The opened gate, or door, gave directly into a long, broad hall
which ran away and away until its vista grew indistinct in the distance. It
was of heroic proportions, and the floor of a curious red stone, cut in square
tiles, that seemed to smolder as if with the reflection of flames. The walls
were of a shiny green material.
"Jade, or I'm a Shemite!" swore Conan.
"Not in such quantity!" protested Valeria.
"I've looted enough from the Khitan caravans to know what I'm talking
about," he asserted. "That's jade!"
Page 29
The vaulted ceiling was of lapis lazuli, adorned with clusters of great green
stones that gleamed with a poisonous radiance.
"Green fire-stones," growled Conan. "That's what the people of Punt call
them. They're supposed to be the petrified eyes of those prehistoric snakes
the ancients called Golden Serpents. They glow like a cat's eyes in the dark.
At night this hall would be lighted by them, but it would be a hellishly
weird illumination. Let's look around. We might find a cache of jewels."
"Shut the door," advised Valeria. "I'd hate to have to outrun a dragon down
this hall."
Conan grinned, and replied: "I don't believe the dragons ever leave the
forest."
But he complied, and pointed out the broken bolt on the inner side.
"I thought I heard something snap when I shoved against it. That bolt's
freshly broken. Rust has eaten nearly through it. If the people ran away,
why should it have been bolted on the inside?"
"They undoubtedly left by another door," suggested Valeria.
She wondered how many centuries had passed since the light of outer day
had filtered into that great hall through the open door. Sunlight was finding
its way somehow into the hall, and they quickly saw the source. High up in
the vaulted ceiling skylights were set in slot-like openings—translucent
sheets of some crystalline substance. In the splotches of shadow between
them, the green jewels winked like the eyes of angry cats. Beneath their feet
the dully lurid floor smoldered with changing hues and colors of flame. It
was like treading the floors of hell with evil stars blinking overhead.
Three balustraded galleries ran along on each side of the hall, one above the
other.
"A four-storied house," grunted Conan, "and this hall extends to the roof.
It's long as a street. I seem to see a door at the other end."
Valeria shrugged her white shoulders.
stones that gleamed with a poisonous radiance.
"Green fire-stones," growled Conan. "That's what the people of Punt call
them. They're supposed to be the petrified eyes of those prehistoric snakes
the ancients called Golden Serpents. They glow like a cat's eyes in the dark.
At night this hall would be lighted by them, but it would be a hellishly
weird illumination. Let's look around. We might find a cache of jewels."
"Shut the door," advised Valeria. "I'd hate to have to outrun a dragon down
this hall."
Conan grinned, and replied: "I don't believe the dragons ever leave the
forest."
But he complied, and pointed out the broken bolt on the inner side.
"I thought I heard something snap when I shoved against it. That bolt's
freshly broken. Rust has eaten nearly through it. If the people ran away,
why should it have been bolted on the inside?"
"They undoubtedly left by another door," suggested Valeria.
She wondered how many centuries had passed since the light of outer day
had filtered into that great hall through the open door. Sunlight was finding
its way somehow into the hall, and they quickly saw the source. High up in
the vaulted ceiling skylights were set in slot-like openings—translucent
sheets of some crystalline substance. In the splotches of shadow between
them, the green jewels winked like the eyes of angry cats. Beneath their feet
the dully lurid floor smoldered with changing hues and colors of flame. It
was like treading the floors of hell with evil stars blinking overhead.
Three balustraded galleries ran along on each side of the hall, one above the
other.
"A four-storied house," grunted Conan, "and this hall extends to the roof.
It's long as a street. I seem to see a door at the other end."
Valeria shrugged her white shoulders.
Page 30
"Your eyes are better than mine, then, though I'm accounted sharp-eyed
among the sea-rovers."
T hey turned into an open door at random, and traversed a series of
empty chambers, floored like the hall, and with walls of the same
green jade, or of marble or ivory or chalcedony, adorned with friezes
of bronze, gold or silver. In the ceilings the green fire-gems were set, and
their light was as ghostly and illusive as Conan had predicted. Under the
witch-fire glow the intruders moved like specters.
Some of the chambers lacked this illumination, and their doorways showed
black as the mouth of the Pit. These Conan and Valeria avoided, keeping
always to the lighted chambers.
Cobwebs hung in the corners, but there was no perceptible accumulation of
dust on the floor, or on the tables and seats of marble, jade or carnelian
which occupied the chambers. Here and there were rugs of that silk known
as Khitan which is practically indestructible. Nowhere did they find any
windows, or doors opening into streets or courts. Each door merely opened
into another chamber or hall.
"Why don't we come to a street?" grumbled Valeria. "This place or
whatever we're in must be as big as the king of Turan's seraglio."
"They must not have perished of plague," said Conan, meditating upon the
mystery of the empty city. "Otherwise we'd find skeletons. Maybe it
became haunted, and everybody got up and left. Maybe——"
"Maybe, hell!" broke in Valeria rudely. "We'll never know. Look at these
friezes. They portray men. What race do they belong to?"
Conan scanned them and shook his head.
"I never saw people exactly like them. But there's the smack of the East
about them—Vendhya, maybe, or Kosala."
among the sea-rovers."
T hey turned into an open door at random, and traversed a series of
empty chambers, floored like the hall, and with walls of the same
green jade, or of marble or ivory or chalcedony, adorned with friezes
of bronze, gold or silver. In the ceilings the green fire-gems were set, and
their light was as ghostly and illusive as Conan had predicted. Under the
witch-fire glow the intruders moved like specters.
Some of the chambers lacked this illumination, and their doorways showed
black as the mouth of the Pit. These Conan and Valeria avoided, keeping
always to the lighted chambers.
Cobwebs hung in the corners, but there was no perceptible accumulation of
dust on the floor, or on the tables and seats of marble, jade or carnelian
which occupied the chambers. Here and there were rugs of that silk known
as Khitan which is practically indestructible. Nowhere did they find any
windows, or doors opening into streets or courts. Each door merely opened
into another chamber or hall.
"Why don't we come to a street?" grumbled Valeria. "This place or
whatever we're in must be as big as the king of Turan's seraglio."
"They must not have perished of plague," said Conan, meditating upon the
mystery of the empty city. "Otherwise we'd find skeletons. Maybe it
became haunted, and everybody got up and left. Maybe——"
"Maybe, hell!" broke in Valeria rudely. "We'll never know. Look at these
friezes. They portray men. What race do they belong to?"
Conan scanned them and shook his head.
"I never saw people exactly like them. But there's the smack of the East
about them—Vendhya, maybe, or Kosala."
Page 31
"Were you a king in Kosala?" she asked, masking her keen curiosity with
derision.
"No. But I was a war-chief of the Afghulis who live in the Himelian
mountains above the borders of Vendhya. These people favor the Kosalans.
But why should Kosalans be building a city this far to west?"
The figures portrayed were those of slender, olive-skinned men and women,
with finely chiseled, exotic features. They wore filmy robes and many
delicate jeweled ornaments, and were depicted mostly in attitudes of
feasting, dancing or love-making.
"Easterners, all right," grunted Conan, "but from where I don't know. They
must have lived a disgustingly peaceful life, though, or they'd have scenes
of wars and fights. Let's go up that stair."
It was an ivory spiral that wound up from the chamber in which they were
standing. They mounted three flights and came into a broad chamber on the
fourth floor, which seemed to be the highest tier in the building. Skylights
in the ceiling illuminated the room, in which light the fire-gems winked
pallidly. Glancing through the doors they saw, except on one side, a series
of similarly lighted chambers. This other door opened upon a balustraded
gallery that overhung a hall much smaller than the one they had recently
explored on the lower floor.
"Hell!" Valeria sat down disgustedly on a jade bench. "The people who
deserted this city must have taken all their treasures with them. I'm tired of
wandering through these bare rooms at random."
"All these upper chambers seem to be lighted," said Conan. "I wish we
could find a window that overlooked the city. Let's have a look through that
door over there."
"You have a look," advised Valeria. "I'm going to sit here and rest my feet."
C onan disappeared through the door opposite that one opening upon the
gallery, and Valeria leaned back with her hands clasped behind her
derision.
"No. But I was a war-chief of the Afghulis who live in the Himelian
mountains above the borders of Vendhya. These people favor the Kosalans.
But why should Kosalans be building a city this far to west?"
The figures portrayed were those of slender, olive-skinned men and women,
with finely chiseled, exotic features. They wore filmy robes and many
delicate jeweled ornaments, and were depicted mostly in attitudes of
feasting, dancing or love-making.
"Easterners, all right," grunted Conan, "but from where I don't know. They
must have lived a disgustingly peaceful life, though, or they'd have scenes
of wars and fights. Let's go up that stair."
It was an ivory spiral that wound up from the chamber in which they were
standing. They mounted three flights and came into a broad chamber on the
fourth floor, which seemed to be the highest tier in the building. Skylights
in the ceiling illuminated the room, in which light the fire-gems winked
pallidly. Glancing through the doors they saw, except on one side, a series
of similarly lighted chambers. This other door opened upon a balustraded
gallery that overhung a hall much smaller than the one they had recently
explored on the lower floor.
"Hell!" Valeria sat down disgustedly on a jade bench. "The people who
deserted this city must have taken all their treasures with them. I'm tired of
wandering through these bare rooms at random."
"All these upper chambers seem to be lighted," said Conan. "I wish we
could find a window that overlooked the city. Let's have a look through that
door over there."
"You have a look," advised Valeria. "I'm going to sit here and rest my feet."
C onan disappeared through the door opposite that one opening upon the
gallery, and Valeria leaned back with her hands clasped behind her
Page 32
head, and thrust her booted legs out in front of her. These silent rooms and
halls with their gleaming green clusters of ornaments and burning crimson
floors were beginning to depress her. She wished they could find their way
out of the maze into which they had wandered and emerge into a street. She
wondered idly what furtive, dark feet had glided over those flaming floors
in past centuries, how many deeds of cruelty and mystery those winking
ceiling-gems had blazed down upon.
It was a faint noise that brought her out of her reflections. She was on her
feet with her sword in her hand before she realized what had disturbed her.
Conan had not returned, and she knew it was not he that she had heard.
The sound had come from somewhere beyond the door that opened on to
the gallery. Soundlessly in her soft leather boots she glided through it, crept
across the balcony and peered down between the heavy balustrades.
A man was stealing along the hall.
The sight of a human being in this supposedly deserted city was a startling
shock. Crouching down behind the stone balusters, with every nerve
tingling, Valeria glared down at the stealthy figure.
The man in no way resembled the figures depicted on the friezes. He was
slightly above middle height, very dark, though not negroid. He was naked
but for a scanty silk clout that only partly covered his muscular hips, and a
leather girdle, a hand's breadth broad, about his lean waist. His long black
hair hung in lank strands about his shoulders, giving him a wild appearance.
He was gaunt, but knots and cords of muscles stood out on his arms and
legs, without that fleshy padding that presents a pleasing symmetry of
contour. He was built with an economy that was almost repellent.
Yet it was not so much his physical appearance as his attitude that
impressed the woman who watched him. He slunk along, stooped in a semi-
crouch, his head turning from side to side. He grasped a wide-tipped blade
in his right hand, and she saw it shake with the intensity of the emotion that
gripped him. He was afraid, trembling in the grip of some dire terror. When
he turned his head she caught the blaze of wild eyes among the lank strands
of black hair.
halls with their gleaming green clusters of ornaments and burning crimson
floors were beginning to depress her. She wished they could find their way
out of the maze into which they had wandered and emerge into a street. She
wondered idly what furtive, dark feet had glided over those flaming floors
in past centuries, how many deeds of cruelty and mystery those winking
ceiling-gems had blazed down upon.
It was a faint noise that brought her out of her reflections. She was on her
feet with her sword in her hand before she realized what had disturbed her.
Conan had not returned, and she knew it was not he that she had heard.
The sound had come from somewhere beyond the door that opened on to
the gallery. Soundlessly in her soft leather boots she glided through it, crept
across the balcony and peered down between the heavy balustrades.
A man was stealing along the hall.
The sight of a human being in this supposedly deserted city was a startling
shock. Crouching down behind the stone balusters, with every nerve
tingling, Valeria glared down at the stealthy figure.
The man in no way resembled the figures depicted on the friezes. He was
slightly above middle height, very dark, though not negroid. He was naked
but for a scanty silk clout that only partly covered his muscular hips, and a
leather girdle, a hand's breadth broad, about his lean waist. His long black
hair hung in lank strands about his shoulders, giving him a wild appearance.
He was gaunt, but knots and cords of muscles stood out on his arms and
legs, without that fleshy padding that presents a pleasing symmetry of
contour. He was built with an economy that was almost repellent.
Yet it was not so much his physical appearance as his attitude that
impressed the woman who watched him. He slunk along, stooped in a semi-
crouch, his head turning from side to side. He grasped a wide-tipped blade
in his right hand, and she saw it shake with the intensity of the emotion that
gripped him. He was afraid, trembling in the grip of some dire terror. When
he turned his head she caught the blaze of wild eyes among the lank strands
of black hair.
Page 33
He did not see her. On tiptoe he glided across the hall and vanished through
an open door. A moment later she heard a choking cry, and then silence fell
again.
Consumed with curiosity, Valeria glided along the gallery until she came to
a door above the one through which the man had passed. It opened into
another, smaller gallery that encircled a large chamber.
This chamber was on the third floor, and its ceiling was not so high as that
of the hall. It was lighted only by the fire-stones, and their weird green glow
left the spaces under the balcony in shadows.
Valeria's eyes widened. The man she had seen was still in the chamber.
He lay face down on a dark crimson carpet in the middle of the room. His
body was limp, his arms spread wide. His curved sword lay near him.
She wondered why he should lie there so motionless. Then her eyes
narrowed as she stared down at the rug on which he lay. Beneath and about
him the fabric showed a slightly different color, a deeper, brighter crimson.
Shivering slightly, she crouched down closer behind the balustrade, intently
scanning the shadows under the overhanging gallery. They gave up no
secret.
Suddenly another figure entered the grim drama. He was a man similar to
the first, and he came in by a door opposite that which gave upon the hall.
His eyes glared at the sight of the man on the floor, and he spoke something
in a staccato voice that sounded like "Chicmec!" The other did not move.
The man stepped quickly across the floor, bent, gripped the fallen man's
shoulder and turned him over. A choking cry escaped him as the head fell
back limply, disclosing a throat that had been severed from ear to ear.
The man let the corpse fall back upon the blood-stained carpet, and sprang
to his feet, shaking like a wind-blown leaf. His face was an ashy mask of
fear. But with one knee flexed for flight, he froze suddenly, became as
immobile as an image, staring across the chamber with dilated eyes.
an open door. A moment later she heard a choking cry, and then silence fell
again.
Consumed with curiosity, Valeria glided along the gallery until she came to
a door above the one through which the man had passed. It opened into
another, smaller gallery that encircled a large chamber.
This chamber was on the third floor, and its ceiling was not so high as that
of the hall. It was lighted only by the fire-stones, and their weird green glow
left the spaces under the balcony in shadows.
Valeria's eyes widened. The man she had seen was still in the chamber.
He lay face down on a dark crimson carpet in the middle of the room. His
body was limp, his arms spread wide. His curved sword lay near him.
She wondered why he should lie there so motionless. Then her eyes
narrowed as she stared down at the rug on which he lay. Beneath and about
him the fabric showed a slightly different color, a deeper, brighter crimson.
Shivering slightly, she crouched down closer behind the balustrade, intently
scanning the shadows under the overhanging gallery. They gave up no
secret.
Suddenly another figure entered the grim drama. He was a man similar to
the first, and he came in by a door opposite that which gave upon the hall.
His eyes glared at the sight of the man on the floor, and he spoke something
in a staccato voice that sounded like "Chicmec!" The other did not move.
The man stepped quickly across the floor, bent, gripped the fallen man's
shoulder and turned him over. A choking cry escaped him as the head fell
back limply, disclosing a throat that had been severed from ear to ear.
The man let the corpse fall back upon the blood-stained carpet, and sprang
to his feet, shaking like a wind-blown leaf. His face was an ashy mask of
fear. But with one knee flexed for flight, he froze suddenly, became as
immobile as an image, staring across the chamber with dilated eyes.
Page 34
In the shadows beneath the balcony a ghostly light began to glow and grow,
a light that was not part of the fire-stone gleam. Valeria felt her hair stir as
she watched it; for, dimly visible in the throbbing radiance, there floated a
human skull, and it was from this skull—human yet appallingly misshapen
—that the spectral light seemed to emanate. It hung there like a
disembodied head, conjured out of night and the shadows, growing more
and more distinct; human, and yet not human as she knew humanity.
The man stood motionless, an embodiment of paralyzed horror, staring
fixedly at the apparition. The thing moved out from the wall and a
grotesque shadow moved with it. Slowly the shadow became visible as a
man-like figure whose naked torso and limbs shone whitely, with the hue of
bleached bones. The bare skull on its shoulders grinned eyelessly, in the
midst of its unholy nimbus, and the man confronting it seemed unable to
take his eyes from it. He stood still, his sword dangling from nerveless
fingers, on his face the expression of a man bound by the spells of a
mesmerist.
V aleria realized that it was not fear alone that paralyzed him. Some
hellish quality of that throbbing glow had robbed him of his power to
think and act. She herself, safely above the scene, felt the subtle
impact of a nameless emanation that was a threat to sanity.
The horror swept toward its victim and he moved at last, but only to drop
his sword and sink to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands. Dumbly
he awaited the stroke of the blade that now gleamed in the apparition's hand
as it reared above him like Death triumphant over mankind.
Valeria acted according to the first impulse of her wayward nature. With
one tigerish movement she was over the balustrade and dropping to the
floor behind the awful shape. It wheeled at the thud of her soft boots on the
floor, but even as it turned, her keen blade lashed down, and a fierce
exultation swept her as she felt the edge cleave solid flesh and mortal bone.
The apparition cried out gurglingly and went down, severed through
shoulder, breast-bone and spine, and as it fell the burning skull rolled clear,
a light that was not part of the fire-stone gleam. Valeria felt her hair stir as
she watched it; for, dimly visible in the throbbing radiance, there floated a
human skull, and it was from this skull—human yet appallingly misshapen
—that the spectral light seemed to emanate. It hung there like a
disembodied head, conjured out of night and the shadows, growing more
and more distinct; human, and yet not human as she knew humanity.
The man stood motionless, an embodiment of paralyzed horror, staring
fixedly at the apparition. The thing moved out from the wall and a
grotesque shadow moved with it. Slowly the shadow became visible as a
man-like figure whose naked torso and limbs shone whitely, with the hue of
bleached bones. The bare skull on its shoulders grinned eyelessly, in the
midst of its unholy nimbus, and the man confronting it seemed unable to
take his eyes from it. He stood still, his sword dangling from nerveless
fingers, on his face the expression of a man bound by the spells of a
mesmerist.
V aleria realized that it was not fear alone that paralyzed him. Some
hellish quality of that throbbing glow had robbed him of his power to
think and act. She herself, safely above the scene, felt the subtle
impact of a nameless emanation that was a threat to sanity.
The horror swept toward its victim and he moved at last, but only to drop
his sword and sink to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands. Dumbly
he awaited the stroke of the blade that now gleamed in the apparition's hand
as it reared above him like Death triumphant over mankind.
Valeria acted according to the first impulse of her wayward nature. With
one tigerish movement she was over the balustrade and dropping to the
floor behind the awful shape. It wheeled at the thud of her soft boots on the
floor, but even as it turned, her keen blade lashed down, and a fierce
exultation swept her as she felt the edge cleave solid flesh and mortal bone.
The apparition cried out gurglingly and went down, severed through
shoulder, breast-bone and spine, and as it fell the burning skull rolled clear,
Page 35
revealing a lank mop of black hair and a dark face twisted in the
convulsions of death. Beneath the horrific masquerade there was a human
being, a man similar to the one kneeling supinely on the floor.
The latter looked up at the sound of the blow and the cry, and now he glared
in wild-eyed amazement at the white-skinned woman who stood over the
corpse with a dripping sword in her hand.
He staggered up, yammering as if the sight had almost unseated his reason.
She was amazed to realize that she understood him. He was gibbering in the
Stygian tongue, though in a dialect unfamiliar to her.
"Who are you? Whence come you? What do you in Xuchotl?" Then rushing
on, without waiting for her to reply: "But you are a friend—goddess or
devil, it makes no difference! You have slain the Burning Skull! It was but a
man beneath it, after all! We deemed it a demon they conjured up out of the
catacombs! Listen!"
He stopped short in his ravings and stiffened, straining his ears with painful
intensity. The girl heard nothing.
"We must hasten!" he whispered. "They are west of the Great Hall! They
may be all around us here! They may be creeping upon us even now!"
He seized her wrist in a convulsive grasp she found hard to break.
"Whom do you mean by 'they'?" she demanded.
He stared at her uncomprehendingly for an instant, as if he found her
ignorance hard to understand.
"They?" he stammered vaguely. "Why—why, the people of Xotalanc! The
clan of the man you slew. They who dwell by the eastern gate."
"You mean to say this city is inhabited?" she exclaimed.
"Aye! Aye!" He was writhing in the impatience of apprehension. "Come
away! Come quick! We must return to Tecuhltli!"
"Where is that?" she demanded.
convulsions of death. Beneath the horrific masquerade there was a human
being, a man similar to the one kneeling supinely on the floor.
The latter looked up at the sound of the blow and the cry, and now he glared
in wild-eyed amazement at the white-skinned woman who stood over the
corpse with a dripping sword in her hand.
He staggered up, yammering as if the sight had almost unseated his reason.
She was amazed to realize that she understood him. He was gibbering in the
Stygian tongue, though in a dialect unfamiliar to her.
"Who are you? Whence come you? What do you in Xuchotl?" Then rushing
on, without waiting for her to reply: "But you are a friend—goddess or
devil, it makes no difference! You have slain the Burning Skull! It was but a
man beneath it, after all! We deemed it a demon they conjured up out of the
catacombs! Listen!"
He stopped short in his ravings and stiffened, straining his ears with painful
intensity. The girl heard nothing.
"We must hasten!" he whispered. "They are west of the Great Hall! They
may be all around us here! They may be creeping upon us even now!"
He seized her wrist in a convulsive grasp she found hard to break.
"Whom do you mean by 'they'?" she demanded.
He stared at her uncomprehendingly for an instant, as if he found her
ignorance hard to understand.
"They?" he stammered vaguely. "Why—why, the people of Xotalanc! The
clan of the man you slew. They who dwell by the eastern gate."
"You mean to say this city is inhabited?" she exclaimed.
"Aye! Aye!" He was writhing in the impatience of apprehension. "Come
away! Come quick! We must return to Tecuhltli!"
"Where is that?" she demanded.
Page 36
"The quarter by the western gate!" He had her wrist again and was pulling
her toward the door through which he had first come. Great beads of
perspiration dripped from his dark forehead, and his eyes blazed with terror.
"Wait a minute!" she growled, flinging off his hand. "Keep your hands off
me, or I'll split your skull. What's all this about? Who are you? Where
would you take me?"
He took a firm grip on himself, casting glances to all sides, and began
speaking so fast his words tripped over each other.
"My name is Techotl. I am of Tecuhltli. I and this man who lies with his
throat cut came into the Halls of Science to try and ambush some of the
Xotalancas. But we became separated and I returned here to find him with
his gullet slit. The Burning Skull did it, I know, just as he would have slain
me had you not killed him. But perhaps he was not alone. Others may be
stealing from Xotalanc! The gods themselves blench at the fate of those
they take alive!"
At the thought he shook as with an ague and his dark skin grew ashy.
Valeria frowned puzzledly at him. She sensed intelligence behind this
rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.
She turned toward the skull, which still glowed and pulsed on the floor, and
was reaching a booted toe tentatively toward it, when the man who called
himself Techotl sprang forward with a cry.
"Do not touch it! Do not even look at it! Madness and death lurk in it. The
wizards of Xotalanc understand its secret—they found it in the catacombs,
where lie the bones of terrible kings who ruled in Xuchotl in the black
centuries of the past. To gaze upon it freezes the blood and withers the brain
of a man who understands not its mystery. To touch it causes madness and
destruction."
She scowled at him uncertainly. He was not a reassuring figure, with his
lean, muscle-knotted frame, and snaky locks. In his eyes, behind the glow
of terror, lurked a weird light she had never seen in the eyes of a man
wholly sane. Yet he seemed sincere in his protestations.
her toward the door through which he had first come. Great beads of
perspiration dripped from his dark forehead, and his eyes blazed with terror.
"Wait a minute!" she growled, flinging off his hand. "Keep your hands off
me, or I'll split your skull. What's all this about? Who are you? Where
would you take me?"
He took a firm grip on himself, casting glances to all sides, and began
speaking so fast his words tripped over each other.
"My name is Techotl. I am of Tecuhltli. I and this man who lies with his
throat cut came into the Halls of Science to try and ambush some of the
Xotalancas. But we became separated and I returned here to find him with
his gullet slit. The Burning Skull did it, I know, just as he would have slain
me had you not killed him. But perhaps he was not alone. Others may be
stealing from Xotalanc! The gods themselves blench at the fate of those
they take alive!"
At the thought he shook as with an ague and his dark skin grew ashy.
Valeria frowned puzzledly at him. She sensed intelligence behind this
rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.
She turned toward the skull, which still glowed and pulsed on the floor, and
was reaching a booted toe tentatively toward it, when the man who called
himself Techotl sprang forward with a cry.
"Do not touch it! Do not even look at it! Madness and death lurk in it. The
wizards of Xotalanc understand its secret—they found it in the catacombs,
where lie the bones of terrible kings who ruled in Xuchotl in the black
centuries of the past. To gaze upon it freezes the blood and withers the brain
of a man who understands not its mystery. To touch it causes madness and
destruction."
She scowled at him uncertainly. He was not a reassuring figure, with his
lean, muscle-knotted frame, and snaky locks. In his eyes, behind the glow
of terror, lurked a weird light she had never seen in the eyes of a man
wholly sane. Yet he seemed sincere in his protestations.
Page 37
"Come!" he begged, reaching for her hand, and then recoiling as he
remembered her warning, "You are a stranger. How you came here I do not
know, but if you were a goddess or a demon, come to aid Tecuhltli, you
would know all the things you have asked me. You must be from beyond
the great forest, whence our ancestors came. But you are our friend, or you
would not have slain my enemy. Come quickly, before the Xotalancas find
us and slay us!"
From his repellent, impassioned face she glanced to the sinister skull,
smoldering and glowing on the floor near the dead man. It was like a skull
seen in a dream, undeniably human, yet with disturbing distortions and
malformations of contour and outline. In life the wearer of that skull must
have presented an alien and monstrous aspect. Life? It seemed to possess
some sort of life of its own. Its jaws yawned at her and snapped together. Its
radiance grew brighter, more vivid, yet the impression of nightmare grew
too; it was a dream; all life was a dream—it was Techotl's urgent voice
which snapped Valeria back from the dim gulfs whither she was drifting.
"Do not look at the skull! Do not look at the skull!" It was a far cry from
across unreckoned voids.
Valeria shook herself like a lion shaking his mane. Her vision cleared.
Techotl was chattering: "In life it housed the awful brain of a king of
magicians! It holds still the life and fire of magic drawn from outer spaces!"
W ith a curse Valeria leaped, lithe as a panther, and the skull crashed to
flaming bits under her swinging sword. Somewhere in the room, or
in the void, or in the dim reaches of her consciousness, an inhuman
voice cried out in pain and rage.
Techotl's hand was plucking at her arm and he was gibbering: "You have
broken it! You have destroyed it! Not all the black arts of Xotalanc can
rebuild it! Come away! Come away quickly, now!"
"But I can't go," she protested. "I have a friend somewhere near by——"
remembered her warning, "You are a stranger. How you came here I do not
know, but if you were a goddess or a demon, come to aid Tecuhltli, you
would know all the things you have asked me. You must be from beyond
the great forest, whence our ancestors came. But you are our friend, or you
would not have slain my enemy. Come quickly, before the Xotalancas find
us and slay us!"
From his repellent, impassioned face she glanced to the sinister skull,
smoldering and glowing on the floor near the dead man. It was like a skull
seen in a dream, undeniably human, yet with disturbing distortions and
malformations of contour and outline. In life the wearer of that skull must
have presented an alien and monstrous aspect. Life? It seemed to possess
some sort of life of its own. Its jaws yawned at her and snapped together. Its
radiance grew brighter, more vivid, yet the impression of nightmare grew
too; it was a dream; all life was a dream—it was Techotl's urgent voice
which snapped Valeria back from the dim gulfs whither she was drifting.
"Do not look at the skull! Do not look at the skull!" It was a far cry from
across unreckoned voids.
Valeria shook herself like a lion shaking his mane. Her vision cleared.
Techotl was chattering: "In life it housed the awful brain of a king of
magicians! It holds still the life and fire of magic drawn from outer spaces!"
W ith a curse Valeria leaped, lithe as a panther, and the skull crashed to
flaming bits under her swinging sword. Somewhere in the room, or
in the void, or in the dim reaches of her consciousness, an inhuman
voice cried out in pain and rage.
Techotl's hand was plucking at her arm and he was gibbering: "You have
broken it! You have destroyed it! Not all the black arts of Xotalanc can
rebuild it! Come away! Come away quickly, now!"
"But I can't go," she protested. "I have a friend somewhere near by——"
Page 38
The flare of his eyes cut her short as he stared past her with an expression
grown ghastly. She wheeled just as four men rushed through as many doors,
converging on the pair in the center of the chamber.
They were like the others she had seen, the same knotted muscles bulging
on otherwise gaunt limbs, the same lank blue-black hair, the same mad
glare in their wide eyes. They were armed and clad like Techotl, but on the
breast of each was painted a white skull.
There were no challenges or war-cries. Like blood-mad tigers the men of
Xotalanc sprang at the throats of their enemies. Techotl met them with the
fury of desperation, ducked the swipe of a wide-headed blade, and grappled
with the wielder, and bore him to the floor where they rolled and wrestled in
murderous silence.
The other three swarmed on Valeria, their weird eyes red as the eyes of mad
dogs.
he killed the first who came within reach before he could strike a blow, her
long straight blade splitting his skull even as his own sword lifted for a
stroke. She side-stepped a thrust, even as she parried a slash. Her eyes
danced and her lips smiled without mercy. Again she was Valeria of the Red
Brotherhood, and the hum of her steel was like a bridal song in her ears.
Her sword darted past a blade that sought to parry, and sheathed six inches
of its point in a leather-guarded midriff. The man gasped agonizedly and
went to his knees, but his tall mate lunged in, in ferocious silence, raining
blow on blow so furiously that Valeria had no opportunity to counter. She
stepped back coolly, parrying the strokes and watching for her chance to
thrust home. He could not long keep up that flailing whirlwind. His arm
would tire, his wind would fail; he would weaken, falter, and then her blade
would slide smoothly into his heart. A sidelong glance showed her Techotl
kneeling on the breast of his antagonist and striving to break the other's hold
on his wrist and to drive home a dagger.
grown ghastly. She wheeled just as four men rushed through as many doors,
converging on the pair in the center of the chamber.
They were like the others she had seen, the same knotted muscles bulging
on otherwise gaunt limbs, the same lank blue-black hair, the same mad
glare in their wide eyes. They were armed and clad like Techotl, but on the
breast of each was painted a white skull.
There were no challenges or war-cries. Like blood-mad tigers the men of
Xotalanc sprang at the throats of their enemies. Techotl met them with the
fury of desperation, ducked the swipe of a wide-headed blade, and grappled
with the wielder, and bore him to the floor where they rolled and wrestled in
murderous silence.
The other three swarmed on Valeria, their weird eyes red as the eyes of mad
dogs.
he killed the first who came within reach before he could strike a blow, her
long straight blade splitting his skull even as his own sword lifted for a
stroke. She side-stepped a thrust, even as she parried a slash. Her eyes
danced and her lips smiled without mercy. Again she was Valeria of the Red
Brotherhood, and the hum of her steel was like a bridal song in her ears.
Her sword darted past a blade that sought to parry, and sheathed six inches
of its point in a leather-guarded midriff. The man gasped agonizedly and
went to his knees, but his tall mate lunged in, in ferocious silence, raining
blow on blow so furiously that Valeria had no opportunity to counter. She
stepped back coolly, parrying the strokes and watching for her chance to
thrust home. He could not long keep up that flailing whirlwind. His arm
would tire, his wind would fail; he would weaken, falter, and then her blade
would slide smoothly into his heart. A sidelong glance showed her Techotl
kneeling on the breast of his antagonist and striving to break the other's hold
on his wrist and to drive home a dagger.
Page 39
S Sweat
beade
d the
forehead of
the man
facing her,
and his
eyes were
like
burning
coals.
Smite as
he would,
he could
not break
past nor
beat down
her guard.
His breath
came in
gusty
gulps, his
blows
began to "You can never reach the coast. There is no escape from Xuchotl."
fall
erratically. She stepped back to draw him out—and felt her thighs locked in
an iron grip. She had forgotten the wounded man on the floor.
Crouching on his knees, he held her with both arms locked about her legs,
and his mate croaked in triumph and began working his way around to
come at her from the left side. Valeria wrenched and tore savagely, but in
vain. She could free herself of this clinging menace with a downward flick
of her sword, but in that instant the curved blade of the tall warrior would
crash through her skull. The wounded man began to worry at her bare thigh
with his teeth like a wild beast.
She reached down with her left hand and gripped his long hair, forcing his
head back so that his white teeth and rolling eyes gleamed up at her. The tall
beade
d the
forehead of
the man
facing her,
and his
eyes were
like
burning
coals.
Smite as
he would,
he could
not break
past nor
beat down
her guard.
His breath
came in
gusty
gulps, his
blows
began to "You can never reach the coast. There is no escape from Xuchotl."
fall
erratically. She stepped back to draw him out—and felt her thighs locked in
an iron grip. She had forgotten the wounded man on the floor.
Crouching on his knees, he held her with both arms locked about her legs,
and his mate croaked in triumph and began working his way around to
come at her from the left side. Valeria wrenched and tore savagely, but in
vain. She could free herself of this clinging menace with a downward flick
of her sword, but in that instant the curved blade of the tall warrior would
crash through her skull. The wounded man began to worry at her bare thigh
with his teeth like a wild beast.
She reached down with her left hand and gripped his long hair, forcing his
head back so that his white teeth and rolling eyes gleamed up at her. The tall
Page 40
Xotalanc cried out fiercely and leaped in, smiting with all the fury of his
arm. Awkwardly she parried the stroke, and it beat the flat of her blade
down on her head so that she saw sparks flash before her eyes, and
staggered. Up went the sword again, with a low, beast-like cry of triumph—
and then a giant form loomed behind the Xotalanc and steel flashed like a
jet of blue lightning. The cry of the warrior broke short and he went down
like an ox beneath the pole-ax, his brains gushing from his skull that had
been split to the throat.
"Conan!" gasped Valeria. In a gust of passion she turned on the Xotalanc
whose long hair she still gripped in her left hand. "Dog of hell!" Her blade
swished as it cut the air in an upswinging arc with a blur in the middle, and
the headless body slumped down, spurting blood. She hurled the severed
head across the room.
"What the devil's going on here?" Conan bestrode the corpse of the man he
had killed, broadsword in hand, glaring about him in amazement.
Techotl was rising from the twitching figure of the last Xotalanc, shaking
red drops from his dagger. He was bleeding from the stab deep in the thigh.
He stared at Conan with dilated eyes.
"What is all this?" Conan demanded again, not yet recovered from the
stunning surprise of finding Valeria engaged in a savage battle with these
fantastic figures in a city he had thought empty and uninhabited. Returning
from an aimless exploration of the upper chambers to find Valeria missing
from the room where he had left her, he had followed the sounds of strife
that burst on his dumbfounded ears.
"Five dead dogs!" exclaimed Techotl, his flaming eyes reflecting a ghastly
exultation. "Five slain! Five crimson nails for the black pillar! The gods of
blood be thanked!"
He lifted quivering hands on high, and then, with the face of a fiend, he spat
on the corpses and stamped on their faces, dancing in his ghoulish glee. His
recent allies eyed him in amazement, and Conan asked, in the Aquilonian
tongue: "Who is this madman?"
Valeria shrugged her shoulders.
arm. Awkwardly she parried the stroke, and it beat the flat of her blade
down on her head so that she saw sparks flash before her eyes, and
staggered. Up went the sword again, with a low, beast-like cry of triumph—
and then a giant form loomed behind the Xotalanc and steel flashed like a
jet of blue lightning. The cry of the warrior broke short and he went down
like an ox beneath the pole-ax, his brains gushing from his skull that had
been split to the throat.
"Conan!" gasped Valeria. In a gust of passion she turned on the Xotalanc
whose long hair she still gripped in her left hand. "Dog of hell!" Her blade
swished as it cut the air in an upswinging arc with a blur in the middle, and
the headless body slumped down, spurting blood. She hurled the severed
head across the room.
"What the devil's going on here?" Conan bestrode the corpse of the man he
had killed, broadsword in hand, glaring about him in amazement.
Techotl was rising from the twitching figure of the last Xotalanc, shaking
red drops from his dagger. He was bleeding from the stab deep in the thigh.
He stared at Conan with dilated eyes.
"What is all this?" Conan demanded again, not yet recovered from the
stunning surprise of finding Valeria engaged in a savage battle with these
fantastic figures in a city he had thought empty and uninhabited. Returning
from an aimless exploration of the upper chambers to find Valeria missing
from the room where he had left her, he had followed the sounds of strife
that burst on his dumbfounded ears.
"Five dead dogs!" exclaimed Techotl, his flaming eyes reflecting a ghastly
exultation. "Five slain! Five crimson nails for the black pillar! The gods of
blood be thanked!"
He lifted quivering hands on high, and then, with the face of a fiend, he spat
on the corpses and stamped on their faces, dancing in his ghoulish glee. His
recent allies eyed him in amazement, and Conan asked, in the Aquilonian
tongue: "Who is this madman?"
Valeria shrugged her shoulders.
Page 41
"He says his name's Techotl. From his babblings I gather that his people
live at one end of this crazy city, and these others at the other end. Maybe
we'd better go with him. He seems friendly, and it's easy to see that the
other clan isn't."
T echotl had ceased his dancing and was listening again, his head tilted
sidewise, dog-like, triumph struggling with fear in his repellent
countenance.
"Come away, now!" he whispered. "We have done enough! Five dead dogs!
My people will welcome you! They will honor you! But come! It is far to
Tecuhltli. At any moment the Xotalancas may come on us in numbers too
great even for your swords."
"Lead the way," grunted Conan.
Techotl instantly mounted a stair leading up to the gallery, beckoning them
to follow him, which they did, moving rapidly to keep on his heels. Having
reached the gallery, he plunged into a door that opened toward the west, and
hurried through chamber after chamber, each lighted by skylights or green
fire-jewels.
"What sort of a place can this be?" muttered Valeria under her breath.
"Crom knows!" answered Conan. "I've seen his kind before, though. They
live on the shores of Lake Zuad, near the border of Kush. They're a sort of
mongrel Stygians, mixed with another race that wandered into Stygia from
the east some centuries ago and were absorbed by them. They're called
Tlazitlans. I'm willing to bet it wasn't they who built this city, though."
Techotl's fear did not seem to diminish as they drew away from the chamber
where the dead men lay. He kept twisting his head on his shoulder to listen
for sounds of pursuit, and stared with burning intensity into every doorway
they passed.
Valeria shivered in spite of herself. She feared no man. But the weird floor
beneath her feet, the uncanny jewels over her head, dividing the lurking
live at one end of this crazy city, and these others at the other end. Maybe
we'd better go with him. He seems friendly, and it's easy to see that the
other clan isn't."
T echotl had ceased his dancing and was listening again, his head tilted
sidewise, dog-like, triumph struggling with fear in his repellent
countenance.
"Come away, now!" he whispered. "We have done enough! Five dead dogs!
My people will welcome you! They will honor you! But come! It is far to
Tecuhltli. At any moment the Xotalancas may come on us in numbers too
great even for your swords."
"Lead the way," grunted Conan.
Techotl instantly mounted a stair leading up to the gallery, beckoning them
to follow him, which they did, moving rapidly to keep on his heels. Having
reached the gallery, he plunged into a door that opened toward the west, and
hurried through chamber after chamber, each lighted by skylights or green
fire-jewels.
"What sort of a place can this be?" muttered Valeria under her breath.
"Crom knows!" answered Conan. "I've seen his kind before, though. They
live on the shores of Lake Zuad, near the border of Kush. They're a sort of
mongrel Stygians, mixed with another race that wandered into Stygia from
the east some centuries ago and were absorbed by them. They're called
Tlazitlans. I'm willing to bet it wasn't they who built this city, though."
Techotl's fear did not seem to diminish as they drew away from the chamber
where the dead men lay. He kept twisting his head on his shoulder to listen
for sounds of pursuit, and stared with burning intensity into every doorway
they passed.
Valeria shivered in spite of herself. She feared no man. But the weird floor
beneath her feet, the uncanny jewels over her head, dividing the lurking
Page 42
shadows among them, the stealth and terror of their guide, impressed her
with a nameless apprehension, a sensation of lurking, inhuman peril.
"They may be between us and Tecuhltli!" he whispered once. "We must
beware lest they be lying in wait!"
"Why don't we get out of this infernal palace, and take to the streets?"
demanded Valeria.
"There are no streets in Xuchotl," he answered. "No squares nor open
courts. The whole city is built like one giant palace under one great roof.
The nearest approach to a street is the Great Hall which traverses the city
from the north gate to the south gate. The only doors opening into the outer
world are the city gates, through which no living man has passed for fifty
years."
"How long have you dwelt here?" asked Conan.
"I was born in the castle of Tecuhltli thirty-five years ago. I have never set
foot outside the city. For the love of the gods, let us go silently! These halls
may be full of lurking devils. Olmec shall tell you all when we reach
Tecuhltli."
So in silence they glided on with the green fire-stones blinking overhead
and the flaming floors smoldering under their feet, and it seemed to Valeria
as if they fled through hell, guided by a dark-faced, lank-haired goblin.
Yet it was Conan who halted them as they were crossing an unusually wide
chamber. His wilderness-bred ears were keener even than the ears of
Techotl, whetted though these were by a lifetime of warfare in those silent
corridors.
"You think some of your enemies may be ahead of us, lying in ambush?"
"They prowl through these rooms at all hours," answered Techotl, "as do
we. The halls and chambers between Tecuhltli and Xotalanc are a disputed
region, owned by no man. We call it the Halls of Silence. Why do you ask?"
"Because men are in the chambers ahead of us," answered Conan. "I heard
steel clink against stone."
with a nameless apprehension, a sensation of lurking, inhuman peril.
"They may be between us and Tecuhltli!" he whispered once. "We must
beware lest they be lying in wait!"
"Why don't we get out of this infernal palace, and take to the streets?"
demanded Valeria.
"There are no streets in Xuchotl," he answered. "No squares nor open
courts. The whole city is built like one giant palace under one great roof.
The nearest approach to a street is the Great Hall which traverses the city
from the north gate to the south gate. The only doors opening into the outer
world are the city gates, through which no living man has passed for fifty
years."
"How long have you dwelt here?" asked Conan.
"I was born in the castle of Tecuhltli thirty-five years ago. I have never set
foot outside the city. For the love of the gods, let us go silently! These halls
may be full of lurking devils. Olmec shall tell you all when we reach
Tecuhltli."
So in silence they glided on with the green fire-stones blinking overhead
and the flaming floors smoldering under their feet, and it seemed to Valeria
as if they fled through hell, guided by a dark-faced, lank-haired goblin.
Yet it was Conan who halted them as they were crossing an unusually wide
chamber. His wilderness-bred ears were keener even than the ears of
Techotl, whetted though these were by a lifetime of warfare in those silent
corridors.
"You think some of your enemies may be ahead of us, lying in ambush?"
"They prowl through these rooms at all hours," answered Techotl, "as do
we. The halls and chambers between Tecuhltli and Xotalanc are a disputed
region, owned by no man. We call it the Halls of Silence. Why do you ask?"
"Because men are in the chambers ahead of us," answered Conan. "I heard
steel clink against stone."
Page 43
Again a shaking seized Techotl, and he clenched his teeth to keep them
from chattering.
"Perhaps they are your friends," suggested Valeria.
"We dare not chance it," he panted, and moved with frenzied activity. He
turned aside and glided through a doorway on the left which led into a
chamber from which an ivory staircase wound down into darkness.
"This leads to an unlighted corridor below us!" he hissed, great beads of
perspiration standing out on his brow. "They may be lurking there, too. It
may all be a trick to draw us into it. But we must take the chance that they
have laid their ambush in the rooms above. Come swiftly, now!"
S oftly as phantoms they descended the stair and came to the mouth of a
corridor black as night. They crouched there for a moment, listening,
and then melted into it. As they moved along, Valeria's flesh crawled
between her shoulders in momentary expectation of a sword-thrust in the
dark. But for Conan's iron fingers gripping her arm she had no physical
cognizance of her companions. Neither made as much noise as a cat would
have made. The darkness was absolute. One hand, outstretched, touched a
wall, and occasionally she felt a door under her fingers. The hallway
seemed interminable.
Suddenly they were galvanized by a sound behind them. Valeria's flesh
crawled anew, for she recognized it as the soft opening of a door. Men had
come into the corridor behind them. Even with the thought she stumbled
over something that felt like a human skull. It rolled across the floor with an
appalling clatter.
"Run!" yelped Techotl, a note of hysteria in his voice, and was away down
the corridor like a flying ghost.
Again Valeria felt Conan's hand bearing her up and sweeping her along as
they raced after their guide. Conan could see in the dark no better than she,
but he possessed a sort of instinct that made his course unerring. Without
his support and guidance she would have fallen or stumbled against the
from chattering.
"Perhaps they are your friends," suggested Valeria.
"We dare not chance it," he panted, and moved with frenzied activity. He
turned aside and glided through a doorway on the left which led into a
chamber from which an ivory staircase wound down into darkness.
"This leads to an unlighted corridor below us!" he hissed, great beads of
perspiration standing out on his brow. "They may be lurking there, too. It
may all be a trick to draw us into it. But we must take the chance that they
have laid their ambush in the rooms above. Come swiftly, now!"
S oftly as phantoms they descended the stair and came to the mouth of a
corridor black as night. They crouched there for a moment, listening,
and then melted into it. As they moved along, Valeria's flesh crawled
between her shoulders in momentary expectation of a sword-thrust in the
dark. But for Conan's iron fingers gripping her arm she had no physical
cognizance of her companions. Neither made as much noise as a cat would
have made. The darkness was absolute. One hand, outstretched, touched a
wall, and occasionally she felt a door under her fingers. The hallway
seemed interminable.
Suddenly they were galvanized by a sound behind them. Valeria's flesh
crawled anew, for she recognized it as the soft opening of a door. Men had
come into the corridor behind them. Even with the thought she stumbled
over something that felt like a human skull. It rolled across the floor with an
appalling clatter.
"Run!" yelped Techotl, a note of hysteria in his voice, and was away down
the corridor like a flying ghost.
Again Valeria felt Conan's hand bearing her up and sweeping her along as
they raced after their guide. Conan could see in the dark no better than she,
but he possessed a sort of instinct that made his course unerring. Without
his support and guidance she would have fallen or stumbled against the
Page 44
wall. Down the corridor they sped, while the swift patter of flying feet drew
closer and closer, and then suddenly Techotl panted: "Here is the stair! After
me, quick! Oh, quick!"
His hand came out of the dark and caught Valeria's wrist as she stumbled
blindly on the steps. She felt herself half dragged, half lifted up the winding
stair, while Conan released her and turned on the steps, his ears and
instincts telling him their foes were hard at their backs. And the sounds were
not all those of human feet.
Something came writhing up the steps, something that slithered and rustled
and brought a chill in the air with it. Conan lashed down with his great
sword and felt the blade shear through something that might have been
flesh and bone, and cut deep into the stair beneath. Something touched his
foot that chilled like the touch of frost, and then the darkness beneath him
was disturbed by a frightful thrashing and lashing, and a man cried out in
agony.
The next moment Conan was racing up the winding staircase, and through a
door that stood open at the head.
Valeria and Techotl were already through, and Techotl slammed the door
and shot a bolt across it—the first Conan had seen since they left the outer
gate.
Then he turned and ran across the well-lighted chamber into which they had
come, and as they passed through the farther door, Conan glanced back and
saw the door groaning and straining under heavy pressure violently applied
from the other side.
Though Techotl did not abate either his speed or his caution, he seemed
more confident now. He had the air of a man who has come into familiar
territory, within call of friends.
But Conan renewed his terror by asking: "What was that thing that I fought
on the stair?"
"The men of Xotalanc," answered Techotl, without looking back. "I told
you the halls were full of them."
closer and closer, and then suddenly Techotl panted: "Here is the stair! After
me, quick! Oh, quick!"
His hand came out of the dark and caught Valeria's wrist as she stumbled
blindly on the steps. She felt herself half dragged, half lifted up the winding
stair, while Conan released her and turned on the steps, his ears and
instincts telling him their foes were hard at their backs. And the sounds were
not all those of human feet.
Something came writhing up the steps, something that slithered and rustled
and brought a chill in the air with it. Conan lashed down with his great
sword and felt the blade shear through something that might have been
flesh and bone, and cut deep into the stair beneath. Something touched his
foot that chilled like the touch of frost, and then the darkness beneath him
was disturbed by a frightful thrashing and lashing, and a man cried out in
agony.
The next moment Conan was racing up the winding staircase, and through a
door that stood open at the head.
Valeria and Techotl were already through, and Techotl slammed the door
and shot a bolt across it—the first Conan had seen since they left the outer
gate.
Then he turned and ran across the well-lighted chamber into which they had
come, and as they passed through the farther door, Conan glanced back and
saw the door groaning and straining under heavy pressure violently applied
from the other side.
Though Techotl did not abate either his speed or his caution, he seemed
more confident now. He had the air of a man who has come into familiar
territory, within call of friends.
But Conan renewed his terror by asking: "What was that thing that I fought
on the stair?"
"The men of Xotalanc," answered Techotl, without looking back. "I told
you the halls were full of them."
Page 45
"This wasn't a man," grunted Conan. "It was something that crawled, and it
was as cold as ice to the touch. I think I cut it asunder. It fell back on the
men who were following us, and must have killed one of them in its death
throes."
Techotl's head jerked back, his face ashy again. Convulsively he quickened
his pace.
"It was the Crawler! A monster they have brought out of the catacombs to
aid them! What it is, we do not know, but we have found our people
hideously slain by it. In Set's name, hasten! If they put it on our trail, it will
follow us to the very doors of Tecuhltli!"
"I doubt it," grunted Conan. "That was a shrewd cut I dealt it on the stair."
"Hasten! Hasten!" groaned Techotl.
They ran through a series of green-lit chambers, traversed a broad hall, and
halted before a giant bronze door.
Techotl said: "This is Tecuhltli!"
3. The People of the Feud
T echotl smote on the bronze door with his clenched hand, and then
turned sidewise, so that he could watch back along the hall.
"Men have been smitten down before this door, when they thought they
were safe," he said.
"Why don't they open the door?" asked Conan.
"They are looking at us through the Eye," answered Techotl. "They are
puzzled at the sight of you." He lifted his voice and called: "Open the door,
Xecelan! It is I, Techotl, with friends from the great world beyond the
forest!—They will open," he assured his allies.
was as cold as ice to the touch. I think I cut it asunder. It fell back on the
men who were following us, and must have killed one of them in its death
throes."
Techotl's head jerked back, his face ashy again. Convulsively he quickened
his pace.
"It was the Crawler! A monster they have brought out of the catacombs to
aid them! What it is, we do not know, but we have found our people
hideously slain by it. In Set's name, hasten! If they put it on our trail, it will
follow us to the very doors of Tecuhltli!"
"I doubt it," grunted Conan. "That was a shrewd cut I dealt it on the stair."
"Hasten! Hasten!" groaned Techotl.
They ran through a series of green-lit chambers, traversed a broad hall, and
halted before a giant bronze door.
Techotl said: "This is Tecuhltli!"
3. The People of the Feud
T echotl smote on the bronze door with his clenched hand, and then
turned sidewise, so that he could watch back along the hall.
"Men have been smitten down before this door, when they thought they
were safe," he said.
"Why don't they open the door?" asked Conan.
"They are looking at us through the Eye," answered Techotl. "They are
puzzled at the sight of you." He lifted his voice and called: "Open the door,
Xecelan! It is I, Techotl, with friends from the great world beyond the
forest!—They will open," he assured his allies.
Page 46
"They'd better do it in a hurry, then," said Conan grimly. "I hear something
crawling along the floor beyond the hall."
Techotl went ashy again and attacked the door with his fists, screaming:
"Open, you fools, open! The Crawler is at our heels!"
Even as he beat and shouted, the great bronze door swung noiselessly back,
revealing a heavy chain across the entrance, over which spear-heads bristled
and fierce countenances regarded them intently for an instant. Then the
chain was dropped and Techotl grasped the arms of his friends in a nervous
frenzy and fairly dragged them over the threshold. A glance over his
shoulder just as the door was closing showed Conan the long dim vista of
the hall, and dimly framed at the other end an ophidian shape that writhed
slowly and painfully into view, flowing in a dull-hued length from a
chamber door, its hideous blood-stained head wagging drunkenly. Then the
closing door shut off the view.
Inside the square chamber into which they had come heavy bolts were
drawn across the door, and the chain locked into place. The door was made
to stand the battering of a siege. Four men stood on guard, of the same lank-
haired, dark-skinned breed as Techotl, with spears in their hands and swords
at their hips. In the wall near the door there was a complicated contrivance
of mirrors which Conan guessed was the Eye Techotl had mentioned, so
arranged that a narrow, crystal-paned slot in the wall could be looked
through from within without being discernible from without. The four
guardsmen stared at the strangers with wonder, but asked no question, nor
did Techotl vouchsafe any information. He moved with easy confidence
now, as if he had shed his cloak of indecision and fear the instant he crossed
the threshold.
"Come!" he urged his new-found friends, but Conan glanced toward the
door.
"What about those fellows who were following us? Won't they try to storm
that door?"
Techotl shook his head.
"They know they cannot break down the Door of the Eagle. They will flee
back to Xotalanc, with their crawling fiend. Come! I will take you to the
crawling along the floor beyond the hall."
Techotl went ashy again and attacked the door with his fists, screaming:
"Open, you fools, open! The Crawler is at our heels!"
Even as he beat and shouted, the great bronze door swung noiselessly back,
revealing a heavy chain across the entrance, over which spear-heads bristled
and fierce countenances regarded them intently for an instant. Then the
chain was dropped and Techotl grasped the arms of his friends in a nervous
frenzy and fairly dragged them over the threshold. A glance over his
shoulder just as the door was closing showed Conan the long dim vista of
the hall, and dimly framed at the other end an ophidian shape that writhed
slowly and painfully into view, flowing in a dull-hued length from a
chamber door, its hideous blood-stained head wagging drunkenly. Then the
closing door shut off the view.
Inside the square chamber into which they had come heavy bolts were
drawn across the door, and the chain locked into place. The door was made
to stand the battering of a siege. Four men stood on guard, of the same lank-
haired, dark-skinned breed as Techotl, with spears in their hands and swords
at their hips. In the wall near the door there was a complicated contrivance
of mirrors which Conan guessed was the Eye Techotl had mentioned, so
arranged that a narrow, crystal-paned slot in the wall could be looked
through from within without being discernible from without. The four
guardsmen stared at the strangers with wonder, but asked no question, nor
did Techotl vouchsafe any information. He moved with easy confidence
now, as if he had shed his cloak of indecision and fear the instant he crossed
the threshold.
"Come!" he urged his new-found friends, but Conan glanced toward the
door.
"What about those fellows who were following us? Won't they try to storm
that door?"
Techotl shook his head.
"They know they cannot break down the Door of the Eagle. They will flee
back to Xotalanc, with their crawling fiend. Come! I will take you to the
Page 47
rulers of Tecuhltli."
O ne of the four guards opened the door opposite the one by which they
had entered, and they passed through into a hallway which, like most
of the rooms on that level, was lighted by both the slot-like skylights
and the clusters of winking fire-gems. But unlike the other rooms they had
traversed, this hall showed evidences of occupation. Velvet tapestries
adorned the glossy jade walls, rich rugs were on the crimson floors, and the
ivory seats, benches and divans were littered with satin cushions.
The hall ended in an ornate door, before which stood no guard. Without
ceremony Techotl thrust the door open and ushered his friends into a broad
chamber, where some thirty dark-skinned men and women lounging on
satin-covered couches sprang up with exclamations of amazement.
The men, all except one, were of the same type as Techotl, and the women
were equally dark and strange-eyed, though not unbeautiful in a weird dark
way. They wore sandals, golden breast-plates, and scanty silk skirts
supported by gem-crusted girdles, and their black manes, cut square at their
naked shoulders, were bound with silver circlets.
On a wide ivory seat on a jade dais sat a man and a woman who differed
subtly from the others. He was a giant, with an enormous sweep of breast
and the shoulders of a bull. Unlike the others, he was bearded, with a thick,
blue-black beard which fell almost to his broad girdle. He wore a robe of
purple silk which reflected changing sheens of color with his every
movement, and one wide sleeve, drawn back to his elbow, revealed a
forearm massive with corded muscles. The band which confined his blue-
black locks was set with glittering jewels.
The woman beside him sprang to her feet with a startled exclamation as the
strangers entered, and her eyes, passing over Conan, fixed themselves with
burning intensity on Valeria. She was tall and lithe, by far the most beautiful
woman in the room. She was clad more scantily even than the others; for
instead of a skirt she wore merely a broad strip of gilt-worked purple cloth
fastened to the middle of her girdle which fell below her knees. Another
O ne of the four guards opened the door opposite the one by which they
had entered, and they passed through into a hallway which, like most
of the rooms on that level, was lighted by both the slot-like skylights
and the clusters of winking fire-gems. But unlike the other rooms they had
traversed, this hall showed evidences of occupation. Velvet tapestries
adorned the glossy jade walls, rich rugs were on the crimson floors, and the
ivory seats, benches and divans were littered with satin cushions.
The hall ended in an ornate door, before which stood no guard. Without
ceremony Techotl thrust the door open and ushered his friends into a broad
chamber, where some thirty dark-skinned men and women lounging on
satin-covered couches sprang up with exclamations of amazement.
The men, all except one, were of the same type as Techotl, and the women
were equally dark and strange-eyed, though not unbeautiful in a weird dark
way. They wore sandals, golden breast-plates, and scanty silk skirts
supported by gem-crusted girdles, and their black manes, cut square at their
naked shoulders, were bound with silver circlets.
On a wide ivory seat on a jade dais sat a man and a woman who differed
subtly from the others. He was a giant, with an enormous sweep of breast
and the shoulders of a bull. Unlike the others, he was bearded, with a thick,
blue-black beard which fell almost to his broad girdle. He wore a robe of
purple silk which reflected changing sheens of color with his every
movement, and one wide sleeve, drawn back to his elbow, revealed a
forearm massive with corded muscles. The band which confined his blue-
black locks was set with glittering jewels.
The woman beside him sprang to her feet with a startled exclamation as the
strangers entered, and her eyes, passing over Conan, fixed themselves with
burning intensity on Valeria. She was tall and lithe, by far the most beautiful
woman in the room. She was clad more scantily even than the others; for
instead of a skirt she wore merely a broad strip of gilt-worked purple cloth
fastened to the middle of her girdle which fell below her knees. Another
Page 48
strip at the back of her girdle completed that part of her costume, which she
wore with a cynical indifference. Her breast-plates and the circlet about her
temples were adorned with gems. In her eyes alone of all the dark-skinned
people there lurked no brooding gleam of madness. She spoke no word after
her first exclamation; she stood tensely, her hands clenched, staring at
Valeria.
The man on the ivory seat had not risen.
"Prince Olmec," spoke Techotl, bowing low, with arms outspread and the
palms of his hands turned upward, "I bring allies from the world beyond the
forest. In the Chamber of Tezcoti the Burning Skull slew Chicmec, my
companion——"
"The Burning Skull!" It was a shuddering whisper of fear from the people
of Tecuhltli.
"Aye! Then came I, and found Chicmec lying with his throat cut. Before I
could flee, the Burning Skull came upon me, and when I looked upon it my
blood became as ice and the marrow of my bones melted. I could neither
fight nor run. I could only await the stroke. Then came this white-skinned
woman and struck him down with her sword; and lo, it was only a dog of
Xotalanc with white paint upon his skin and the living skull of an ancient
wizard upon his head! Now that skull lies in many pieces, and the dog who
wore it is a dead man!"
An indescribably fierce exultation edged the last sentence, and was echoed
in the low, savage exclamations from the crowding listeners.
"But wait!" exclaimed Techotl. "There is more! While I talked with the
woman, four Xotalancas came upon us! One I slew—there is the stab in my
thigh to prove how desperate was the fight. Two the woman killed. But we
were hard pressed when this man came into the fray and split the skull of
the fourth! Aye! Five crimson nails there are to be driven into the pillar of
vengeance!"
He pointed at a black column of ebony which stood behind the dais.
Hundreds of red dots scarred its polished surface—the bright scarlet heads
of heavy copper nails driven into the black wood.
wore with a cynical indifference. Her breast-plates and the circlet about her
temples were adorned with gems. In her eyes alone of all the dark-skinned
people there lurked no brooding gleam of madness. She spoke no word after
her first exclamation; she stood tensely, her hands clenched, staring at
Valeria.
The man on the ivory seat had not risen.
"Prince Olmec," spoke Techotl, bowing low, with arms outspread and the
palms of his hands turned upward, "I bring allies from the world beyond the
forest. In the Chamber of Tezcoti the Burning Skull slew Chicmec, my
companion——"
"The Burning Skull!" It was a shuddering whisper of fear from the people
of Tecuhltli.
"Aye! Then came I, and found Chicmec lying with his throat cut. Before I
could flee, the Burning Skull came upon me, and when I looked upon it my
blood became as ice and the marrow of my bones melted. I could neither
fight nor run. I could only await the stroke. Then came this white-skinned
woman and struck him down with her sword; and lo, it was only a dog of
Xotalanc with white paint upon his skin and the living skull of an ancient
wizard upon his head! Now that skull lies in many pieces, and the dog who
wore it is a dead man!"
An indescribably fierce exultation edged the last sentence, and was echoed
in the low, savage exclamations from the crowding listeners.
"But wait!" exclaimed Techotl. "There is more! While I talked with the
woman, four Xotalancas came upon us! One I slew—there is the stab in my
thigh to prove how desperate was the fight. Two the woman killed. But we
were hard pressed when this man came into the fray and split the skull of
the fourth! Aye! Five crimson nails there are to be driven into the pillar of
vengeance!"
He pointed at a black column of ebony which stood behind the dais.
Hundreds of red dots scarred its polished surface—the bright scarlet heads
of heavy copper nails driven into the black wood.
Page 49
"Five red nails for five Xotalanca lives!" exulted Techotl, and the horrible
exultation in the faces of the listeners made them inhuman.
"Who are these people?" asked Olmec, and his voice was like the low, deep
rumble of a distant bull. None of the people of Xuchotl spoke loudly. It was
as if they had absorbed into their souls the silence of the empty halls and
deserted chambers.
"I am Conan, a Cimmerian," answered the barbarian briefly. "This woman
is Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, an Aquilonian pirate. We are deserters
from an army on the Darfar border, far to the north, and are trying to reach
the coast."
The woman on the dais spoke loudly, her words tripping in her haste.
"You can never reach the coast! There is no escape from Xuchotl! You will
spend the rest of your lives in this city!"
"What do you mean?" growled Conan, clapping his hand to his hilt and
stepping about so as to face both the dais and the rest of the room. "Are you
telling us we're prisoners?"
"She did not mean that," interposed Olmec. "We are your friends. We would
not restrain you against your will. But I fear other circumstances will make
it impossible for you to leave Xuchotl."
His eyes flickered to Valeria, and he lowered them quickly.
"This woman is Tascela," he said. "She is a princess of Tecuhltli. But let
food and drink be brought our guests. Doubtless they are hungry, and weary
from their long travels."
He indicated an ivory table, and after an exchange of glances, the
adventurers seated themselves. The Cimmerian was suspicious. His fierce
blue eyes roved about the chamber, and he kept his sword close to his hand.
But an invitation to eat and drink never found him backward. His eyes kept
wandering to Tascela, but the princess had eyes only for his white-skinned
companion.
exultation in the faces of the listeners made them inhuman.
"Who are these people?" asked Olmec, and his voice was like the low, deep
rumble of a distant bull. None of the people of Xuchotl spoke loudly. It was
as if they had absorbed into their souls the silence of the empty halls and
deserted chambers.
"I am Conan, a Cimmerian," answered the barbarian briefly. "This woman
is Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, an Aquilonian pirate. We are deserters
from an army on the Darfar border, far to the north, and are trying to reach
the coast."
The woman on the dais spoke loudly, her words tripping in her haste.
"You can never reach the coast! There is no escape from Xuchotl! You will
spend the rest of your lives in this city!"
"What do you mean?" growled Conan, clapping his hand to his hilt and
stepping about so as to face both the dais and the rest of the room. "Are you
telling us we're prisoners?"
"She did not mean that," interposed Olmec. "We are your friends. We would
not restrain you against your will. But I fear other circumstances will make
it impossible for you to leave Xuchotl."
His eyes flickered to Valeria, and he lowered them quickly.
"This woman is Tascela," he said. "She is a princess of Tecuhltli. But let
food and drink be brought our guests. Doubtless they are hungry, and weary
from their long travels."
He indicated an ivory table, and after an exchange of glances, the
adventurers seated themselves. The Cimmerian was suspicious. His fierce
blue eyes roved about the chamber, and he kept his sword close to his hand.
But an invitation to eat and drink never found him backward. His eyes kept
wandering to Tascela, but the princess had eyes only for his white-skinned
companion.
Page 50
T echotl, who had bound a strip of silk about his wounded thigh, placed
himself at the table to attend to the wants of his friends, seeming to
consider it a privilege and honor to see after their needs. He inspected
the food and drink the others brought in gold vessels and dishes, and tasted
each before he placed it before his guests. While they ate, Olmec sat in
silence on his ivory seat, watching them from under his broad black brows.
Tascela sat beside him, chin cupped in her hands and her elbows resting on
her knees. Her dark, enigmatic eyes, burning with a mysterious light, never
left Valeria's supple figure. Behind her seat a sullen handsome girl waved an
ostrich-plume fan with a slow rhythm.
The food was fruit of an exotic kind unfamiliar to the wanderers, but very
palatable, and the drink was a light crimson wine that carried a heady tang.
"You have come from afar," said Olmec at last. "I have read the books of
our fathers. Aquilonia lies beyond the lands of the Stygians and the
Shemites, beyond Argos and Zingara; and Cimmeria lies beyond
Aquilonia."
"We have each a roving foot," answered Conan carelessly.
"How you won through the forest is a wonder to me," quoth Olmec. "In
bygone days a thousand fighting-men scarcely were able to carve a road
through its perils."
"We encountered a bench-legged monstrosity about the size of a mastodon,"
said Conan casually, holding out his wine goblet which Techotl filled with
evident pleasure. "But when we'd killed it we had no further trouble."
The wine vessel slipped from Techotl's hand to crash on the floor. His dusky
skin went ashy. Olmec started to his feet, an image of stunned amazement,
and a low gasp of awe or terror breathed up from the others. Some slipped
to their knees as if their legs would not support them. Only Tascela seemed
not to have heard. Conan glared about him bewilderedly.
"What's the matter? What are you gaping about?"
"You—you slew the dragon-god?"
"God? I killed a dragon. Why not? It was trying to gobble us up."
himself at the table to attend to the wants of his friends, seeming to
consider it a privilege and honor to see after their needs. He inspected
the food and drink the others brought in gold vessels and dishes, and tasted
each before he placed it before his guests. While they ate, Olmec sat in
silence on his ivory seat, watching them from under his broad black brows.
Tascela sat beside him, chin cupped in her hands and her elbows resting on
her knees. Her dark, enigmatic eyes, burning with a mysterious light, never
left Valeria's supple figure. Behind her seat a sullen handsome girl waved an
ostrich-plume fan with a slow rhythm.
The food was fruit of an exotic kind unfamiliar to the wanderers, but very
palatable, and the drink was a light crimson wine that carried a heady tang.
"You have come from afar," said Olmec at last. "I have read the books of
our fathers. Aquilonia lies beyond the lands of the Stygians and the
Shemites, beyond Argos and Zingara; and Cimmeria lies beyond
Aquilonia."
"We have each a roving foot," answered Conan carelessly.
"How you won through the forest is a wonder to me," quoth Olmec. "In
bygone days a thousand fighting-men scarcely were able to carve a road
through its perils."
"We encountered a bench-legged monstrosity about the size of a mastodon,"
said Conan casually, holding out his wine goblet which Techotl filled with
evident pleasure. "But when we'd killed it we had no further trouble."
The wine vessel slipped from Techotl's hand to crash on the floor. His dusky
skin went ashy. Olmec started to his feet, an image of stunned amazement,
and a low gasp of awe or terror breathed up from the others. Some slipped
to their knees as if their legs would not support them. Only Tascela seemed
not to have heard. Conan glared about him bewilderedly.
"What's the matter? What are you gaping about?"
"You—you slew the dragon-god?"
"God? I killed a dragon. Why not? It was trying to gobble us up."
Page 51
"But dragons are immortal!" exclaimed Olmec. "They slay each other, but
no man ever killed a dragon! The thousand fighting-men of our ancestors
who fought their way to Xuchotl could not prevail against them! Their
swords broke like twigs against their scales!"
"If your ancestors had thought to dip their spears in the poisonous juice of
Derketa's Apples," quoth Conan, with his mouth full, "and jab them in the
eyes or mouth or somewhere like that, they'd have seen that dragons are not
more immortal than any other chunk of beef. The carcass lies at the edge of
the trees, just within the forest. If you don't believe me, go and look for
yourself."
Olmec shook his head, not in disbelief but in wonder.
"It was because of the dragons that our ancestors took refuge in Xuchotl,"
said he. "They dared not pass through the plain and plunge into the forest
beyond. Scores of them were seized and devoured by the monsters before
they could reach the city."
"Then your ancestors didn't build Xuchotl?" asked Valeria.
"It was ancient when they first came into the land. How long it had stood
here, not even its degenerate inhabitants knew."
"Your people came from Lake Zuad?" questioned Conan.
"Aye. More than half a century ago a tribe of the Tlazitlans rebelled against
the Stygian king, and, being defeated in battle, fled southward. For many
weeks they wandered over grasslands, desert and hills, and at last they came
into the great forest, a thousand fighting-men with their women and
children.
"It was in the forest that the dragons fell upon them, and tore many to
pieces; so the people fled in a frenzy of fear before them, and at last came
into the plain and saw the city of Xuchotl in the midst of it.
"They camped before the city, not daring to leave the plain, for the night
was made hideous with the noise of the battling monsters throughout the
forest. They made war incessantly upon one another. Yet they came not into
the plain.
no man ever killed a dragon! The thousand fighting-men of our ancestors
who fought their way to Xuchotl could not prevail against them! Their
swords broke like twigs against their scales!"
"If your ancestors had thought to dip their spears in the poisonous juice of
Derketa's Apples," quoth Conan, with his mouth full, "and jab them in the
eyes or mouth or somewhere like that, they'd have seen that dragons are not
more immortal than any other chunk of beef. The carcass lies at the edge of
the trees, just within the forest. If you don't believe me, go and look for
yourself."
Olmec shook his head, not in disbelief but in wonder.
"It was because of the dragons that our ancestors took refuge in Xuchotl,"
said he. "They dared not pass through the plain and plunge into the forest
beyond. Scores of them were seized and devoured by the monsters before
they could reach the city."
"Then your ancestors didn't build Xuchotl?" asked Valeria.
"It was ancient when they first came into the land. How long it had stood
here, not even its degenerate inhabitants knew."
"Your people came from Lake Zuad?" questioned Conan.
"Aye. More than half a century ago a tribe of the Tlazitlans rebelled against
the Stygian king, and, being defeated in battle, fled southward. For many
weeks they wandered over grasslands, desert and hills, and at last they came
into the great forest, a thousand fighting-men with their women and
children.
"It was in the forest that the dragons fell upon them, and tore many to
pieces; so the people fled in a frenzy of fear before them, and at last came
into the plain and saw the city of Xuchotl in the midst of it.
"They camped before the city, not daring to leave the plain, for the night
was made hideous with the noise of the battling monsters throughout the
forest. They made war incessantly upon one another. Yet they came not into
the plain.
Page 52
"The people of the city shut their gates and shot arrows at our people from
the walls. The Tlazitlans were imprisoned on the plain, as if the ring of the
forest had been a great wall; for to venture into the woods would have been
madness.
"That night there came secretly to their camp a slave from the city, one of
their own blood, who with a band of exploring soldiers had wandered into
the forest long before, when he was a young man. The dragons had
devoured all his companions, but he had been taken into the city to dwell in
servitude. His name was Tolkemec." A flame lighted the dark eyes at
mention of the name, and some of the people muttered obscenely and spat.
"He promised to open the gates to the warriors. He asked only that all
captives taken be delivered into his hands.
"At dawn he opened the gates. The warriors swarmed in and the halls of
Xuchotl ran red. Only a few hundred folk dwelt there, decaying remnants of
a once great race. Tolkemec said they came from the east, long ago, from
Old Kosala, when the ancestors of those who now dwell in Kosala came up
from the south and drove forth the original inhabitants of the land. They
wandered far westward and finally found this forest-girdled plain, inhabited
then by a tribe of black people.
"These they enslaved and set to building a city. From the hills to the east
they brought jade and marble and lapis lazuli, and gold, silver and copper.
Herds of elephants provided them with ivory. When their city was
completed, they slew all the black slaves. And their magicians made a
terrible magic to guard the city; for by their necromantic arts they re-created
the dragons which had once dwelt in this lost land, and whose monstrous
bones they found in the forest. Those bones they clothed in flesh and life,
and the living beasts walked the earth as they walked it when Time was
young. But the wizards wove a spell that kept them in the forest and they
came not into the plain.
"S o for many centuries the people of Xuchotl dwelt in their city,
cultivating the fertile plain, until their wise men learned how to
the walls. The Tlazitlans were imprisoned on the plain, as if the ring of the
forest had been a great wall; for to venture into the woods would have been
madness.
"That night there came secretly to their camp a slave from the city, one of
their own blood, who with a band of exploring soldiers had wandered into
the forest long before, when he was a young man. The dragons had
devoured all his companions, but he had been taken into the city to dwell in
servitude. His name was Tolkemec." A flame lighted the dark eyes at
mention of the name, and some of the people muttered obscenely and spat.
"He promised to open the gates to the warriors. He asked only that all
captives taken be delivered into his hands.
"At dawn he opened the gates. The warriors swarmed in and the halls of
Xuchotl ran red. Only a few hundred folk dwelt there, decaying remnants of
a once great race. Tolkemec said they came from the east, long ago, from
Old Kosala, when the ancestors of those who now dwell in Kosala came up
from the south and drove forth the original inhabitants of the land. They
wandered far westward and finally found this forest-girdled plain, inhabited
then by a tribe of black people.
"These they enslaved and set to building a city. From the hills to the east
they brought jade and marble and lapis lazuli, and gold, silver and copper.
Herds of elephants provided them with ivory. When their city was
completed, they slew all the black slaves. And their magicians made a
terrible magic to guard the city; for by their necromantic arts they re-created
the dragons which had once dwelt in this lost land, and whose monstrous
bones they found in the forest. Those bones they clothed in flesh and life,
and the living beasts walked the earth as they walked it when Time was
young. But the wizards wove a spell that kept them in the forest and they
came not into the plain.
"S o for many centuries the people of Xuchotl dwelt in their city,
cultivating the fertile plain, until their wise men learned how to
Page 53
grow fruit within the city—fruit which is not planted in soil, but obtains its
nourishment out of the air—and then they let the irrigation ditches run dry,
and dwelt more and more in luxurious sloth, until decay seized them. They
were a dying race when our ancestors broke through the forest and came
into the plain. Their wizards had died, and the people had forgot their
ancient necromancy. They could fight neither by sorcery nor the sword.
"Well, our fathers slew the people of Xuchotl, all except a hundred which
were given living into the hands of Tolkemec, who had been their slave; and
for many days and nights the halls re-echoed to their screams under the
agony of his tortures.
"So the Tlazitlans dwelt here, for a while in peace, ruled by the brothers
Tecuhltli and Xotalanc, and by Tolkemec. Tolkemec took a girl of the tribe
to wife, and because he had opened the gates, and because he knew many of
the arts of the Xuchotlans, he shared the rule of the tribe with the brothers
who had led the rebellion and the flight.
"For a few years, then, they dwelt at peace within the city, doing little but
eating, drinking and making love, and raising children. There was no
necessity to till the plain, for Tolkemec taught them how to cultivate the air-
devouring fruits. Besides, the slaying of the Xuchotlans broke the spell that
held the dragons in the forest, and they came nightly and bellowed about
the gates of the city. The plain ran red with the blood of their eternal
warfare, and it was then that——" He bit his tongue in the midst of the
sentence, then presently continued, but Valeria and Conan felt that he had
checked an admission he had considered unwise.
"Five years they dwelt in peace. Then"—Olmec's eyes rested briefly on the
silent woman at his side—"Xotalanc took a woman to wife, a woman whom
both Tecuhltli and old Tolkemec desired. In his madness, Tecuhltli stole her
from her husband. Aye, she went willingly enough. Tolkemec, to spite
Xotalanc, aided Tecuhltli. Xotalanc demanded that she be given back to
him, and the council of the tribe decided that the matter should be left to the
woman. She chose to remain with Tecuhltli. In wrath Xotalanc sought to
take her back by force, and the retainers of the brothers came to blows in
the Great Hall.
nourishment out of the air—and then they let the irrigation ditches run dry,
and dwelt more and more in luxurious sloth, until decay seized them. They
were a dying race when our ancestors broke through the forest and came
into the plain. Their wizards had died, and the people had forgot their
ancient necromancy. They could fight neither by sorcery nor the sword.
"Well, our fathers slew the people of Xuchotl, all except a hundred which
were given living into the hands of Tolkemec, who had been their slave; and
for many days and nights the halls re-echoed to their screams under the
agony of his tortures.
"So the Tlazitlans dwelt here, for a while in peace, ruled by the brothers
Tecuhltli and Xotalanc, and by Tolkemec. Tolkemec took a girl of the tribe
to wife, and because he had opened the gates, and because he knew many of
the arts of the Xuchotlans, he shared the rule of the tribe with the brothers
who had led the rebellion and the flight.
"For a few years, then, they dwelt at peace within the city, doing little but
eating, drinking and making love, and raising children. There was no
necessity to till the plain, for Tolkemec taught them how to cultivate the air-
devouring fruits. Besides, the slaying of the Xuchotlans broke the spell that
held the dragons in the forest, and they came nightly and bellowed about
the gates of the city. The plain ran red with the blood of their eternal
warfare, and it was then that——" He bit his tongue in the midst of the
sentence, then presently continued, but Valeria and Conan felt that he had
checked an admission he had considered unwise.
"Five years they dwelt in peace. Then"—Olmec's eyes rested briefly on the
silent woman at his side—"Xotalanc took a woman to wife, a woman whom
both Tecuhltli and old Tolkemec desired. In his madness, Tecuhltli stole her
from her husband. Aye, she went willingly enough. Tolkemec, to spite
Xotalanc, aided Tecuhltli. Xotalanc demanded that she be given back to
him, and the council of the tribe decided that the matter should be left to the
woman. She chose to remain with Tecuhltli. In wrath Xotalanc sought to
take her back by force, and the retainers of the brothers came to blows in
the Great Hall.
Page 54
"There was much bitterness. Blood was shed on both sides. The quarrel
became a feud, the feud an open war. From the welter three factions
emerged—Tecuhltli, Xotalanc, and Tolkemec. Already, in the days of peace,
they had divided the city between them. Tecuhltli dwelt in the western
quarter of the city, Xotalanc in the eastern, and Tolkemec with his family by
the southern gate.
"Anger and resentment and jealousy blossomed into bloodshed and rape
and murder. Once the sword was drawn there was no turning back; for
blood called for blood, and vengeance followed swift on the heels of
atrocity. Tecuhltli fought with Xotalanc, and Tolkemec aided first one and
then the other, betraying each faction as it fitted his purposes. Tecuhltli and
his people withdrew into the quarter of the western gate, where we now sit.
Xuchotl is built in the shape of an oval. Tecuhltli, which took its name from
its prince, occupies the western end of the oval. The people blocked up all
doors connecting the quarter with the rest of the city, except one on each
floor, which could be defended easily. They went into the pits below the
city and built a wall cutting off the western end of the catacombs, where lie
the bodies of the ancient Xuchotlans, and of those Tlazitlans slain in the
feud. They dwelt as in a besieged castle, making sorties and forays on their
enemies.
"The people of Xotalanc likewise fortified the eastern quarter of the city,
and Tolkemec did likewise with the quarter by the southern gate. The
central part of the city was left bare and uninhabited. Those empty halls and
chambers became a battleground, and a region of brooding terror.
"Tolkemec warred on both clans. He was a fiend in the form of a human,
worse than Xotalanc. He knew many secrets of the city he never told the
others. From the crypts of the catacombs he plundered the dead of their
grisly secrets—secrets of ancient kings and wizards, long forgotten by the
degenerate Xuchotlans our ancestors slew. But all his magic did not aid him
the night we of Tecuhltli stormed his castle and butchered all his people.
Tolkemec we tortured for many days."
His voice sank to a caressing slur, and a far-away look grew in his eyes, as
if he looked back over the years to a scene which caused him intense
pleasure.
became a feud, the feud an open war. From the welter three factions
emerged—Tecuhltli, Xotalanc, and Tolkemec. Already, in the days of peace,
they had divided the city between them. Tecuhltli dwelt in the western
quarter of the city, Xotalanc in the eastern, and Tolkemec with his family by
the southern gate.
"Anger and resentment and jealousy blossomed into bloodshed and rape
and murder. Once the sword was drawn there was no turning back; for
blood called for blood, and vengeance followed swift on the heels of
atrocity. Tecuhltli fought with Xotalanc, and Tolkemec aided first one and
then the other, betraying each faction as it fitted his purposes. Tecuhltli and
his people withdrew into the quarter of the western gate, where we now sit.
Xuchotl is built in the shape of an oval. Tecuhltli, which took its name from
its prince, occupies the western end of the oval. The people blocked up all
doors connecting the quarter with the rest of the city, except one on each
floor, which could be defended easily. They went into the pits below the
city and built a wall cutting off the western end of the catacombs, where lie
the bodies of the ancient Xuchotlans, and of those Tlazitlans slain in the
feud. They dwelt as in a besieged castle, making sorties and forays on their
enemies.
"The people of Xotalanc likewise fortified the eastern quarter of the city,
and Tolkemec did likewise with the quarter by the southern gate. The
central part of the city was left bare and uninhabited. Those empty halls and
chambers became a battleground, and a region of brooding terror.
"Tolkemec warred on both clans. He was a fiend in the form of a human,
worse than Xotalanc. He knew many secrets of the city he never told the
others. From the crypts of the catacombs he plundered the dead of their
grisly secrets—secrets of ancient kings and wizards, long forgotten by the
degenerate Xuchotlans our ancestors slew. But all his magic did not aid him
the night we of Tecuhltli stormed his castle and butchered all his people.
Tolkemec we tortured for many days."
His voice sank to a caressing slur, and a far-away look grew in his eyes, as
if he looked back over the years to a scene which caused him intense
pleasure.
Page 55
"Aye, we kept the life in him until he screamed for death as for a bride. At
last we took him living from the torture chamber and cast him into a
dungeon for the rats to gnaw as he died. From that dungeon, somehow, he
managed to escape, and dragged himself into the catacombs. There without
doubt he died, for the only way out of the catacombs beneath Tecuhltli is
through Tecuhltli, and he never emerged by that way. His bones were never
found, and the superstitious among our people swear that his ghost haunts
the crypts to this day, wailing among the bones of the dead. Twelve years
ago we butchered the people of Tolkemec, but the feud raged on between
Tecuhltli and Xotalanc, as it will rage until the last man, the last woman is
dead.
"It was fifty years ago that Tecuhltli stole the wife of Xotalanc. Half a
century the feud has endured. I was born in it. All in this chamber, except
Tascela, were born in it. We expect to die in it.
"We are a dying race, even as those Xuchotlans our ancestors slew. When
the feud began there were hundreds in each faction. Now we of Tecuhltli
number only these you see before you, and the men who guard the four
doors: forty in all. How many Xotalancas there are we do not know, but I
doubt if they are much more numerous than we. For fifteen years no
children have been born to us, and we have seen none among the
Xotalancas.
"We are dying, but before we die we will slay as many of the men of
Xotalanc as the gods permit."
And with his weird eyes blazing, Olmec spoke long of that grisly feud,
fought out in silent chambers and dim halls under the blaze of the green
fire-jewels, on floors smoldering with the flames of hell and splashed with
deeper crimson from severed veins. In that long butchery a whole
generation had perished. Xotalanc was dead, long ago, slain in a grim battle
on an ivory stair. Tecuhltli was dead, flayed alive by the maddened
Xotalancas who had captured him.
Without emotion Olmec told of hideous battles fought in black corridors, of
ambushes on twisting stairs, and red butcheries. With a redder, more
abysmal gleam in his deep dark eyes he told of men and women flayed
alive, mutilated and dismembered, of captives howling under tortures so
last we took him living from the torture chamber and cast him into a
dungeon for the rats to gnaw as he died. From that dungeon, somehow, he
managed to escape, and dragged himself into the catacombs. There without
doubt he died, for the only way out of the catacombs beneath Tecuhltli is
through Tecuhltli, and he never emerged by that way. His bones were never
found, and the superstitious among our people swear that his ghost haunts
the crypts to this day, wailing among the bones of the dead. Twelve years
ago we butchered the people of Tolkemec, but the feud raged on between
Tecuhltli and Xotalanc, as it will rage until the last man, the last woman is
dead.
"It was fifty years ago that Tecuhltli stole the wife of Xotalanc. Half a
century the feud has endured. I was born in it. All in this chamber, except
Tascela, were born in it. We expect to die in it.
"We are a dying race, even as those Xuchotlans our ancestors slew. When
the feud began there were hundreds in each faction. Now we of Tecuhltli
number only these you see before you, and the men who guard the four
doors: forty in all. How many Xotalancas there are we do not know, but I
doubt if they are much more numerous than we. For fifteen years no
children have been born to us, and we have seen none among the
Xotalancas.
"We are dying, but before we die we will slay as many of the men of
Xotalanc as the gods permit."
And with his weird eyes blazing, Olmec spoke long of that grisly feud,
fought out in silent chambers and dim halls under the blaze of the green
fire-jewels, on floors smoldering with the flames of hell and splashed with
deeper crimson from severed veins. In that long butchery a whole
generation had perished. Xotalanc was dead, long ago, slain in a grim battle
on an ivory stair. Tecuhltli was dead, flayed alive by the maddened
Xotalancas who had captured him.
Without emotion Olmec told of hideous battles fought in black corridors, of
ambushes on twisting stairs, and red butcheries. With a redder, more
abysmal gleam in his deep dark eyes he told of men and women flayed
alive, mutilated and dismembered, of captives howling under tortures so
Page 56
ghastly that even the barbarous Cimmerian grunted. No wonder Techotl had
trembled with the terror of capture. Yet he had gone forth to slay if he
could, driven by hate that was stronger than his fear. Olmec spoke further,
of dark and mysterious matters, of black magic and wizardry conjured out
of the black night of the catacombs, of weird creatures invoked out of
darkness for horrible allies. In these things the Xotalancas had the
advantage, for it was in the eastern catacombs where lay the bones of the
greatest wizards of the ancient Xuchotlans, with their immemorial secrets.
V aleria listened with morbid fascination. The feud had become a
terrible elemental power driving the people of Xuchotl inexorably on
to doom and extinction. It filled their whole lives. They were born in
it, and they expected to die in it. They never left their barricaded castle
except to steal forth into the Halls of Silence that lay between the opposing
fortresses, to slay and be slain. Sometimes the raiders returned with frantic
captives, or with grim tokens of victory in fight. Sometimes they did not
return at all, or returned only as severed limbs cast down before the bolted
bronze doors. It was a ghastly, unreal nightmare existence these people
lived, shut off from the rest of the world, caught together like rabid rats in
the same trap, butchering one another through the years, crouching and
creeping through the sunless corridors to maim and torture and murder.
While Olmec talked, Valeria felt the blazing eyes of Tascela fixed upon her.
The princess seemed not to hear what Olmec was saying. Her expression, as
he narrated victories or defeats, did not mirror the wild rage or fiendish
exultation that alternated on the faces of the other Tecuhltli. The feud that
was an obsession to her clansmen seemed meaningless to her. Valeria found
her indifferent callousness more repugnant than Olmec's naked ferocity.
"And we can never leave the city," said Olmec. "For fifty years no one has
left it except those——" Again he checked himself.
"Even without the peril of the dragons," he continued, "we who were born
and raised in the city would not dare leave it. We have never set foot outside
trembled with the terror of capture. Yet he had gone forth to slay if he
could, driven by hate that was stronger than his fear. Olmec spoke further,
of dark and mysterious matters, of black magic and wizardry conjured out
of the black night of the catacombs, of weird creatures invoked out of
darkness for horrible allies. In these things the Xotalancas had the
advantage, for it was in the eastern catacombs where lay the bones of the
greatest wizards of the ancient Xuchotlans, with their immemorial secrets.
V aleria listened with morbid fascination. The feud had become a
terrible elemental power driving the people of Xuchotl inexorably on
to doom and extinction. It filled their whole lives. They were born in
it, and they expected to die in it. They never left their barricaded castle
except to steal forth into the Halls of Silence that lay between the opposing
fortresses, to slay and be slain. Sometimes the raiders returned with frantic
captives, or with grim tokens of victory in fight. Sometimes they did not
return at all, or returned only as severed limbs cast down before the bolted
bronze doors. It was a ghastly, unreal nightmare existence these people
lived, shut off from the rest of the world, caught together like rabid rats in
the same trap, butchering one another through the years, crouching and
creeping through the sunless corridors to maim and torture and murder.
While Olmec talked, Valeria felt the blazing eyes of Tascela fixed upon her.
The princess seemed not to hear what Olmec was saying. Her expression, as
he narrated victories or defeats, did not mirror the wild rage or fiendish
exultation that alternated on the faces of the other Tecuhltli. The feud that
was an obsession to her clansmen seemed meaningless to her. Valeria found
her indifferent callousness more repugnant than Olmec's naked ferocity.
"And we can never leave the city," said Olmec. "For fifty years no one has
left it except those——" Again he checked himself.
"Even without the peril of the dragons," he continued, "we who were born
and raised in the city would not dare leave it. We have never set foot outside
Page 57
the walls. We are not accustomed to the open sky and the naked sun. No; we
were born in Xuchotl, and in Xuchotl we shall die."
"Well," said Conan, "with your leave we'll take our chances with the
dragons. This feud is none of our business. If you'll show us to the west
gate, we'll be on our way."
Tascela's hands clenched, and she started to speak, but Olmec interrupted
her: "It is nearly nightfall. If you wander forth into the plain by night, you
will certainly fall prey to the dragons."
"We crossed it last night, and slept in the open without seeing any," returned
Conan.
Tascela smiled mirthlessly. "You dare not leave Xuchotl!"
Conan glared at her with instinctive antagonism; she was not looking at
him, but at the woman opposite him.
"I think they dare," retorted Olmec. "But look you, Conan and Valeria, the
gods must have sent you to us, to cast victory into the laps of the Tecuhltli!
You are professional fighters—why not fight for us? We have wealth in
abundance—precious jewels are as common in Xuchotl as cobblestones are
in the cities of the world. Some the Xuchotlans brought with them from
Kosala. Some, like the fire-stones, they found in the hills to the east. Aid us
to wipe out the Xotalancas, and we will give you all the jewels you can
carry."
"And will you help us destroy the dragons?" asked Valeria. "With bows and
poisoned arrows thirty men could slay all the dragons in the forest."
"Aye!" replied Olmec promptly. "We have forgotten the use of the bow, in
years of hand-to-hand fighting, but we can learn again."
"What do you say?" Valeria inquired of Conan.
"We're both penniless vagabonds," he grinned hardily. "I'd as soon kill
Xotalancas as anybody."
"Then you agree?" exclaimed Olmec, while Techotl fairly hugged himself
with delight.
were born in Xuchotl, and in Xuchotl we shall die."
"Well," said Conan, "with your leave we'll take our chances with the
dragons. This feud is none of our business. If you'll show us to the west
gate, we'll be on our way."
Tascela's hands clenched, and she started to speak, but Olmec interrupted
her: "It is nearly nightfall. If you wander forth into the plain by night, you
will certainly fall prey to the dragons."
"We crossed it last night, and slept in the open without seeing any," returned
Conan.
Tascela smiled mirthlessly. "You dare not leave Xuchotl!"
Conan glared at her with instinctive antagonism; she was not looking at
him, but at the woman opposite him.
"I think they dare," retorted Olmec. "But look you, Conan and Valeria, the
gods must have sent you to us, to cast victory into the laps of the Tecuhltli!
You are professional fighters—why not fight for us? We have wealth in
abundance—precious jewels are as common in Xuchotl as cobblestones are
in the cities of the world. Some the Xuchotlans brought with them from
Kosala. Some, like the fire-stones, they found in the hills to the east. Aid us
to wipe out the Xotalancas, and we will give you all the jewels you can
carry."
"And will you help us destroy the dragons?" asked Valeria. "With bows and
poisoned arrows thirty men could slay all the dragons in the forest."
"Aye!" replied Olmec promptly. "We have forgotten the use of the bow, in
years of hand-to-hand fighting, but we can learn again."
"What do you say?" Valeria inquired of Conan.
"We're both penniless vagabonds," he grinned hardily. "I'd as soon kill
Xotalancas as anybody."
"Then you agree?" exclaimed Olmec, while Techotl fairly hugged himself
with delight.
Page 58
"Aye. And now suppose you show us chambers where we can sleep, so we
can be fresh tomorrow for the beginning of the slaying."
Olmec nodded, and waved a hand, and Techotl and a woman led the
adventurers into a corridor which led through a door off to the left of the
jade dais. A glance back showed Valeria Olmec sitting on his throne, chin
on knotted fist, staring after them. His eyes burned with a weird flame.
Tascela leaned back in her seat, whispering to the sullen-faced maid, Yasala,
who leaned over her shoulder, her ear to the princess' moving lips.
T he hallway was not so broad as most they had traversed, but it was
long. Presently the woman halted, opened a door, and drew aside for
Valeria to enter.
"Wait a minute," growled Conan. "Where do I sleep?"
Techotl pointed to a chamber across the hallway, but one door farther down.
Conan hesitated, and seemed inclined to raise an objection, but Valeria
smiled spitefully at him and shut the door in his face. He muttered
something uncomplimentary about women in general, and strode off down
the corridor after Techotl.
In the ornate chamber where he was to sleep, he glanced up at the slot-like
skylights. Some were wide enough to admit the body of a slender man,
supposing the glass were broken.
"Why don't the Xotalancas come over the roofs and shatter those
skylights?" he asked.
"They cannot be broken," answered Techotl. "Besides, the roofs would be
hard to clamber over. They are mostly spires and domes and steep ridges."
He volunteered more information about the "castle" of Tecuhltli. Like the
rest of the city it contained four stories, or tiers of chambers, with towers
jutting up from the roof. Each tier was named; indeed, the people of
Xuchotl had a name for each chamber, hall and stair in the city, as people of
more normal cities designate streets and quarters. In Tecuhltli the floors
can be fresh tomorrow for the beginning of the slaying."
Olmec nodded, and waved a hand, and Techotl and a woman led the
adventurers into a corridor which led through a door off to the left of the
jade dais. A glance back showed Valeria Olmec sitting on his throne, chin
on knotted fist, staring after them. His eyes burned with a weird flame.
Tascela leaned back in her seat, whispering to the sullen-faced maid, Yasala,
who leaned over her shoulder, her ear to the princess' moving lips.
T he hallway was not so broad as most they had traversed, but it was
long. Presently the woman halted, opened a door, and drew aside for
Valeria to enter.
"Wait a minute," growled Conan. "Where do I sleep?"
Techotl pointed to a chamber across the hallway, but one door farther down.
Conan hesitated, and seemed inclined to raise an objection, but Valeria
smiled spitefully at him and shut the door in his face. He muttered
something uncomplimentary about women in general, and strode off down
the corridor after Techotl.
In the ornate chamber where he was to sleep, he glanced up at the slot-like
skylights. Some were wide enough to admit the body of a slender man,
supposing the glass were broken.
"Why don't the Xotalancas come over the roofs and shatter those
skylights?" he asked.
"They cannot be broken," answered Techotl. "Besides, the roofs would be
hard to clamber over. They are mostly spires and domes and steep ridges."
He volunteered more information about the "castle" of Tecuhltli. Like the
rest of the city it contained four stories, or tiers of chambers, with towers
jutting up from the roof. Each tier was named; indeed, the people of
Xuchotl had a name for each chamber, hall and stair in the city, as people of
more normal cities designate streets and quarters. In Tecuhltli the floors
Page 59
were named The Eagle's Tier, The Ape's Tier, The Tiger's Tier and The
Serpent's Tier, in the order as enumerated, The Eagle's Tier being the
highest, or fourth, floor.
"Who is Tascela?" asked Conan. "Olmec's wife?"
Techotl shuddered and glanced furtively about him before answering.
"No. She is—Tascela! She was the wife of Xotalanc—the woman Tecuhltli
stole, to start the feud."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Conan. "That woman is beautiful
and young. Are you trying to tell me that she was a wife fifty years ago?"
"Aye! I swear it! She was a full-grown woman when the Tlazitlans
journeyed from Lake Zuad. It was because the king of Stygia desired her
for a concubine that Xotalanc and his brother rebelled and fled into the
wilderness. She is a witch, who possesses the secret of perpetual youth."
"What's that?" asked Conan.
Techotl shuddered again.
"Ask me not! I dare not speak. It is too grisly, even for Xuchotl!"
And touching his finger to his lips, he glided from the chamber.
4. Scent of Black Lotus
V aleria unbuckled her sword-belt and laid it with the sheathed weapon
on the couch where she meant to sleep. She noted that the doors were
supplied with bolts, and asked where they led.
"Those lead into adjoining chambers," answered the woman, indicating the
doors on right and left. "That one"—pointing to a copper-bound door
opposite that which opened into the corridor—"leads to a corridor which
Serpent's Tier, in the order as enumerated, The Eagle's Tier being the
highest, or fourth, floor.
"Who is Tascela?" asked Conan. "Olmec's wife?"
Techotl shuddered and glanced furtively about him before answering.
"No. She is—Tascela! She was the wife of Xotalanc—the woman Tecuhltli
stole, to start the feud."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Conan. "That woman is beautiful
and young. Are you trying to tell me that she was a wife fifty years ago?"
"Aye! I swear it! She was a full-grown woman when the Tlazitlans
journeyed from Lake Zuad. It was because the king of Stygia desired her
for a concubine that Xotalanc and his brother rebelled and fled into the
wilderness. She is a witch, who possesses the secret of perpetual youth."
"What's that?" asked Conan.
Techotl shuddered again.
"Ask me not! I dare not speak. It is too grisly, even for Xuchotl!"
And touching his finger to his lips, he glided from the chamber.
4. Scent of Black Lotus
V aleria unbuckled her sword-belt and laid it with the sheathed weapon
on the couch where she meant to sleep. She noted that the doors were
supplied with bolts, and asked where they led.
"Those lead into adjoining chambers," answered the woman, indicating the
doors on right and left. "That one"—pointing to a copper-bound door
opposite that which opened into the corridor—"leads to a corridor which
Page 60
runs to a stair that descends into the catacombs. Do not fear; naught can
harm you here."
"Who spoke of fear?" snapped Valeria. "I just like to know what sort of
harbor I'm dropping anchor in. No, I don't want you to sleep at the foot of
my couch. I'm not accustomed to being waited on—not by women, anyway.
You have my leave to go."
Alone in the room, the pirate shot the bolts on all the doors, kicked off her
boots and stretched luxuriously out on the couch. She imagined Conan
similarly situated across the corridor, but her feminine vanity prompted her
to visualize him as scowling and muttering with chagrin as he cast himself
on his solitary couch, and she grinned with gleeful malice as she prepared
herself for slumber.
Outside, night had fallen. In the halls of Xuchotl the green fire-jewels
blazed like the eyes of prehistoric cats. Somewhere among the dark towers
a night wind moaned like a restless spirit. Through the dim passages
stealthy figures began stealing, like disembodied shadows.
Valeria awoke suddenly on her couch. In the dusky emerald glow of the
fire-gems she saw a shadowy figure bending over her. For a bemused
instant the apparition seemed part of the dream she had been dreaming. She
had seemed to lie on the couch in the chamber as she was actually lying,
while over her pulsed and throbbed a gigantic black blossom so enormous
that it hid the ceiling. Its exotic perfume pervaded her being, inducing a
delicious, sensuous languor that was something more and less than sleep.
She was sinking into scented billows of insensible bliss, when something
touched her face. So supersensitive were her drugged senses, that the light
touch was like a dislocating impact, jolting her rudely into full wakefulness.
Then it was that she saw, not a gargantuan blossom, but a dark-skinned
woman standing above her.
With the realization came anger and instant action. The woman turned
lithely, but before she could run Valeria was on her feet and had caught her
arm. She fought like a wildcat for an instant, and then subsided as she felt
herself crushed by the superior strength of her captor. The pirate wrenched
the woman around to face her, caught her chin with her free hand and
forced her captive to meet her gaze. It was the sullen Yasala, Tascela's maid.
harm you here."
"Who spoke of fear?" snapped Valeria. "I just like to know what sort of
harbor I'm dropping anchor in. No, I don't want you to sleep at the foot of
my couch. I'm not accustomed to being waited on—not by women, anyway.
You have my leave to go."
Alone in the room, the pirate shot the bolts on all the doors, kicked off her
boots and stretched luxuriously out on the couch. She imagined Conan
similarly situated across the corridor, but her feminine vanity prompted her
to visualize him as scowling and muttering with chagrin as he cast himself
on his solitary couch, and she grinned with gleeful malice as she prepared
herself for slumber.
Outside, night had fallen. In the halls of Xuchotl the green fire-jewels
blazed like the eyes of prehistoric cats. Somewhere among the dark towers
a night wind moaned like a restless spirit. Through the dim passages
stealthy figures began stealing, like disembodied shadows.
Valeria awoke suddenly on her couch. In the dusky emerald glow of the
fire-gems she saw a shadowy figure bending over her. For a bemused
instant the apparition seemed part of the dream she had been dreaming. She
had seemed to lie on the couch in the chamber as she was actually lying,
while over her pulsed and throbbed a gigantic black blossom so enormous
that it hid the ceiling. Its exotic perfume pervaded her being, inducing a
delicious, sensuous languor that was something more and less than sleep.
She was sinking into scented billows of insensible bliss, when something
touched her face. So supersensitive were her drugged senses, that the light
touch was like a dislocating impact, jolting her rudely into full wakefulness.
Then it was that she saw, not a gargantuan blossom, but a dark-skinned
woman standing above her.
With the realization came anger and instant action. The woman turned
lithely, but before she could run Valeria was on her feet and had caught her
arm. She fought like a wildcat for an instant, and then subsided as she felt
herself crushed by the superior strength of her captor. The pirate wrenched
the woman around to face her, caught her chin with her free hand and
forced her captive to meet her gaze. It was the sullen Yasala, Tascela's maid.
Page 61
"What the devil were you doing bending over me? What's that in your
hand?"
The woman made no reply, but sought to cast away the object. Valeria
twisted her arm around in front of her, and the thing fell to the floor—a
great black exotic blossom on a jade-green stem, large as a woman's head,
to be sure, but tiny beside the exaggerated vision she had seen.
"The black lotus!" said Valeria between her teeth. "The blossom whose
scent brings deep sleep. You were trying to drug me! If you hadn't
accidentally touched my face with the petals, you'd have—why did you do
it? What's your game?"
Yasala maintained a sulky silence, and with an oath Valeria whirled her
around, forced her to her knees and twisted her arm up behind her back.
"Tell me, or I'll tear your arm out of its socket!"
Yasala squirmed in anguish as her arm was forced excruciatingly up
between her shoulder-blades, but a violent shaking of her head was the only
answer she made.
"Slut!" Valeria cast her from her to sprawl on the floor. The pirate glared at
the prostrate figure with blazing eyes. Fear and the memory of Tascela's
burning eyes stirred in her, rousing all her tigerish instincts of self-
preservation. These people were decadent; any sort of perversity might be
expected to be encountered among them. But Valeria sensed here something
that moved behind the scenes, some secret terror fouler than common
degeneracy. Fear and revulsion of this weird city swept her. These people
were neither sane nor normal; she began to doubt if they were even human.
Madness smoldered in the eyes of them all—all except the cruel, cryptic
eyes of Tascela, which held secrets and mysteries more abysmal than
madness.
She lifted her head and listened intently. The halls of Xuchotl were as silent
as if it were in reality a dead city. The green jewels bathed the chamber in a
nightmare glow, in which the eyes of the woman on the floor glittered eerily
up at her. A thrill of panic throbbed through Valeria, driving the last vestige
of mercy from her fierce soul.
hand?"
The woman made no reply, but sought to cast away the object. Valeria
twisted her arm around in front of her, and the thing fell to the floor—a
great black exotic blossom on a jade-green stem, large as a woman's head,
to be sure, but tiny beside the exaggerated vision she had seen.
"The black lotus!" said Valeria between her teeth. "The blossom whose
scent brings deep sleep. You were trying to drug me! If you hadn't
accidentally touched my face with the petals, you'd have—why did you do
it? What's your game?"
Yasala maintained a sulky silence, and with an oath Valeria whirled her
around, forced her to her knees and twisted her arm up behind her back.
"Tell me, or I'll tear your arm out of its socket!"
Yasala squirmed in anguish as her arm was forced excruciatingly up
between her shoulder-blades, but a violent shaking of her head was the only
answer she made.
"Slut!" Valeria cast her from her to sprawl on the floor. The pirate glared at
the prostrate figure with blazing eyes. Fear and the memory of Tascela's
burning eyes stirred in her, rousing all her tigerish instincts of self-
preservation. These people were decadent; any sort of perversity might be
expected to be encountered among them. But Valeria sensed here something
that moved behind the scenes, some secret terror fouler than common
degeneracy. Fear and revulsion of this weird city swept her. These people
were neither sane nor normal; she began to doubt if they were even human.
Madness smoldered in the eyes of them all—all except the cruel, cryptic
eyes of Tascela, which held secrets and mysteries more abysmal than
madness.
She lifted her head and listened intently. The halls of Xuchotl were as silent
as if it were in reality a dead city. The green jewels bathed the chamber in a
nightmare glow, in which the eyes of the woman on the floor glittered eerily
up at her. A thrill of panic throbbed through Valeria, driving the last vestige
of mercy from her fierce soul.
Page 62
"Why did you try to drug me?" she muttered, grasping the woman's black
hair, and forcing her head back to glare into her sullen, long-lashed eyes.
"Did Tascela send you?"
No answer. Valeria cursed venomously and slapped the woman first on one
cheek and then the other. The blows resounded through the room, but
Yasala made no outcry.
"Why don't you scream?" demanded Valeria savagely. "Do you fear
someone will hear you? Whom do you fear? Tascela? Olmec? Conan?"
Y asala made no reply. She crouched, watching her captor with eyes
baleful as those of a basilisk. Stubborn silence always fans anger.
Valeria turned and tore a handful of cords from a near-by hanging.
"You sulky slut!" she said between her teeth. "I'm going to strip you stark
naked and tie you across that couch and whip you until you tell me what
you were doing here, and who sent you!"
Yasala made no verbal protest, nor did she offer any resistance, as Valeria
carried out the first part of her threat with a fury that her captive's obstinacy
only sharpened. Then for a space there was no sound in the chamber except
the whistle and crackle of hard-woven silken cords on naked flesh. Yasala
could not move her fast-bound hands or feet. Her body writhed and
quivered under the chastisement, her head swayed from side to side in
rhythm with the blows. Her teeth were sunk into her lower lip and a trickle
of blood began as the punishment continued. But she did not cry out.
The pliant cords made no great sound as they encountered the quivering
body of the captive; only a sharp crackling snap, but each cord left a red
streak across Yasala's dark flesh. Valeria inflicted the punishment with all
the strength of her war-hardened arm, with all the mercilessness acquired
during a life where pain and torment were daily happenings, and with all
the cynical ingenuity which only a woman displays toward a woman. Yasala
suffered more, physically and mentally, than she would have suffered under
a lash wielded by a man, however strong.
hair, and forcing her head back to glare into her sullen, long-lashed eyes.
"Did Tascela send you?"
No answer. Valeria cursed venomously and slapped the woman first on one
cheek and then the other. The blows resounded through the room, but
Yasala made no outcry.
"Why don't you scream?" demanded Valeria savagely. "Do you fear
someone will hear you? Whom do you fear? Tascela? Olmec? Conan?"
Y asala made no reply. She crouched, watching her captor with eyes
baleful as those of a basilisk. Stubborn silence always fans anger.
Valeria turned and tore a handful of cords from a near-by hanging.
"You sulky slut!" she said between her teeth. "I'm going to strip you stark
naked and tie you across that couch and whip you until you tell me what
you were doing here, and who sent you!"
Yasala made no verbal protest, nor did she offer any resistance, as Valeria
carried out the first part of her threat with a fury that her captive's obstinacy
only sharpened. Then for a space there was no sound in the chamber except
the whistle and crackle of hard-woven silken cords on naked flesh. Yasala
could not move her fast-bound hands or feet. Her body writhed and
quivered under the chastisement, her head swayed from side to side in
rhythm with the blows. Her teeth were sunk into her lower lip and a trickle
of blood began as the punishment continued. But she did not cry out.
The pliant cords made no great sound as they encountered the quivering
body of the captive; only a sharp crackling snap, but each cord left a red
streak across Yasala's dark flesh. Valeria inflicted the punishment with all
the strength of her war-hardened arm, with all the mercilessness acquired
during a life where pain and torment were daily happenings, and with all
the cynical ingenuity which only a woman displays toward a woman. Yasala
suffered more, physically and mentally, than she would have suffered under
a lash wielded by a man, however strong.
Page 63
It was the application of this feminine cynicism which at last tamed Yasala.
A low whimper escaped from her lips, and Valeria paused, arm lifted, and
raked back a damp yellow lock. "Well, are you going to talk?" she
demanded. "I can keep this up all night, if necessary!"
"Mercy!" whispered the woman. "I will tell."
Valeria cut the cords from her wrists and ankles, and pulled her to her feet.
Yasala sank down on the couch, half reclining on one bare hip, supporting
herself on her arm, and writhing at the contact of her smarting flesh with the
couch. She was trembling in every limb.
"Wine!" she begged, dry-lipped, indicating with a quivering hand a gold
vessel on an ivory table. "Let me drink. I am weak with pain. Then I will
tell you all."
Valeria picked up the vessel, and Yasala rose unsteadily to receive it. She
took it, raised it toward her lips—then dashed the contents full into the
Aquilonian's face. Valeria reeled backward, shaking and clawing the
stinging liquid out of her eyes. Through a smarting mist she saw Yasala dart
across the room, fling back a bolt, throw open the copper-bound door and
run down the hall. The pirate was after her instantly, sword out and murder
in her heart.
But Yasala had the start, and she ran with the nervous agility of a woman
who has just been whipped to the point of hysterical frenzy. She rounded a
corner in the corridor, yards ahead of Valeria, and when the pirate turned it,
she saw only an empty hall, and at the other end a door that gaped blackly.
A damp moldy scent reeked up from it, and Valeria shivered. That must be
the door that led to the catacombs. Yasala had taken refuge among the dead.
Valeria advanced to the door and looked down a flight of stone steps that
vanished quickly into utter blackness. Evidently it was a shaft that led
straight to the pits below the city, without opening upon any of the lower
floors. She shivered slightly at the thought of the thousands of corpses lying
in their stone crypts down there, wrapped in their moldering cloths. She had
no intention of groping her way down those stone steps. Yasala doubtless
knew every turn and twist of the subterranean tunnels.
A low whimper escaped from her lips, and Valeria paused, arm lifted, and
raked back a damp yellow lock. "Well, are you going to talk?" she
demanded. "I can keep this up all night, if necessary!"
"Mercy!" whispered the woman. "I will tell."
Valeria cut the cords from her wrists and ankles, and pulled her to her feet.
Yasala sank down on the couch, half reclining on one bare hip, supporting
herself on her arm, and writhing at the contact of her smarting flesh with the
couch. She was trembling in every limb.
"Wine!" she begged, dry-lipped, indicating with a quivering hand a gold
vessel on an ivory table. "Let me drink. I am weak with pain. Then I will
tell you all."
Valeria picked up the vessel, and Yasala rose unsteadily to receive it. She
took it, raised it toward her lips—then dashed the contents full into the
Aquilonian's face. Valeria reeled backward, shaking and clawing the
stinging liquid out of her eyes. Through a smarting mist she saw Yasala dart
across the room, fling back a bolt, throw open the copper-bound door and
run down the hall. The pirate was after her instantly, sword out and murder
in her heart.
But Yasala had the start, and she ran with the nervous agility of a woman
who has just been whipped to the point of hysterical frenzy. She rounded a
corner in the corridor, yards ahead of Valeria, and when the pirate turned it,
she saw only an empty hall, and at the other end a door that gaped blackly.
A damp moldy scent reeked up from it, and Valeria shivered. That must be
the door that led to the catacombs. Yasala had taken refuge among the dead.
Valeria advanced to the door and looked down a flight of stone steps that
vanished quickly into utter blackness. Evidently it was a shaft that led
straight to the pits below the city, without opening upon any of the lower
floors. She shivered slightly at the thought of the thousands of corpses lying
in their stone crypts down there, wrapped in their moldering cloths. She had
no intention of groping her way down those stone steps. Yasala doubtless
knew every turn and twist of the subterranean tunnels.
Page 64
She was turning back, baffled and furious, when a sobbing cry welled up
from the blackness. It seemed to come from a great depth, but human words
were faintly distinguishable, and the voice was that of a woman. "Oh, help!
Help, in Set's name! Ahhh!" It trailed away, and Valeria thought she caught
the echo of a ghostly tittering.
Valeria felt her skin crawl. What had happened to Yasala down there in the
thick blackness? There was no doubt that it had been she who had cried out.
But what peril could have befallen her? Was a Xotalanca lurking down
there? Olmec had assured them that the catacombs below Tecuhltli were
walled off from the rest, too securely for their enemies to break through.
Besides, that tittering had not sounded like a human being at all.
Valeria hurried back down the corridor, not stopping to close the door that
opened on the stair. Regaining her chamber, she closed the door and shot
the bolt behind her. She pulled on her boots and buckled her sword-belt
about her. She was determined to make her way to Conan's room and urge
him, if he still lived, to join her in an attempt to fight their way out of that
city of devils.
But even as she reached the door that opened into the corridor, a long-
drawn scream of agony rang through the halls, followed by the stamp of
running feet and the loud clangor of swords.
5. Twenty Red Nails
T wo warriors lounged in the guardroom on the floor known as the Tier
of the Eagle. Their attitude was casual, though habitually alert. An
attack on the great bronze door from without was always a possibility,
but for many years no such assault had been attempted on either side.
"The strangers are strong allies," said one. "Olmec will move against the
enemy tomorrow, I believe."
from the blackness. It seemed to come from a great depth, but human words
were faintly distinguishable, and the voice was that of a woman. "Oh, help!
Help, in Set's name! Ahhh!" It trailed away, and Valeria thought she caught
the echo of a ghostly tittering.
Valeria felt her skin crawl. What had happened to Yasala down there in the
thick blackness? There was no doubt that it had been she who had cried out.
But what peril could have befallen her? Was a Xotalanca lurking down
there? Olmec had assured them that the catacombs below Tecuhltli were
walled off from the rest, too securely for their enemies to break through.
Besides, that tittering had not sounded like a human being at all.
Valeria hurried back down the corridor, not stopping to close the door that
opened on the stair. Regaining her chamber, she closed the door and shot
the bolt behind her. She pulled on her boots and buckled her sword-belt
about her. She was determined to make her way to Conan's room and urge
him, if he still lived, to join her in an attempt to fight their way out of that
city of devils.
But even as she reached the door that opened into the corridor, a long-
drawn scream of agony rang through the halls, followed by the stamp of
running feet and the loud clangor of swords.
5. Twenty Red Nails
T wo warriors lounged in the guardroom on the floor known as the Tier
of the Eagle. Their attitude was casual, though habitually alert. An
attack on the great bronze door from without was always a possibility,
but for many years no such assault had been attempted on either side.
"The strangers are strong allies," said one. "Olmec will move against the
enemy tomorrow, I believe."
Page 65
He spoke as a soldier in a war might have spoken. In the miniature world of
Xuchotl each handful of feudists was an army, and the empty halls between
the castles was the country over which they campaigned.
The other
meditated
for a
space.
"Suppose
with their
aid we
destroy
Xotalanc,
" he said.
"What
then,
Xatmec?"
"Why,"
returned
Xatmec,
"we will
drive red
nails for
them all.
The
captives
"Even as he shifted, he hurled the knife."
we will
burn and
flay and quarter."
"But afterward?" pursued the other. "After we have slain them all? Will it
not seem strange, to have no foes to fight? All my life I have fought and
hated the Xotalancas. With the feud ended, what is left?"
Xatmec shrugged his shoulders. His thoughts had never gone beyond the
destruction of their foes. They could not go beyond that.
Xuchotl each handful of feudists was an army, and the empty halls between
the castles was the country over which they campaigned.
The other
meditated
for a
space.
"Suppose
with their
aid we
destroy
Xotalanc,
" he said.
"What
then,
Xatmec?"
"Why,"
returned
Xatmec,
"we will
drive red
nails for
them all.
The
captives
"Even as he shifted, he hurled the knife."
we will
burn and
flay and quarter."
"But afterward?" pursued the other. "After we have slain them all? Will it
not seem strange, to have no foes to fight? All my life I have fought and
hated the Xotalancas. With the feud ended, what is left?"
Xatmec shrugged his shoulders. His thoughts had never gone beyond the
destruction of their foes. They could not go beyond that.
Page 66
Suddenly both men stiffened at a noise outside the door.
"To the door, Xatmec!" hissed the last speaker. "I shall look through the Eye
——"
Xatmec, sword in hand, leaned against the bronze door, straining his ear to
hear through the metal. His mate looked into the mirror. He started
convulsively. Men were clustered thickly outside the door; grim, dark-faced
men with swords gripped in their teeth—and their fingers thrust into their
ears. One who wore a feathered head-dress had a set of pipes which he set
to his lips, and even as the Tecuhltli started to shout a warning, the pipes
began to skirl.
The cry died in the guard's throat as the thin, weird piping penetrated the
metal door and smote on his ears. Xatmec leaned frozen against the door, as
if paralyzed in that position. His face was that of a wooden image, his
expression one of horrified listening. The other guard, farther removed from
the source of the sound, yet sensed the horror of what was taking place, the
grisly threat that lay in that demoniac fifing. He felt the weird strains
plucking like unseen fingers at the tissues of his brain, filling him with alien
emotions and impulses of madness. But with a soul-tearing effort he broke
the spell, and shrieked a warning in a voice he did not recognize as his own.
But even as he cried out, the music changed to an unbearable shrilling that
was like a knife in the ear-drums. Xatmec screamed in sudden agony, and
all the sanity went out of his face like a flame blown out in a wind. Like a
madman he ripped loose the chain, tore open the door and rushed out into
the hall, sword lifted before his mate could stop him. A dozen blades struck
him down, and over his mangled body the Xotalancas surged into the
guardroom, with a long-drawn, blood-mad yell that sent the unwonted
echoes reverberating.
His brain reeling from the shock of it all, the remaining guard leaped to
meet them with goring spear. The horror of the sorcery he had just
witnessed was submerged in the stunning realization that the enemy were in
Tecuhltli. And as his spearhead ripped through a dark-skinned belly he
knew no more, for a swinging sword crushed his skull, even as wild-eyed
warriors came pouring in from the chambers behind the guardroom.
"To the door, Xatmec!" hissed the last speaker. "I shall look through the Eye
——"
Xatmec, sword in hand, leaned against the bronze door, straining his ear to
hear through the metal. His mate looked into the mirror. He started
convulsively. Men were clustered thickly outside the door; grim, dark-faced
men with swords gripped in their teeth—and their fingers thrust into their
ears. One who wore a feathered head-dress had a set of pipes which he set
to his lips, and even as the Tecuhltli started to shout a warning, the pipes
began to skirl.
The cry died in the guard's throat as the thin, weird piping penetrated the
metal door and smote on his ears. Xatmec leaned frozen against the door, as
if paralyzed in that position. His face was that of a wooden image, his
expression one of horrified listening. The other guard, farther removed from
the source of the sound, yet sensed the horror of what was taking place, the
grisly threat that lay in that demoniac fifing. He felt the weird strains
plucking like unseen fingers at the tissues of his brain, filling him with alien
emotions and impulses of madness. But with a soul-tearing effort he broke
the spell, and shrieked a warning in a voice he did not recognize as his own.
But even as he cried out, the music changed to an unbearable shrilling that
was like a knife in the ear-drums. Xatmec screamed in sudden agony, and
all the sanity went out of his face like a flame blown out in a wind. Like a
madman he ripped loose the chain, tore open the door and rushed out into
the hall, sword lifted before his mate could stop him. A dozen blades struck
him down, and over his mangled body the Xotalancas surged into the
guardroom, with a long-drawn, blood-mad yell that sent the unwonted
echoes reverberating.
His brain reeling from the shock of it all, the remaining guard leaped to
meet them with goring spear. The horror of the sorcery he had just
witnessed was submerged in the stunning realization that the enemy were in
Tecuhltli. And as his spearhead ripped through a dark-skinned belly he
knew no more, for a swinging sword crushed his skull, even as wild-eyed
warriors came pouring in from the chambers behind the guardroom.
Page 67
It was the yelling of men and the clanging of steel that brought Conan
bounding from his couch, wide awake and broadsword in hand. In an
instant he had reached the door and flung it open, and was glaring out into
the corridor just as Techotl rushed up it, eyes blazing madly.
"The Xotalancas!" he screamed, in a voice hardly human, "They are within
the door!"
Conan ran down the corridor, even as Valeria emerged from her chamber.
"What the devil is it?" she called.
"Techotl says the Xotalancas are in," he answered hurriedly. "That racket
sounds like it."
W ith the Tecuhltli on their heels they burst into the throne room and
were confronted by a scene beyond the most frantic dream of blood
and fury. Twenty men and women, their black hair streaming, and
the white skulls gleaming on their breasts, were locked in combat with the
people of Tecuhltli. The women on both sides fought as madly as the men,
and already the room and the hall beyond were strewn with corpses.
Olmec, naked but for a breech-clout, was fighting before his throne, and as
the adventurers entered, Tascela ran from an inner chamber with a sword in
her hand.
Xatmec and his mate were dead, so there was none to tell the Tecuhltli how
their foes had found their way into their citadel. Nor was there any to say
what had prompted that mad attempt. But the losses of the Xotalancas had
been greater, their position more desperate, than the Tecuhltli had known.
The maiming of their scaly ally, the destruction of the Burning Skull, and
the news, gasped by a dying man, that mysterious white-skin allies had
joined their enemies, had driven them to the frenzy of desperation and the
wild determination to die dealing death to their ancient foes.
The Tecuhltli, recovering from the first stunning shock of the surprise that
had swept them back into the throne room and littered the floor with their
bounding from his couch, wide awake and broadsword in hand. In an
instant he had reached the door and flung it open, and was glaring out into
the corridor just as Techotl rushed up it, eyes blazing madly.
"The Xotalancas!" he screamed, in a voice hardly human, "They are within
the door!"
Conan ran down the corridor, even as Valeria emerged from her chamber.
"What the devil is it?" she called.
"Techotl says the Xotalancas are in," he answered hurriedly. "That racket
sounds like it."
W ith the Tecuhltli on their heels they burst into the throne room and
were confronted by a scene beyond the most frantic dream of blood
and fury. Twenty men and women, their black hair streaming, and
the white skulls gleaming on their breasts, were locked in combat with the
people of Tecuhltli. The women on both sides fought as madly as the men,
and already the room and the hall beyond were strewn with corpses.
Olmec, naked but for a breech-clout, was fighting before his throne, and as
the adventurers entered, Tascela ran from an inner chamber with a sword in
her hand.
Xatmec and his mate were dead, so there was none to tell the Tecuhltli how
their foes had found their way into their citadel. Nor was there any to say
what had prompted that mad attempt. But the losses of the Xotalancas had
been greater, their position more desperate, than the Tecuhltli had known.
The maiming of their scaly ally, the destruction of the Burning Skull, and
the news, gasped by a dying man, that mysterious white-skin allies had
joined their enemies, had driven them to the frenzy of desperation and the
wild determination to die dealing death to their ancient foes.
The Tecuhltli, recovering from the first stunning shock of the surprise that
had swept them back into the throne room and littered the floor with their
Page 68
corpses, fought back with an equally desperate fury, while the door-guards
from the lower floors came racing to hurl themselves into the fray. It was
the death-fight of rabid wolves, blind, panting, merciless. Back and forth it
surged, from door to dais, blades whickering and striking into flesh, blood
spurting, feet stamping the crimson floor where redder pools were forming.
Ivory tables crashed over, seats were splintered, velvet hangings torn down
were stained red. It was the bloody climax of a bloody half-century, and
every man there sensed it.
But the conclusion was inevitable. The Tecuhltli outnumbered the invaders
almost two to one, and they were heartened by that fact and by the entrance
into the mêlée of their light-skinned allies.
These crashed into the fray with the devastating effect of a hurricane
plowing through a grove of saplings. In sheer strength no three Tlazitlans
were a match for Conan, and in spite of his weight he was quicker on his
feet than any of them. He moved through the whirling, eddying mass with
the surety and destructiveness of a gray wolf amidst a pack of alley curs,
and he strode over a wake of crumpled figures.
Valeria fought beside him, her lips smiling and her eyes blazing. She was
stronger than the average man, and far quicker and more ferocious. Her
sword was like a living thing in her hand. Where Conan beat down
opposition by the sheer weight and power of his blows, breaking spears,
splitting skulls and cleaving bosoms to the breast-bone, Valeria brought into
action a finesse of sword-play that dazzled and bewildered her antagonists
before it slew them. Again and again a warrior, heaving high his heavy
blade, found her point in his jugular before he could strike. Conan, towering
above the field, strode through the welter smiting right and left, but Valeria
moved like an illusive phantom, constantly shifting, and thrusting and
slashing as she shifted. Swords missed her again and again as the wielders
flailed the empty air and died with her point in their hearts or throats, and
her mocking laughter in their ears.
Neither sex nor condition was considered by the maddened combatants. The
five women of the Xotalancas were down with their throats cut before
Conan and Valeria entered the fray, and when a man or woman went down
from the lower floors came racing to hurl themselves into the fray. It was
the death-fight of rabid wolves, blind, panting, merciless. Back and forth it
surged, from door to dais, blades whickering and striking into flesh, blood
spurting, feet stamping the crimson floor where redder pools were forming.
Ivory tables crashed over, seats were splintered, velvet hangings torn down
were stained red. It was the bloody climax of a bloody half-century, and
every man there sensed it.
But the conclusion was inevitable. The Tecuhltli outnumbered the invaders
almost two to one, and they were heartened by that fact and by the entrance
into the mêlée of their light-skinned allies.
These crashed into the fray with the devastating effect of a hurricane
plowing through a grove of saplings. In sheer strength no three Tlazitlans
were a match for Conan, and in spite of his weight he was quicker on his
feet than any of them. He moved through the whirling, eddying mass with
the surety and destructiveness of a gray wolf amidst a pack of alley curs,
and he strode over a wake of crumpled figures.
Valeria fought beside him, her lips smiling and her eyes blazing. She was
stronger than the average man, and far quicker and more ferocious. Her
sword was like a living thing in her hand. Where Conan beat down
opposition by the sheer weight and power of his blows, breaking spears,
splitting skulls and cleaving bosoms to the breast-bone, Valeria brought into
action a finesse of sword-play that dazzled and bewildered her antagonists
before it slew them. Again and again a warrior, heaving high his heavy
blade, found her point in his jugular before he could strike. Conan, towering
above the field, strode through the welter smiting right and left, but Valeria
moved like an illusive phantom, constantly shifting, and thrusting and
slashing as she shifted. Swords missed her again and again as the wielders
flailed the empty air and died with her point in their hearts or throats, and
her mocking laughter in their ears.
Neither sex nor condition was considered by the maddened combatants. The
five women of the Xotalancas were down with their throats cut before
Conan and Valeria entered the fray, and when a man or woman went down
Page 69
under the stamping feet, there was always a knife ready for the helpless
throat, or a sandaled foot eager to crush the prostrate skull.
From wall to wall, from door to door rolled the waves of combat, spilling
over into adjoining chambers. And presently only Tecuhltli and their white-
skinned allies stood upright in the great throne room. The survivors stared
bleakly and blankly at each other, like survivors after Judgment Day or the
destruction of the world. On legs wide-braced, hands gripping notched and
dripping swords, blood trickling down their arms, they stared at one another
across the mangled corpses of friends and foes. They had no breath left to
shout, but a bestial mad howling rose from their lips. It was not a human cry
of triumph. It was the howling of a rabid wolf-pack stalking among the
bodies of its victims.
Conan caught Valeria's arm and turned her about.
"You've got a stab in the calf of your leg," he growled.
She glanced down, for the first time aware of a stinging in the muscles of
her leg. Some dying man on the floor had fleshed his dagger with his last
effort.
"You look like a butcher yourself," she laughed.
He shook a red shower from his hands.
"Not mine. Oh, a scratch here and there. Nothing to bother about. But that
calf ought to be bandaged."
O lmec came through the litter, looking like a ghoul with his naked
massive shoulders splashed with blood, and his black beard dabbled
in crimson. His eyes were red, like the reflection of flame on black
water.
"We have won!" he croaked dazedly. "The feud is ended! The dogs of
Xotalanc lie dead! Oh, for a captive to flay alive! Yet it is good to look upon
their dead faces. Twenty dead dogs! Twenty red nails for the black column!"
throat, or a sandaled foot eager to crush the prostrate skull.
From wall to wall, from door to door rolled the waves of combat, spilling
over into adjoining chambers. And presently only Tecuhltli and their white-
skinned allies stood upright in the great throne room. The survivors stared
bleakly and blankly at each other, like survivors after Judgment Day or the
destruction of the world. On legs wide-braced, hands gripping notched and
dripping swords, blood trickling down their arms, they stared at one another
across the mangled corpses of friends and foes. They had no breath left to
shout, but a bestial mad howling rose from their lips. It was not a human cry
of triumph. It was the howling of a rabid wolf-pack stalking among the
bodies of its victims.
Conan caught Valeria's arm and turned her about.
"You've got a stab in the calf of your leg," he growled.
She glanced down, for the first time aware of a stinging in the muscles of
her leg. Some dying man on the floor had fleshed his dagger with his last
effort.
"You look like a butcher yourself," she laughed.
He shook a red shower from his hands.
"Not mine. Oh, a scratch here and there. Nothing to bother about. But that
calf ought to be bandaged."
O lmec came through the litter, looking like a ghoul with his naked
massive shoulders splashed with blood, and his black beard dabbled
in crimson. His eyes were red, like the reflection of flame on black
water.
"We have won!" he croaked dazedly. "The feud is ended! The dogs of
Xotalanc lie dead! Oh, for a captive to flay alive! Yet it is good to look upon
their dead faces. Twenty dead dogs! Twenty red nails for the black column!"
Page 70
"You'd best see to your wounded," grunted Conan, turning away from him.
"Here, girl, let me see that leg."
"Wait a minute!" she shook him off impatiently. The fire of fighting still
burned brightly in her soul. "How do we know these are all of them? These
might have come on a raid of their own."
"They would not split the clan on a foray like this," said Olmec, shaking his
head, and regaining some of his ordinary intelligence. Without his purple
robe the man seemed less like a prince than some repellent beast of prey. "I
will stake my head upon it that we have slain them all. There were less of
them than I dreamed, and they must have been desperate. But how came
they in Tecuhltli?"
Tascela came forward, wiping her sword on her naked thigh, and holding in
her other hand an object she had taken from the body of the feathered leader
of the Xotalancas.
"The pipes of madness," she said. "A warrior tells me that Xatmec opened
the door to the Xotalancas and was cut down as they stormed into the
guardroom. This warrior came to the guardroom from the inner hall just in
time to see it happen and to hear the last of a weird strain of music which
froze his very soul. Tolkemec used to talk of these pipes, which the
Xuchotlans swore were hidden somewhere in the catacombs with the bones
of the ancient wizard who used them in his lifetime. Somehow the dogs of
Xotalanc found them and learned their secret."
"Somebody ought to go to Xotalanc and see if any remain alive," said
Conan. "I'll go if somebody will guide me."
Olmec glanced at the remnants of his people. There were only twenty left
alive, and of these several lay groaning on the floor. Tascela was the only
one of the Tecuhltli who had escaped without a wound. The princess was
untouched, though she had fought as savagely as any.
"Who will go with Conan to Xotalanc?" asked Olmec.
Techotl limped forward. The wound in his thigh had started bleeding afresh,
and he had another gash across his ribs.
"Here, girl, let me see that leg."
"Wait a minute!" she shook him off impatiently. The fire of fighting still
burned brightly in her soul. "How do we know these are all of them? These
might have come on a raid of their own."
"They would not split the clan on a foray like this," said Olmec, shaking his
head, and regaining some of his ordinary intelligence. Without his purple
robe the man seemed less like a prince than some repellent beast of prey. "I
will stake my head upon it that we have slain them all. There were less of
them than I dreamed, and they must have been desperate. But how came
they in Tecuhltli?"
Tascela came forward, wiping her sword on her naked thigh, and holding in
her other hand an object she had taken from the body of the feathered leader
of the Xotalancas.
"The pipes of madness," she said. "A warrior tells me that Xatmec opened
the door to the Xotalancas and was cut down as they stormed into the
guardroom. This warrior came to the guardroom from the inner hall just in
time to see it happen and to hear the last of a weird strain of music which
froze his very soul. Tolkemec used to talk of these pipes, which the
Xuchotlans swore were hidden somewhere in the catacombs with the bones
of the ancient wizard who used them in his lifetime. Somehow the dogs of
Xotalanc found them and learned their secret."
"Somebody ought to go to Xotalanc and see if any remain alive," said
Conan. "I'll go if somebody will guide me."
Olmec glanced at the remnants of his people. There were only twenty left
alive, and of these several lay groaning on the floor. Tascela was the only
one of the Tecuhltli who had escaped without a wound. The princess was
untouched, though she had fought as savagely as any.
"Who will go with Conan to Xotalanc?" asked Olmec.
Techotl limped forward. The wound in his thigh had started bleeding afresh,
and he had another gash across his ribs.
Page 71
"I will go!"
"No, you won't," vetoed Conan. "And you're not going either, Valeria. In a
little while that leg will be getting stiff."
"I will go," volunteered a warrior, who was knotting a bandage about a
slashed forearm.
"Very well, Yanath. Go with the Cimmerian. And you, too, Topal." Olmec
indicated another man whose injuries were slight. "But first aid us to lift the
badly wounded on these couches where we may bandage their hurts."
This was done quickly. As they stooped to pick up a woman who had been
stunned by a war-club, Olmec's beard brushed Topal's ear. Conan thought
the prince muttered something to the warrior, but he could not be sure. A
few moments later he was leading his companions down the hall.
Conan glanced back as he went out the door, at that shambles where the
dead lay on the smoldering floor, blood-stained dark limbs knotted in
attitudes of fierce muscular effort, dark faces frozen in masks of hate, glassy
eyes glaring up at the green fire-jewels which bathed the ghastly scene in a
dusky emerald witch-light. Among the dead the living moved aimlessly,
like people moving in a trance. Conan heard Olmec call a woman and direct
her to bandage Valeria's leg. The pirate followed the woman into an
adjoining chamber, already beginning to limp slightly.
W arily the two Tecuhltli led Conan along the hall beyond the bronze
door, and through chamber after chamber shimmering in the green
fire. They saw no one, heard no sound. After they crossed the Great
Hall which bisected the city from north to south, their caution was increased
by the realization of their nearness to enemy territory. But chambers and
halls lay empty to their wary gaze, and they came at last along a broad dim
hallway and halted before a bronze door similar to the Eagle Door of
Tecuhltli. Gingerly they tried it, and it opened silently under their fingers.
Awed, they stared into the green-lit chambers beyond. For fifty years no
Tecuhltli had entered those halls save as a prisoner going to a hideous
"No, you won't," vetoed Conan. "And you're not going either, Valeria. In a
little while that leg will be getting stiff."
"I will go," volunteered a warrior, who was knotting a bandage about a
slashed forearm.
"Very well, Yanath. Go with the Cimmerian. And you, too, Topal." Olmec
indicated another man whose injuries were slight. "But first aid us to lift the
badly wounded on these couches where we may bandage their hurts."
This was done quickly. As they stooped to pick up a woman who had been
stunned by a war-club, Olmec's beard brushed Topal's ear. Conan thought
the prince muttered something to the warrior, but he could not be sure. A
few moments later he was leading his companions down the hall.
Conan glanced back as he went out the door, at that shambles where the
dead lay on the smoldering floor, blood-stained dark limbs knotted in
attitudes of fierce muscular effort, dark faces frozen in masks of hate, glassy
eyes glaring up at the green fire-jewels which bathed the ghastly scene in a
dusky emerald witch-light. Among the dead the living moved aimlessly,
like people moving in a trance. Conan heard Olmec call a woman and direct
her to bandage Valeria's leg. The pirate followed the woman into an
adjoining chamber, already beginning to limp slightly.
W arily the two Tecuhltli led Conan along the hall beyond the bronze
door, and through chamber after chamber shimmering in the green
fire. They saw no one, heard no sound. After they crossed the Great
Hall which bisected the city from north to south, their caution was increased
by the realization of their nearness to enemy territory. But chambers and
halls lay empty to their wary gaze, and they came at last along a broad dim
hallway and halted before a bronze door similar to the Eagle Door of
Tecuhltli. Gingerly they tried it, and it opened silently under their fingers.
Awed, they stared into the green-lit chambers beyond. For fifty years no
Tecuhltli had entered those halls save as a prisoner going to a hideous
Page 72
doom. To go to Xotalanc had been the ultimate horror that could befall a
man of the western castle. The terror of it had stalked through their dreams
since earliest childhood. To Yanath and Topal that bronze door was like the
portal of hell.
They cringed back, unreasoning horror in their eyes, and Conan pushed past
them and strode into Xotalanc.
Timidly they followed him. As each man set foot over the threshold he
stared and glared wildly about him. But only their quick, hurried breathing
disturbed the silence.
They had come into a square guardroom, like that behind the Eagle Door of
Tecuhltli, and, similarly, a hall ran away from it to a broad chamber that
was a counterpart of Olmec's throne room.
Conan glanced down the hall with its rugs and divans and hangings, and
stood listening intently. He heard no noise, and the rooms had an empty
feel. He did not believe there were any Xotalancas left alive in Xuchotl.
"Come on," he muttered, and started down the hall.
He had not gone far when he was aware that only Yanath was following
him. He wheeled back to see Topal standing in an attitude of horror, one
arm out as if to fend off some threatening peril, his distended eyes fixed
with hypnotic intensity on something protruding from behind a divan.
"What the devil?" Then Conan saw what Topal was staring at, and he felt a
faint twitching of the skin between his giant shoulders. A monstrous head
protruded from behind the divan, a reptilian head, broad as the head of a
crocodile, with down-curving fangs that projected over the lower jaw. But
there was an unnatural limpness about the thing, and the hideous eyes were
glazed.
Conan peered behind the couch. It was a great serpent which lay there limp
in death, but such a serpent as he had never seen in his wanderings. The
reek and chill of the deep black earth were about it, and its color was an
indeterminable hue which changed with each new angle from which he
surveyed it. A great wound in the neck showed what had caused its death.
man of the western castle. The terror of it had stalked through their dreams
since earliest childhood. To Yanath and Topal that bronze door was like the
portal of hell.
They cringed back, unreasoning horror in their eyes, and Conan pushed past
them and strode into Xotalanc.
Timidly they followed him. As each man set foot over the threshold he
stared and glared wildly about him. But only their quick, hurried breathing
disturbed the silence.
They had come into a square guardroom, like that behind the Eagle Door of
Tecuhltli, and, similarly, a hall ran away from it to a broad chamber that
was a counterpart of Olmec's throne room.
Conan glanced down the hall with its rugs and divans and hangings, and
stood listening intently. He heard no noise, and the rooms had an empty
feel. He did not believe there were any Xotalancas left alive in Xuchotl.
"Come on," he muttered, and started down the hall.
He had not gone far when he was aware that only Yanath was following
him. He wheeled back to see Topal standing in an attitude of horror, one
arm out as if to fend off some threatening peril, his distended eyes fixed
with hypnotic intensity on something protruding from behind a divan.
"What the devil?" Then Conan saw what Topal was staring at, and he felt a
faint twitching of the skin between his giant shoulders. A monstrous head
protruded from behind the divan, a reptilian head, broad as the head of a
crocodile, with down-curving fangs that projected over the lower jaw. But
there was an unnatural limpness about the thing, and the hideous eyes were
glazed.
Conan peered behind the couch. It was a great serpent which lay there limp
in death, but such a serpent as he had never seen in his wanderings. The
reek and chill of the deep black earth were about it, and its color was an
indeterminable hue which changed with each new angle from which he
surveyed it. A great wound in the neck showed what had caused its death.
Page 73
"It is the Crawler!" whispered Yanath.
"It's the thing I slashed on the stair," grunted Conan. "After it trailed us to
the Eagle Door, it dragged itself here to die. How could the Xotalancas
control such a brute?"
The Tecuhltli shivered and shook their heads.
"They brought it up from the black tunnels below the catacombs. They
discovered secrets unknown to Tecuhltli."
"Well, it's dead, and if they'd had any more of them, they'd have brought
them along when they came to Tecuhltli. Come on."
They crowded close at his heels as he strode down the hall and thrust on the
silver-worked door at the other end.
"If we don't find anybody on this floor," he said, "we'll descend into the
lower floors. We'll explore Xotalanc from the roof to the catacombs. If
Xotalanc is like Tecuhltli, all the rooms and halls in this tier will be lighted
—what the devil!"
They had come into the broad throne chamber, so similar to that one in
Tecuhltli. There were the same jade dais and ivory seat, the same divans,
rugs and hangings on the walls. No black, red-scarred column stood behind
the throne-dais, but evidences of the grim feud were not lacking.
Ranged along the wall behind the dais were rows of glass-covered shelves.
And on those shelves hundreds of human heads, perfectly preserved, stared
at the startled watchers with emotionless eyes, as they had stared for only
the gods knew how many months and years.
T opal muttered a curse, but Yanath stood silent, the mad light growing
in his wide eyes. Conan frowned, knowing that Tlazitlan sanity was
hung on a hair-trigger.
Suddenly Yanath pointed to the ghastly relics with a twitching finger.
"It's the thing I slashed on the stair," grunted Conan. "After it trailed us to
the Eagle Door, it dragged itself here to die. How could the Xotalancas
control such a brute?"
The Tecuhltli shivered and shook their heads.
"They brought it up from the black tunnels below the catacombs. They
discovered secrets unknown to Tecuhltli."
"Well, it's dead, and if they'd had any more of them, they'd have brought
them along when they came to Tecuhltli. Come on."
They crowded close at his heels as he strode down the hall and thrust on the
silver-worked door at the other end.
"If we don't find anybody on this floor," he said, "we'll descend into the
lower floors. We'll explore Xotalanc from the roof to the catacombs. If
Xotalanc is like Tecuhltli, all the rooms and halls in this tier will be lighted
—what the devil!"
They had come into the broad throne chamber, so similar to that one in
Tecuhltli. There were the same jade dais and ivory seat, the same divans,
rugs and hangings on the walls. No black, red-scarred column stood behind
the throne-dais, but evidences of the grim feud were not lacking.
Ranged along the wall behind the dais were rows of glass-covered shelves.
And on those shelves hundreds of human heads, perfectly preserved, stared
at the startled watchers with emotionless eyes, as they had stared for only
the gods knew how many months and years.
T opal muttered a curse, but Yanath stood silent, the mad light growing
in his wide eyes. Conan frowned, knowing that Tlazitlan sanity was
hung on a hair-trigger.
Suddenly Yanath pointed to the ghastly relics with a twitching finger.
Page 74
"There is my brother's head!" he murmured. "And there is my father's
younger brother! And there beyond them is my sister's eldest son!"
Suddenly he began to weep, dry-eyed, with harsh, loud sobs that shook his
frame. He did not take his eyes from the heads. His sobs grew shriller,
changed to frightful, high-pitched laughter, and that in turn became an
unbearable screaming. Yanath was stark mad.
Conan laid a hand on his shoulder, and as if the touch had released all the
frenzy in his soul, Yanath screamed and whirled, striking at the Cimmerian
with his sword. Conan parried the blow, and Topal tried to catch Yanath's
arm. But the madman avoided him and with froth flying from his lips, he
drove his sword deep into Topal's body. Topal sank down with a groan, and
Yanath whirled for an instant like a crazy dervish; then he ran at the shelves
and began hacking at the glass with his sword, screeching blasphemously.
Conan sprang at him from behind, trying to catch him unaware and disarm
him, but the madman wheeled and lunged at him, screaming like a lost soul.
Realizing that the warrior was hopelessly insane, the Cimmerian side-
stepped, and as the maniac went past, he swung a cut that severed the
shoulder-bone and breast, and dropped the man dead beside his dying
victim.
Conan bent over Topal, seeing that the man was at his last gasp. It was
useless to seek to stanch the blood gushing from the horrible wound.
"You're done for, Topal," grunted Conan. "Any word you want to send to
your people?"
"Bend closer," gasped Topal, and Conan complied—and an instant later
caught the man's wrist as Topal struck at his breast with a dagger.
"Crom!" swore Conan. "Are you mad, too?"
"Olmec ordered it!" gasped the dying man. "I know not why. As we lifted
the wounded upon the couches he whispered to me, bidding me to slay you
as we returned to Tecuhltli——" And with the name of his clan on his lips,
Topal died.
younger brother! And there beyond them is my sister's eldest son!"
Suddenly he began to weep, dry-eyed, with harsh, loud sobs that shook his
frame. He did not take his eyes from the heads. His sobs grew shriller,
changed to frightful, high-pitched laughter, and that in turn became an
unbearable screaming. Yanath was stark mad.
Conan laid a hand on his shoulder, and as if the touch had released all the
frenzy in his soul, Yanath screamed and whirled, striking at the Cimmerian
with his sword. Conan parried the blow, and Topal tried to catch Yanath's
arm. But the madman avoided him and with froth flying from his lips, he
drove his sword deep into Topal's body. Topal sank down with a groan, and
Yanath whirled for an instant like a crazy dervish; then he ran at the shelves
and began hacking at the glass with his sword, screeching blasphemously.
Conan sprang at him from behind, trying to catch him unaware and disarm
him, but the madman wheeled and lunged at him, screaming like a lost soul.
Realizing that the warrior was hopelessly insane, the Cimmerian side-
stepped, and as the maniac went past, he swung a cut that severed the
shoulder-bone and breast, and dropped the man dead beside his dying
victim.
Conan bent over Topal, seeing that the man was at his last gasp. It was
useless to seek to stanch the blood gushing from the horrible wound.
"You're done for, Topal," grunted Conan. "Any word you want to send to
your people?"
"Bend closer," gasped Topal, and Conan complied—and an instant later
caught the man's wrist as Topal struck at his breast with a dagger.
"Crom!" swore Conan. "Are you mad, too?"
"Olmec ordered it!" gasped the dying man. "I know not why. As we lifted
the wounded upon the couches he whispered to me, bidding me to slay you
as we returned to Tecuhltli——" And with the name of his clan on his lips,
Topal died.
Page 75
Conan scowled down at him in puzzlement. This whole affair had an aspect
of lunacy. Was Olmec mad, too? Were all the Tecuhltli madder than he had
realized? With a shrug of his shoulders he strode down the hall and out of
the bronze door, leaving the dead Tecuhltli lying before the staring dead
eyes of their kinsmen's heads.
Conan needed no guide back through the labyrinth they had traversed. His
primitive instinct of direction led him unerringly along the route they had
come. He traversed it as warily as he had before, his sword in his hand, and
his eyes fiercely searching each shadowed nook and corner; for it was his
former allies he feared now, not the ghosts of the slain Xotalancas.
He had crossed the Great Hall and entered the chambers beyond when he
heard something moving ahead of him—something which gasped and
panted, and moved with a strange, floundering, scrambling noise. A
moment later Conan saw a man crawling over the flaming floor toward him
—a man whose progress left a broad bloody smear on the smoldering
surface. It was Techotl and his eyes were already glazing; from a deep gash
in his breast blood gushed steadily between the fingers of his clutching
hand. With the other he clawed and hitched himself along.
"Conan," he cried chokingly, "Conan! Olmec has taken the yellow-haired
woman!"
"So that's why he told Topal to kill me!" murmured Conan, dropping to his
knee beside the man, who his experienced eye told him was dying. "Olmec
isn't so mad as I thought."
Techotl's groping fingers plucked at Conan's arm. In the cold, loveless and
altogether hideous life of the Tecuhltli his admiration and affection for the
invaders from the outer world formed a warm, human oasis, constituted a
tie that connected him with a more natural humanity that was totally lacking
in his fellows, whose only emotions were hate, lust and the urge of sadistic
cruelty.
"I sought to oppose him," gurgled Techotl, blood bubbling frothily to his
lips. "But he struck me down. He thought he had slain me, but I crawled
away. Ah, Set, how far I have crawled in my own blood! Beware, Conan!
Olmec may have set an ambush for your return! Slay Olmec! He is a beast.
of lunacy. Was Olmec mad, too? Were all the Tecuhltli madder than he had
realized? With a shrug of his shoulders he strode down the hall and out of
the bronze door, leaving the dead Tecuhltli lying before the staring dead
eyes of their kinsmen's heads.
Conan needed no guide back through the labyrinth they had traversed. His
primitive instinct of direction led him unerringly along the route they had
come. He traversed it as warily as he had before, his sword in his hand, and
his eyes fiercely searching each shadowed nook and corner; for it was his
former allies he feared now, not the ghosts of the slain Xotalancas.
He had crossed the Great Hall and entered the chambers beyond when he
heard something moving ahead of him—something which gasped and
panted, and moved with a strange, floundering, scrambling noise. A
moment later Conan saw a man crawling over the flaming floor toward him
—a man whose progress left a broad bloody smear on the smoldering
surface. It was Techotl and his eyes were already glazing; from a deep gash
in his breast blood gushed steadily between the fingers of his clutching
hand. With the other he clawed and hitched himself along.
"Conan," he cried chokingly, "Conan! Olmec has taken the yellow-haired
woman!"
"So that's why he told Topal to kill me!" murmured Conan, dropping to his
knee beside the man, who his experienced eye told him was dying. "Olmec
isn't so mad as I thought."
Techotl's groping fingers plucked at Conan's arm. In the cold, loveless and
altogether hideous life of the Tecuhltli his admiration and affection for the
invaders from the outer world formed a warm, human oasis, constituted a
tie that connected him with a more natural humanity that was totally lacking
in his fellows, whose only emotions were hate, lust and the urge of sadistic
cruelty.
"I sought to oppose him," gurgled Techotl, blood bubbling frothily to his
lips. "But he struck me down. He thought he had slain me, but I crawled
away. Ah, Set, how far I have crawled in my own blood! Beware, Conan!
Olmec may have set an ambush for your return! Slay Olmec! He is a beast.
Page 76
Take Valeria and flee! Fear not to traverse the forest. Olmec and Tascela
lied about the dragons. They slew each other years ago, all save the
strongest. For a dozen years there has been only one dragon. If you have
slain him, there is naught in the forest to harm you. He was the god Olmec
worshipped; and Olmec fed human sacrifices to him, the very old and the
very young, bound and hurled from the wall. Hasten! Olmec has taken
Valeria to the Chamber of the——"
His head slumped down and he was dead before it came to rest on the floor.
C onan sprang up, his eyes like live coals. So that was Olmec's game,
having first used the strangers to destroy his foes! He should have
known that something of the sort would be going on in that black-
bearded degenerate's mind.
The Cimmerian started toward Tecuhltli with reckless speed. Rapidly he
reckoned the numbers of his former allies. Only twenty-one, counting
Olmec, had survived that fiendish battle in the throne room. Three had died
since, which left seventeen enemies with which to reckon. In his rage
Conan felt capable of accounting for the whole clan single-handed.
But the innate craft of the wilderness rose to guide his berserk rage. He
remembered Techotl's warning of an ambush. It was quite probable that the
prince would make such provisions, on the chance that Topal might have
failed to carry out his order. Olmec would be expecting him to return by the
same route he had followed in going to Xotalanc.
Conan glanced up at a skylight under which he was passing and caught the
blurred glimmer of stars. They had not yet begun to pale for dawn. The
events of the night had been crowded into a comparatively short space of
time.
He turned aside from his direct course and descended a winding staircase to
the floor below. He did not know where the door was to be found that let
into the castle on that level, but he knew he could find it. How he was to
force the locks he did not know; he believed that the doors of Tecuhltli
lied about the dragons. They slew each other years ago, all save the
strongest. For a dozen years there has been only one dragon. If you have
slain him, there is naught in the forest to harm you. He was the god Olmec
worshipped; and Olmec fed human sacrifices to him, the very old and the
very young, bound and hurled from the wall. Hasten! Olmec has taken
Valeria to the Chamber of the——"
His head slumped down and he was dead before it came to rest on the floor.
C onan sprang up, his eyes like live coals. So that was Olmec's game,
having first used the strangers to destroy his foes! He should have
known that something of the sort would be going on in that black-
bearded degenerate's mind.
The Cimmerian started toward Tecuhltli with reckless speed. Rapidly he
reckoned the numbers of his former allies. Only twenty-one, counting
Olmec, had survived that fiendish battle in the throne room. Three had died
since, which left seventeen enemies with which to reckon. In his rage
Conan felt capable of accounting for the whole clan single-handed.
But the innate craft of the wilderness rose to guide his berserk rage. He
remembered Techotl's warning of an ambush. It was quite probable that the
prince would make such provisions, on the chance that Topal might have
failed to carry out his order. Olmec would be expecting him to return by the
same route he had followed in going to Xotalanc.
Conan glanced up at a skylight under which he was passing and caught the
blurred glimmer of stars. They had not yet begun to pale for dawn. The
events of the night had been crowded into a comparatively short space of
time.
He turned aside from his direct course and descended a winding staircase to
the floor below. He did not know where the door was to be found that let
into the castle on that level, but he knew he could find it. How he was to
force the locks he did not know; he believed that the doors of Tecuhltli
Page 77
would all be locked and bolted, if for no other reason than the habits of half
a century. But there was nothing else but to attempt it.
Sword in hand, he hurried noiselessly on through a maze of green-lit or
shadowy rooms and halls. He knew he must be near Tecuhltli, when a
sound brought him up short. He recognized it for what it was—a human
being trying to cry out through a stifling gag. It came from somewhere
ahead of him, and to the left. In those deathly-still chambers a small sound
carried a long way.
Conan turned aside and went seeking after the sound, which continued to be
repeated. Presently he was glaring through a doorway upon a weird scene.
In the room into which he was looking a low rack-like frame of iron lay on
the floor, and a giant figure was bound prostrate upon it. His head rested on
a bed of iron spikes, which were already crimson-pointed with blood where
they had pierced his scalp. A peculiar harness-like contrivance was fastened
about his head, though in such a manner that the leather band did not
protect his scalp from the spikes. This harness was connected by a slender
chain to the mechanism that upheld a huge iron ball which was suspended
above the captive's hairy breast. As long as the man could force himself to
remain motionless the iron ball hung in its place. But when the pain of the
iron points caused him to lift his head, the ball lurched downward a few
inches. Presently his aching neck muscles would no longer support his head
in its unnatural position and it would fall back on the spikes again. It was
obvious that eventually the ball would crush him to a pulp, slowly and
inexorably. The victim was gagged, and above the gag his great black ox-
eyes rolled wildly toward the man in the doorway, who stood in silent
amazement. The man on the rack was Olmec, prince of Tecuhltli.
6. The Eyes of Tascela
"W hy did you bring me into this chamber to bandage my legs?"
demanded Valeria. "Couldn't you have done it just as well in the
throne room?"
a century. But there was nothing else but to attempt it.
Sword in hand, he hurried noiselessly on through a maze of green-lit or
shadowy rooms and halls. He knew he must be near Tecuhltli, when a
sound brought him up short. He recognized it for what it was—a human
being trying to cry out through a stifling gag. It came from somewhere
ahead of him, and to the left. In those deathly-still chambers a small sound
carried a long way.
Conan turned aside and went seeking after the sound, which continued to be
repeated. Presently he was glaring through a doorway upon a weird scene.
In the room into which he was looking a low rack-like frame of iron lay on
the floor, and a giant figure was bound prostrate upon it. His head rested on
a bed of iron spikes, which were already crimson-pointed with blood where
they had pierced his scalp. A peculiar harness-like contrivance was fastened
about his head, though in such a manner that the leather band did not
protect his scalp from the spikes. This harness was connected by a slender
chain to the mechanism that upheld a huge iron ball which was suspended
above the captive's hairy breast. As long as the man could force himself to
remain motionless the iron ball hung in its place. But when the pain of the
iron points caused him to lift his head, the ball lurched downward a few
inches. Presently his aching neck muscles would no longer support his head
in its unnatural position and it would fall back on the spikes again. It was
obvious that eventually the ball would crush him to a pulp, slowly and
inexorably. The victim was gagged, and above the gag his great black ox-
eyes rolled wildly toward the man in the doorway, who stood in silent
amazement. The man on the rack was Olmec, prince of Tecuhltli.
6. The Eyes of Tascela
"W hy did you bring me into this chamber to bandage my legs?"
demanded Valeria. "Couldn't you have done it just as well in the
throne room?"
Page 78
She sat on a couch with her wounded leg extended upon it, and the Tecuhltli
woman had just bound it with silk bandages. Valeria's red-stained sword lay
on the couch beside her.
She frowned as she spoke. The woman had done her task silently and
efficiently, but Valeria liked neither the lingering, caressing touch of her
slim fingers nor the expression in her eyes.
"They have taken the rest of the wounded into the other chambers,"
answered the woman in the soft speech of the Tecuhltli women, which
somehow did not suggest either softness or gentleness in the speakers. A
little while before, Valeria had seen this same woman stab a Xotalanca
woman through the breast and stamp the eyeballs out of a wounded
Xotalanca man.
"They will be carrying the corpses of the dead down into the catacombs,"
she added, "lest the ghosts escape into the chambers and dwell there."
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Valeria.
"I know the ghost of Tolkemec dwells in the catacombs," she answered with
a shiver. "Once I saw it, as I crouched in a crypt among the bones of a dead
queen. It passed by in the form of an ancient man with flowing white beard
and locks, and luminous eyes that blazed in the darkness. It was Tolkemec;
I saw him living when I was a child and he was being tortured."
Her voice sank to a fearful whisper: "Olmec laughs, but I know Tolkemec's
ghost dwells in the catacombs! They say it is rats which gnaw the flesh
from the bones of the newly dead—but ghosts eat flesh. Who knows but
that——"
She glanced up quickly as a shadow fell across the couch. Valeria looked up
to see Olmec gazing down at her. The prince had cleansed his hands, torso
and beard of the blood that had splashed them; but he had not donned his
robe, and his great dark-skinned hairless body and limbs renewed the
impression of strength bestial in its nature. His deep black eyes burned with
a more elemental light, and there was the suggestion of a twitching in the
fingers that tugged at his thick blue-black beard.
woman had just bound it with silk bandages. Valeria's red-stained sword lay
on the couch beside her.
She frowned as she spoke. The woman had done her task silently and
efficiently, but Valeria liked neither the lingering, caressing touch of her
slim fingers nor the expression in her eyes.
"They have taken the rest of the wounded into the other chambers,"
answered the woman in the soft speech of the Tecuhltli women, which
somehow did not suggest either softness or gentleness in the speakers. A
little while before, Valeria had seen this same woman stab a Xotalanca
woman through the breast and stamp the eyeballs out of a wounded
Xotalanca man.
"They will be carrying the corpses of the dead down into the catacombs,"
she added, "lest the ghosts escape into the chambers and dwell there."
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Valeria.
"I know the ghost of Tolkemec dwells in the catacombs," she answered with
a shiver. "Once I saw it, as I crouched in a crypt among the bones of a dead
queen. It passed by in the form of an ancient man with flowing white beard
and locks, and luminous eyes that blazed in the darkness. It was Tolkemec;
I saw him living when I was a child and he was being tortured."
Her voice sank to a fearful whisper: "Olmec laughs, but I know Tolkemec's
ghost dwells in the catacombs! They say it is rats which gnaw the flesh
from the bones of the newly dead—but ghosts eat flesh. Who knows but
that——"
She glanced up quickly as a shadow fell across the couch. Valeria looked up
to see Olmec gazing down at her. The prince had cleansed his hands, torso
and beard of the blood that had splashed them; but he had not donned his
robe, and his great dark-skinned hairless body and limbs renewed the
impression of strength bestial in its nature. His deep black eyes burned with
a more elemental light, and there was the suggestion of a twitching in the
fingers that tugged at his thick blue-black beard.
Page 79
He stared fixedly at the woman, and she rose and glided from the chamber.
As she passed through the door she cast a look over her shoulder at Valeria,
a glance full of cynical derision and obscene mockery.
"She has done a clumsy job," criticized the prince, coming to the divan and
bending over the bandage. "Let me see——"
With a quickness amazing in one of his bulk he snatched her sword and
threw it across the chamber. His next move was to catch her in his giant
arms.
Quick and unexpected as the move was, she almost matched it; for even as
he grabbed her, her dirk was in her hand and she stabbed murderously at his
throat. More by luck than skill he caught her wrist, and then began a savage
wrestling-match. She fought him with fists, feet, knees, teeth and nails, with
all the strength of her magnificent body and all the knowledge of hand-to-
hand fighting she had acquired in her years of roving and fighting on sea
and land. It availed her nothing against his brute strength. She lost her dirk
in the first moment of contact, and thereafter found herself powerless to
inflict any appreciable pain on her giant attacker.
The blaze in his weird black eyes did not alter, and their expression filled
her with fury, fanned by the sardonic smile that seemed carved upon his
bearded lips. Those eyes and that smile contained all the cruel cynicism that
seethes below the surface of a sophisticated and degenerate race, and for the
first time in her life Valeria experienced fear of a man. It was like struggling
against some huge elemental force; his iron arms thwarted her efforts with
an ease that sent panic racing through her limbs. He seemed impervious to
any pain she could inflict. Only once, when she sank her white teeth
savagely into his wrist so that the blood started, did he react. And that was
to buffet her brutally upon the side of the head with his open hand, so that
stars flashed before her eyes and her head rolled on her shoulders.
Her shirt had been torn open in the struggle, and with cynical cruelty he
rasped his thick beard across her bare breasts, bringing the blood to suffuse
the fair skin, and fetching a cry of pain and outraged fury from her. Her
convulsive resistance was useless; she was crushed down on a couch,
disarmed and panting, her eyes blazing up at him like the eyes of a trapped
tigress.
As she passed through the door she cast a look over her shoulder at Valeria,
a glance full of cynical derision and obscene mockery.
"She has done a clumsy job," criticized the prince, coming to the divan and
bending over the bandage. "Let me see——"
With a quickness amazing in one of his bulk he snatched her sword and
threw it across the chamber. His next move was to catch her in his giant
arms.
Quick and unexpected as the move was, she almost matched it; for even as
he grabbed her, her dirk was in her hand and she stabbed murderously at his
throat. More by luck than skill he caught her wrist, and then began a savage
wrestling-match. She fought him with fists, feet, knees, teeth and nails, with
all the strength of her magnificent body and all the knowledge of hand-to-
hand fighting she had acquired in her years of roving and fighting on sea
and land. It availed her nothing against his brute strength. She lost her dirk
in the first moment of contact, and thereafter found herself powerless to
inflict any appreciable pain on her giant attacker.
The blaze in his weird black eyes did not alter, and their expression filled
her with fury, fanned by the sardonic smile that seemed carved upon his
bearded lips. Those eyes and that smile contained all the cruel cynicism that
seethes below the surface of a sophisticated and degenerate race, and for the
first time in her life Valeria experienced fear of a man. It was like struggling
against some huge elemental force; his iron arms thwarted her efforts with
an ease that sent panic racing through her limbs. He seemed impervious to
any pain she could inflict. Only once, when she sank her white teeth
savagely into his wrist so that the blood started, did he react. And that was
to buffet her brutally upon the side of the head with his open hand, so that
stars flashed before her eyes and her head rolled on her shoulders.
Her shirt had been torn open in the struggle, and with cynical cruelty he
rasped his thick beard across her bare breasts, bringing the blood to suffuse
the fair skin, and fetching a cry of pain and outraged fury from her. Her
convulsive resistance was useless; she was crushed down on a couch,
disarmed and panting, her eyes blazing up at him like the eyes of a trapped
tigress.
Page 80
A moment later he was hurrying from the chamber, carrying her in his arms.
She made no resistance, but the smoldering of her eyes showed that she was
unconquered in spirit, at least. She had not cried out. She knew that Conan
was not within call, and it did not occur to her that any in Tecuhltli would
oppose their prince. But she noticed that Olmec went stealthily, with his
head on one side as if listening for sounds of pursuit, and he did not return
to the throne chamber. He carried her through a door that stood opposite
that through which he had entered, crossed another room and began stealing
down a hall. As she became convinced that he feared some opposition to the
abduction, she threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lusty
voice.
She was rewarded by a slap that half stunned her, and Olmec quickened his
pace to a shambling run.
But her cry had been echoed, and twisting her head about, Valeria, through
the tears and stars that partly blinded her, saw Techotl limping after them.
Olmec turned with a snarl, shifting the woman to an uncomfortable and
certainly undignified position under one huge arm, where he held her
writhing and kicking vainly, like a child.
"Olmec!" protested Techotl. "You cannot be such a dog as to do this thing!
She is Conan's woman! She helped us slay the Xotalancas, and——"
W ithout a word Olmec balled his free hand into a huge fist and
stretched the wounded warrior senseless at his feet. Stooping, and
hindered not at all by the struggles and imprecations of his captive,
he drew Techotl's sword from its sheath and stabbed the warrior in the
breast. Then casting aside the weapon he fled on along the corridor. He did
not see a woman's dark face peer cautiously after him from behind a
hanging. It vanished, and presently Techotl groaned and stirred, rose
dazedly and staggered drunkenly away, calling Conan's name.
Olmec hurried on down the corridor, and descended a winding ivory
staircase. He crossed several corridors and halted at last in a broad chamber
She made no resistance, but the smoldering of her eyes showed that she was
unconquered in spirit, at least. She had not cried out. She knew that Conan
was not within call, and it did not occur to her that any in Tecuhltli would
oppose their prince. But she noticed that Olmec went stealthily, with his
head on one side as if listening for sounds of pursuit, and he did not return
to the throne chamber. He carried her through a door that stood opposite
that through which he had entered, crossed another room and began stealing
down a hall. As she became convinced that he feared some opposition to the
abduction, she threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lusty
voice.
She was rewarded by a slap that half stunned her, and Olmec quickened his
pace to a shambling run.
But her cry had been echoed, and twisting her head about, Valeria, through
the tears and stars that partly blinded her, saw Techotl limping after them.
Olmec turned with a snarl, shifting the woman to an uncomfortable and
certainly undignified position under one huge arm, where he held her
writhing and kicking vainly, like a child.
"Olmec!" protested Techotl. "You cannot be such a dog as to do this thing!
She is Conan's woman! She helped us slay the Xotalancas, and——"
W ithout a word Olmec balled his free hand into a huge fist and
stretched the wounded warrior senseless at his feet. Stooping, and
hindered not at all by the struggles and imprecations of his captive,
he drew Techotl's sword from its sheath and stabbed the warrior in the
breast. Then casting aside the weapon he fled on along the corridor. He did
not see a woman's dark face peer cautiously after him from behind a
hanging. It vanished, and presently Techotl groaned and stirred, rose
dazedly and staggered drunkenly away, calling Conan's name.
Olmec hurried on down the corridor, and descended a winding ivory
staircase. He crossed several corridors and halted at last in a broad chamber
Page 81
whose doors were veiled with heavy tapestries, with one exception—a
heavy bronze door similar to the Door of the Eagle on the upper floor.
He was moved to rumble, pointing to it: "That is one of the outer doors of
Tecuhltli. For the first time in fifty years it is unguarded. We need not guard
it now, for Xotalanc is no more."
"Thanks to Conan and me, you bloody rogue!" sneered Valeria, trembling
with fury and the shame of physical coercion. "You treacherous dog! Conan
will cut your throat for this!"
Olmec did not bother to voice his belief that Conan's own gullet had already
been severed according to his whispered command. He was too utterly
cynical to be at all interested in her thoughts or opinions. His flame-lit eyes
devoured her, dwelling burningly on the generous expanses of clear white
flesh exposed where her shirt and breeches had been torn in the struggle.
"Forget Conan," he said thickly. "Olmec is lord of Xuchotl. Xotalanc is no
more. There will be no more fighting. We shall spend our lives in drinking
and love-making. First let us drink!"
He seated himself on an ivory table and pulled her down on his knees, like a
dark-skinned satyr with a white nymph in his arms. Ignoring her un-
nymphlike profanity, he held her helpless with one great arm about her
waist while the other reached across the table and secured a vessel of wine.
"Drink!" he commanded, forcing it to her lips, as she writhed her head
away.
The liquor slopped over, stinging her lips, splashing down on her naked
breasts.
"Your guest does not like your wine, Olmec," spoke a cool, sardonic voice.
Olmec stiffened; fear grew in his flaming eyes. Slowly he swung his great
head about and stared at Tascela who posed negligently in the curtained
doorway, one hand on her smooth hip. Valeria twisted herself about in his
iron grip, and when she met the burning eyes of Tascela, a chill tingled
along her supple spine. New experiences were flooding Valeria's proud soul
heavy bronze door similar to the Door of the Eagle on the upper floor.
He was moved to rumble, pointing to it: "That is one of the outer doors of
Tecuhltli. For the first time in fifty years it is unguarded. We need not guard
it now, for Xotalanc is no more."
"Thanks to Conan and me, you bloody rogue!" sneered Valeria, trembling
with fury and the shame of physical coercion. "You treacherous dog! Conan
will cut your throat for this!"
Olmec did not bother to voice his belief that Conan's own gullet had already
been severed according to his whispered command. He was too utterly
cynical to be at all interested in her thoughts or opinions. His flame-lit eyes
devoured her, dwelling burningly on the generous expanses of clear white
flesh exposed where her shirt and breeches had been torn in the struggle.
"Forget Conan," he said thickly. "Olmec is lord of Xuchotl. Xotalanc is no
more. There will be no more fighting. We shall spend our lives in drinking
and love-making. First let us drink!"
He seated himself on an ivory table and pulled her down on his knees, like a
dark-skinned satyr with a white nymph in his arms. Ignoring her un-
nymphlike profanity, he held her helpless with one great arm about her
waist while the other reached across the table and secured a vessel of wine.
"Drink!" he commanded, forcing it to her lips, as she writhed her head
away.
The liquor slopped over, stinging her lips, splashing down on her naked
breasts.
"Your guest does not like your wine, Olmec," spoke a cool, sardonic voice.
Olmec stiffened; fear grew in his flaming eyes. Slowly he swung his great
head about and stared at Tascela who posed negligently in the curtained
doorway, one hand on her smooth hip. Valeria twisted herself about in his
iron grip, and when she met the burning eyes of Tascela, a chill tingled
along her supple spine. New experiences were flooding Valeria's proud soul
Page 82
that night. Recently she had learned to fear a man; now she knew what it
was to fear a woman.
Olmec sat motionless, a gray pallor growing under his swarthy skin. Tascela
brought her other hand from behind her and displayed a small gold vessel.
"I feared she would not like your wine, Olmec," purred the princess, "so I
brought some of mine, some I brought with me long ago from the shores of
Lake Zuad—do you understand, Olmec?"
Beads of sweat stood out suddenly on Olmec's brow. His muscles relaxed,
and Valeria broke away and put the table between them. But though reason
told her to dart from the room, some fascination she could not understand
held her rigid, watching the scene.
Tascela came toward the seated prince with a swaying, undulating walk that
was mockery in itself. Her voice was soft, slurringly caressing, but her eyes
gleamed. Her slim fingers stroked his beard lightly.
"You are selfish, Olmec," she crooned, smiling. "You would keep our
handsome guest to yourself, though you knew I wished to entertain her. You
are much at fault, Olmec!"
The mask dropped for an instant; her eyes flashed, her face was contorted
and with an appalling show of strength her hand locked convulsively in his
beard and tore out a great handful. This evidence of unnatural strength was
no more terrifying than the momentary baring of the hellish fury that raged
under her bland exterior.
Olmec lurched up with a roar, and stood swaying like a bear, his mighty
hands clenching and unclenching.
"Slut!" His booming voice filled the room. "Witch! She-devil! Tecuhltli
should have slain you fifty years ago! Begone! I have endured too much
from you! This white-skinned wench is mine! Get hence before I slay you!"
The princess laughed and dashed the blood-stained strands into his face.
Her laughter was less merciful than the ring of flint on steel.
"Once you spoke otherwise, Olmec," she taunted. "Once, in your youth, you
spoke words of love. Aye, you were my lover once, years ago, and because
was to fear a woman.
Olmec sat motionless, a gray pallor growing under his swarthy skin. Tascela
brought her other hand from behind her and displayed a small gold vessel.
"I feared she would not like your wine, Olmec," purred the princess, "so I
brought some of mine, some I brought with me long ago from the shores of
Lake Zuad—do you understand, Olmec?"
Beads of sweat stood out suddenly on Olmec's brow. His muscles relaxed,
and Valeria broke away and put the table between them. But though reason
told her to dart from the room, some fascination she could not understand
held her rigid, watching the scene.
Tascela came toward the seated prince with a swaying, undulating walk that
was mockery in itself. Her voice was soft, slurringly caressing, but her eyes
gleamed. Her slim fingers stroked his beard lightly.
"You are selfish, Olmec," she crooned, smiling. "You would keep our
handsome guest to yourself, though you knew I wished to entertain her. You
are much at fault, Olmec!"
The mask dropped for an instant; her eyes flashed, her face was contorted
and with an appalling show of strength her hand locked convulsively in his
beard and tore out a great handful. This evidence of unnatural strength was
no more terrifying than the momentary baring of the hellish fury that raged
under her bland exterior.
Olmec lurched up with a roar, and stood swaying like a bear, his mighty
hands clenching and unclenching.
"Slut!" His booming voice filled the room. "Witch! She-devil! Tecuhltli
should have slain you fifty years ago! Begone! I have endured too much
from you! This white-skinned wench is mine! Get hence before I slay you!"
The princess laughed and dashed the blood-stained strands into his face.
Her laughter was less merciful than the ring of flint on steel.
"Once you spoke otherwise, Olmec," she taunted. "Once, in your youth, you
spoke words of love. Aye, you were my lover once, years ago, and because
Page 83
you loved me, you slept in my arms beneath the enchanted lotus—and
thereby put into my hands the chains that enslaved you. You know you
cannot withstand me. You know I have but to gaze into your eyes, with the
mystic power a priest of Stygia taught me, long ago, and you are powerless.
You remember the night beneath the black lotus that waved above us,
stirred by no worldly breeze; you scent again the unearthly perfumes that
stole and rose like a cloud about you to enslave you. You cannot fight
against me. You are my slave as you were that night—as you shall be so
long as you shall live, Olmec of Xuchotl!"
H er voice had sunk to a murmur like the rippling of a stream running
through starlit darkness. She leaned close to the prince and spread her
long tapering fingers upon his giant breast. His eyes glazed, his great
hands fell limply to his sides.
With a smile of cruel malice, Tascela lifted the vessel and placed it to his
lips.
"Drink!"
Mechanically the prince obeyed. And instantly the glaze passed from his
eyes and they were flooded with fury, comprehension and an awful fear. His
mouth gaped, but no sound issued. For an instant he reeled on buckling
knees, and then fell in a sodden heap on the floor.
His fall jolted Valeria out of her paralysis. She turned and sprang toward the
door, but with a movement that would have shamed a leaping panther,
Tascela was before her. Valeria struck at her with her clenched fist, and all
the power of her supple body behind the blow. It would have stretched a
man senseless on the floor. But with a lithe twist of her torso, Tascela
avoided the blow and caught the pirate's wrist. The next instant Valeria's left
hand was imprisoned, and holding her wrists together with one hand,
Tascela calmly bound them with a cord she drew from her girdle. Valeria
thought she had tasted the ultimate in humiliation already that night, but her
shame at being manhandled by Olmec was nothing to the sensations that
now shook her supple frame. Valeria had always been inclined to despise
thereby put into my hands the chains that enslaved you. You know you
cannot withstand me. You know I have but to gaze into your eyes, with the
mystic power a priest of Stygia taught me, long ago, and you are powerless.
You remember the night beneath the black lotus that waved above us,
stirred by no worldly breeze; you scent again the unearthly perfumes that
stole and rose like a cloud about you to enslave you. You cannot fight
against me. You are my slave as you were that night—as you shall be so
long as you shall live, Olmec of Xuchotl!"
H er voice had sunk to a murmur like the rippling of a stream running
through starlit darkness. She leaned close to the prince and spread her
long tapering fingers upon his giant breast. His eyes glazed, his great
hands fell limply to his sides.
With a smile of cruel malice, Tascela lifted the vessel and placed it to his
lips.
"Drink!"
Mechanically the prince obeyed. And instantly the glaze passed from his
eyes and they were flooded with fury, comprehension and an awful fear. His
mouth gaped, but no sound issued. For an instant he reeled on buckling
knees, and then fell in a sodden heap on the floor.
His fall jolted Valeria out of her paralysis. She turned and sprang toward the
door, but with a movement that would have shamed a leaping panther,
Tascela was before her. Valeria struck at her with her clenched fist, and all
the power of her supple body behind the blow. It would have stretched a
man senseless on the floor. But with a lithe twist of her torso, Tascela
avoided the blow and caught the pirate's wrist. The next instant Valeria's left
hand was imprisoned, and holding her wrists together with one hand,
Tascela calmly bound them with a cord she drew from her girdle. Valeria
thought she had tasted the ultimate in humiliation already that night, but her
shame at being manhandled by Olmec was nothing to the sensations that
now shook her supple frame. Valeria had always been inclined to despise
Page 84
the other members of her sex; and it was overwhelming to encounter
another woman who could handle her like a child. She scarcely resisted at
all when Tascela forced her into a chair and drawing her bound wrists down
between her knees, fastened them to the chair.
Casually stepping over Olmec, Tascela walked to the bronze door and shot
the bolt and threw it open, revealing a hallway without.
"Opening upon this hall," she remarked, speaking to her feminine captive
for the first time, "there is a chamber which in old times was used as a
torture room. When we retired into Tecuhltli, we brought most of the
apparatus with us, but there was one piece too heavy to move. It is still in
working order. I think it will be quite convenient now."
An understanding flame of terror rose in Olmec's eyes. Tascela strode back
to him, bent and gripped him by the hair.
"He is only paralyzed temporarily," she remarked conversationally. "He can
hear, think, and feel—aye, he can feel very well indeed!"
With which sinister observation she started toward the door, dragging the
giant bulk with an ease that made the pirate's eyes dilate. She passed into
the hall and moved down it without hesitation, presently disappearing with
her captive into a chamber that opened into it, and whence shortly thereafter
issued the clank of iron.
Valeria swore softly and tugged vainly, with her legs braced against the
chair. The cords that confined her were apparently unbreakable.
Tascela presently returned alone; behind her a muffled groaning issued from
the chamber. She closed the door but did not bolt it. Tascela was beyond the
grip of habit, as she was beyond the touch of other human instincts and
emotions.
Valeria sat dumbly, watching the woman in whose slim hands, the pirate
realized, her destiny now rested.
Tascela grasped her yellow locks and forced back her head, looking
impersonally down into her face. But the glitter in her dark eyes was not
impersonal.
another woman who could handle her like a child. She scarcely resisted at
all when Tascela forced her into a chair and drawing her bound wrists down
between her knees, fastened them to the chair.
Casually stepping over Olmec, Tascela walked to the bronze door and shot
the bolt and threw it open, revealing a hallway without.
"Opening upon this hall," she remarked, speaking to her feminine captive
for the first time, "there is a chamber which in old times was used as a
torture room. When we retired into Tecuhltli, we brought most of the
apparatus with us, but there was one piece too heavy to move. It is still in
working order. I think it will be quite convenient now."
An understanding flame of terror rose in Olmec's eyes. Tascela strode back
to him, bent and gripped him by the hair.
"He is only paralyzed temporarily," she remarked conversationally. "He can
hear, think, and feel—aye, he can feel very well indeed!"
With which sinister observation she started toward the door, dragging the
giant bulk with an ease that made the pirate's eyes dilate. She passed into
the hall and moved down it without hesitation, presently disappearing with
her captive into a chamber that opened into it, and whence shortly thereafter
issued the clank of iron.
Valeria swore softly and tugged vainly, with her legs braced against the
chair. The cords that confined her were apparently unbreakable.
Tascela presently returned alone; behind her a muffled groaning issued from
the chamber. She closed the door but did not bolt it. Tascela was beyond the
grip of habit, as she was beyond the touch of other human instincts and
emotions.
Valeria sat dumbly, watching the woman in whose slim hands, the pirate
realized, her destiny now rested.
Tascela grasped her yellow locks and forced back her head, looking
impersonally down into her face. But the glitter in her dark eyes was not
impersonal.
Page 85
"I have chosen you for a great honor," she said. "You shall restore the youth
of Tascela. Oh, you stare at that! My appearance is that of youth, but
through my veins creeps the sluggish chill of approaching age, as I have felt
it a thousand times before. I am old, so old I do not remember my
childhood. But I was a girl once, and a priest of Stygia loved me, and gave
me the secret of immortality and youth everlasting. He died, then—some
said by poison. But I dwelt in my palace by the shores of Lake Zuad and the
passing years touched me not. So at last a king of Stygia desired me, and
my people rebelled and brought me to this land. Olmec called me a
princess. I am not of royal blood. I am greater than a princess. I am Tascela,
whose youth your own glorious youth shall restore."
Valeria's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She sensed here a mystery
darker than the degeneracy she had anticipated.
The taller woman unbound the Aquilonian's wrists and pulled her to her
feet. It was not fear of the dominant strength that lurked in the princess'
limbs that made Valeria a helpless, quivering captive in her hands. It was
the burning, hypnotic, terrible eyes of Tascela.
7. He Comes from the Dark
"W ell, I'm a Kushite!"
Conan glared down at the man on the iron rack.
"What the devil are you doing on that thing?"
Incoherent sounds issued from behind the gag and Conan bent and tore it
away, evoking a bellow of fear from the captive; for his action caused the
iron ball to lurch down until it nearly touched the broad breast.
"Be careful, for Set's sake!" begged Olmec.
of Tascela. Oh, you stare at that! My appearance is that of youth, but
through my veins creeps the sluggish chill of approaching age, as I have felt
it a thousand times before. I am old, so old I do not remember my
childhood. But I was a girl once, and a priest of Stygia loved me, and gave
me the secret of immortality and youth everlasting. He died, then—some
said by poison. But I dwelt in my palace by the shores of Lake Zuad and the
passing years touched me not. So at last a king of Stygia desired me, and
my people rebelled and brought me to this land. Olmec called me a
princess. I am not of royal blood. I am greater than a princess. I am Tascela,
whose youth your own glorious youth shall restore."
Valeria's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She sensed here a mystery
darker than the degeneracy she had anticipated.
The taller woman unbound the Aquilonian's wrists and pulled her to her
feet. It was not fear of the dominant strength that lurked in the princess'
limbs that made Valeria a helpless, quivering captive in her hands. It was
the burning, hypnotic, terrible eyes of Tascela.
7. He Comes from the Dark
"W ell, I'm a Kushite!"
Conan glared down at the man on the iron rack.
"What the devil are you doing on that thing?"
Incoherent sounds issued from behind the gag and Conan bent and tore it
away, evoking a bellow of fear from the captive; for his action caused the
iron ball to lurch down until it nearly touched the broad breast.
"Be careful, for Set's sake!" begged Olmec.
Page 86
"What for?" demanded Conan. "Do you think I care what happens to you? I
only wish I had time to stay here and watch that chunk of iron grind your
guts out. But I'm in a hurry. Where's Valeria?"
"Loose me!" urged Olmec, "I will tell you all!"
"Tell me first."
"Never!" The prince's heavy jaws set stubbornly.
"All right." Conan seated himself on a near-by bench. "I'll find her myself,
after you've been reduced to a jelly. I believe I can speed up that process by
twisting my sword-point around in your ear," he added, extending the
weapon experimentally.
"Wait!" Words came in a rush from the captive's ashy lips. "Tascela took her
from me. I've never been anything but a puppet in Tascela's hands."
"Tascela?" snorted Conan, and spat. "Why, the filthy——"
"No, no!" panted Olmec. "It's worse than you think. Tascela is old—
centuries old. She renews her life and her youth by the sacrifice of beautiful
young women. That's one thing that has reduced the clan to its present state.
She will draw the essence of Valeria's life into her own body, and bloom
with fresh vigor and beauty."
"Are the doors locked?" asked Conan, thumbing his sword edge.
"Aye! But I know a way to get into Tecuhltli. Only Tascela and I know, and
she thinks me helpless and you slain. Free me and I swear I will help you
rescue Valeria. Without my help you cannot win into Tecuhltli; for even if
you tortured me into revealing the secret, you couldn't work it. Let me go,
and we will steal on Tascela and kill her before she can work magic—
before she can fix her eyes on us. A knife thrown from behind will do the
work. I should have killed her thus long ago, but I feared that without her to
aid us the Xotalancas would overcome us. She needed my help, too; that's
the only reason she let me live this long. Now neither needs the other, and
one must die. I swear that when we have slain the witch, you and Valeria
shall go free without harm. My people will obey me when Tascela is dead."
only wish I had time to stay here and watch that chunk of iron grind your
guts out. But I'm in a hurry. Where's Valeria?"
"Loose me!" urged Olmec, "I will tell you all!"
"Tell me first."
"Never!" The prince's heavy jaws set stubbornly.
"All right." Conan seated himself on a near-by bench. "I'll find her myself,
after you've been reduced to a jelly. I believe I can speed up that process by
twisting my sword-point around in your ear," he added, extending the
weapon experimentally.
"Wait!" Words came in a rush from the captive's ashy lips. "Tascela took her
from me. I've never been anything but a puppet in Tascela's hands."
"Tascela?" snorted Conan, and spat. "Why, the filthy——"
"No, no!" panted Olmec. "It's worse than you think. Tascela is old—
centuries old. She renews her life and her youth by the sacrifice of beautiful
young women. That's one thing that has reduced the clan to its present state.
She will draw the essence of Valeria's life into her own body, and bloom
with fresh vigor and beauty."
"Are the doors locked?" asked Conan, thumbing his sword edge.
"Aye! But I know a way to get into Tecuhltli. Only Tascela and I know, and
she thinks me helpless and you slain. Free me and I swear I will help you
rescue Valeria. Without my help you cannot win into Tecuhltli; for even if
you tortured me into revealing the secret, you couldn't work it. Let me go,
and we will steal on Tascela and kill her before she can work magic—
before she can fix her eyes on us. A knife thrown from behind will do the
work. I should have killed her thus long ago, but I feared that without her to
aid us the Xotalancas would overcome us. She needed my help, too; that's
the only reason she let me live this long. Now neither needs the other, and
one must die. I swear that when we have slain the witch, you and Valeria
shall go free without harm. My people will obey me when Tascela is dead."
Page 87
Conan stooped and cut the ropes that held the prince, and Olmec slid
cautiously from under the great ball and rose, shaking his head like a bull
and muttering imprecations as he fingered his lacerated scalp. Standing
shoulder to shoulder the two men presented a formidable picture of
primitive power. Olmec was as tall as Conan, and heavier; but there was
something repellent about the Tlazitlan, something abysmal and monstrous
that contrasted unfavorably with the clean-cut, compact hardness of the
Cimmerian. Conan had discarded the remnants of his tattered, blood-soaked
shirt, and stood with his remarkable muscular development impressively
revealed. His great shoulders were as broad as those of Olmec, and more
cleanly outlined, and his huge breast arched with a more impressive sweep
to a hard waist that lacked the paunchy thickness of Olmec's midsection. He
might have been an image of primal strength cut out of bronze. Olmec was
darker, but not from the burning of the sun. If Conan was a figure out of the
dawn of Time, Olmec was a shambling, somber shape from the darkness of
Time's pre-dawn.
"Lead on," demanded Conan. "And keep ahead of me. I don't trust you any
farther than I can throw a bull by the tail."
Olmec turned and stalked on ahead of him, one hand twitching slightly as it
plucked at his matted beard.
O lmec did not lead Conan back to the bronze door, which the prince
naturally supposed Tascela had locked, but to a certain chamber on
the border of Tecuhltli.
"This secret has been guarded for half a century," he said. "Not even our
own clan knew of it, and the Xotalancas never learned. Tecuhltli himself
built this secret entrance, afterward slaying the slaves who did the work; for
he feared that he might find himself locked out of his own kingdom some
day because of the spite of Tascela, whose passion for him soon changed to
hate. But she discovered the secret, and barred the hidden door against him
one day as he fled back from an unsuccessful raid, and the Xotalancas took
cautiously from under the great ball and rose, shaking his head like a bull
and muttering imprecations as he fingered his lacerated scalp. Standing
shoulder to shoulder the two men presented a formidable picture of
primitive power. Olmec was as tall as Conan, and heavier; but there was
something repellent about the Tlazitlan, something abysmal and monstrous
that contrasted unfavorably with the clean-cut, compact hardness of the
Cimmerian. Conan had discarded the remnants of his tattered, blood-soaked
shirt, and stood with his remarkable muscular development impressively
revealed. His great shoulders were as broad as those of Olmec, and more
cleanly outlined, and his huge breast arched with a more impressive sweep
to a hard waist that lacked the paunchy thickness of Olmec's midsection. He
might have been an image of primal strength cut out of bronze. Olmec was
darker, but not from the burning of the sun. If Conan was a figure out of the
dawn of Time, Olmec was a shambling, somber shape from the darkness of
Time's pre-dawn.
"Lead on," demanded Conan. "And keep ahead of me. I don't trust you any
farther than I can throw a bull by the tail."
Olmec turned and stalked on ahead of him, one hand twitching slightly as it
plucked at his matted beard.
O lmec did not lead Conan back to the bronze door, which the prince
naturally supposed Tascela had locked, but to a certain chamber on
the border of Tecuhltli.
"This secret has been guarded for half a century," he said. "Not even our
own clan knew of it, and the Xotalancas never learned. Tecuhltli himself
built this secret entrance, afterward slaying the slaves who did the work; for
he feared that he might find himself locked out of his own kingdom some
day because of the spite of Tascela, whose passion for him soon changed to
hate. But she discovered the secret, and barred the hidden door against him
one day as he fled back from an unsuccessful raid, and the Xotalancas took
Page 88
him and flayed him. But once, spying upon her, I saw her enter Tecuhltli by
this route, and so learned the secret."
He pressed upon a gold ornament in the wall, and a panel swung inward,
disclosing an ivory stair leading upward.
"This stair is built within the wall," said Olmec. "It leads up to a tower upon
the roof, and thence other stairs wind down to the various chambers.
Hasten!"
"After you, comrade!" retorted Conan satirically, swaying his broadsword
as he spoke, and Olmec shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the
staircase. Conan instantly followed him, and the door shut behind them. Far
above a cluster of fire-jewels made the staircase a well of dusky dragon-
light.
They mounted until Conan estimated that they were above the level of the
fourth floor, and then came out into a cylindrical tower, in the domed roof
of which was set the bunch of fire-jewels that lighted the stair. Through
gold-barred windows, set with unbreakable crystal panes, the first windows
he had seen in Xuchotl, Conan got a glimpse of high ridges, domes and
more towers, looming darkly against the stars. He was looking across the
roofs of Xuchotl.
Olmec did not look through the windows. He hurried down one of the
several stairs that wound down from the tower, and when they had
descended a few feet, this stair changed into a narrow corridor that wound
tortuously on for some distance. It ceased at a steep flight of steps leading
downward. There Olmec paused.
Up from below, muffled, but unmistakable, welled a woman's scream,
edged with fright, fury and shame. And Conan recognized Valeria's voice.
In the swift rage roused by that cry, and the amazement of wondering what
peril could wring such a shriek from Valeria's reckless lips, Conan forgot
Olmec. He pushed past the prince and started down the stair. Awakening
instinct brought him about again, just as Olmec struck with his great mallet-
like fist. The blow, fierce and silent, was aimed at the base of Conan's brain.
But the Cimmerian wheeled in time to receive the buffet on the side of his
neck instead. The impact would have snapped the vertebræ of a lesser man.
this route, and so learned the secret."
He pressed upon a gold ornament in the wall, and a panel swung inward,
disclosing an ivory stair leading upward.
"This stair is built within the wall," said Olmec. "It leads up to a tower upon
the roof, and thence other stairs wind down to the various chambers.
Hasten!"
"After you, comrade!" retorted Conan satirically, swaying his broadsword
as he spoke, and Olmec shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the
staircase. Conan instantly followed him, and the door shut behind them. Far
above a cluster of fire-jewels made the staircase a well of dusky dragon-
light.
They mounted until Conan estimated that they were above the level of the
fourth floor, and then came out into a cylindrical tower, in the domed roof
of which was set the bunch of fire-jewels that lighted the stair. Through
gold-barred windows, set with unbreakable crystal panes, the first windows
he had seen in Xuchotl, Conan got a glimpse of high ridges, domes and
more towers, looming darkly against the stars. He was looking across the
roofs of Xuchotl.
Olmec did not look through the windows. He hurried down one of the
several stairs that wound down from the tower, and when they had
descended a few feet, this stair changed into a narrow corridor that wound
tortuously on for some distance. It ceased at a steep flight of steps leading
downward. There Olmec paused.
Up from below, muffled, but unmistakable, welled a woman's scream,
edged with fright, fury and shame. And Conan recognized Valeria's voice.
In the swift rage roused by that cry, and the amazement of wondering what
peril could wring such a shriek from Valeria's reckless lips, Conan forgot
Olmec. He pushed past the prince and started down the stair. Awakening
instinct brought him about again, just as Olmec struck with his great mallet-
like fist. The blow, fierce and silent, was aimed at the base of Conan's brain.
But the Cimmerian wheeled in time to receive the buffet on the side of his
neck instead. The impact would have snapped the vertebræ of a lesser man.
Page 89
As it was, Conan swayed backward, but even as he reeled he dropped his
sword, useless at such close quarters, and grasped Olmec's extended arm,
dragging the prince with him as he fell. Headlong they went down the steps
together, in a revolving whirl of limbs and heads and bodies. And as they
went Conan's iron fingers found and locked in Olmec's bull-throat.
The barbarian's neck and shoulder felt numb from the sledge-like impact of
Olmec's huge fist, which had carried all the strength of the massive forearm,
thick triceps and great shoulder. But this did not affect his ferocity to any
appreciable extent. Like a bulldog he hung on grimly, shaken and battered
and beaten against the steps as they rolled, until at last they struck an ivory
panel-door at the bottom with such an impact that they splintered it down its
full length and crashed through its ruins. But Olmec was already dead, for
those iron fingers had crushed out his life and broken his neck as they fell.
C onan rose, shaking the splinters from his great shoulder, blinking
blood and dust out of his eyes.
He was in the great throne room. There were fifteen people in that room
besides himself. The first person he saw was Valeria. A curious black altar
stood before the throne-dais. Ranged about it, seven black candles in golden
candlesticks sent up oozing spirals of thick green smoke, disturbingly
scented. These spirals united in a cloud near the ceiling, forming a smoky
arch above the altar. On that altar lay Valeria, stark naked, her white flesh
gleaming in shocking contrast to the glistening ebon stone. She was not
bound. She lay at full length, her arms stretched out above her head to their
fullest extent. At the head of the altar knelt a young man, holding her wrists
firmly. A young woman knelt at the other end of the altar, grasping her
ankles. Between them she could neither rise nor move.
Eleven men and women of Tecuhltli knelt dumbly in a semicircle, watching
the scene with hot, lustful eyes.
On the ivory throne-seat Tascela lolled. Bronze bowls of incense rolled their
spirals about her; the wisps of smoke curled about her naked limbs like
caressing fingers. She could not sit still; she squirmed and shifted about
sword, useless at such close quarters, and grasped Olmec's extended arm,
dragging the prince with him as he fell. Headlong they went down the steps
together, in a revolving whirl of limbs and heads and bodies. And as they
went Conan's iron fingers found and locked in Olmec's bull-throat.
The barbarian's neck and shoulder felt numb from the sledge-like impact of
Olmec's huge fist, which had carried all the strength of the massive forearm,
thick triceps and great shoulder. But this did not affect his ferocity to any
appreciable extent. Like a bulldog he hung on grimly, shaken and battered
and beaten against the steps as they rolled, until at last they struck an ivory
panel-door at the bottom with such an impact that they splintered it down its
full length and crashed through its ruins. But Olmec was already dead, for
those iron fingers had crushed out his life and broken his neck as they fell.
C onan rose, shaking the splinters from his great shoulder, blinking
blood and dust out of his eyes.
He was in the great throne room. There were fifteen people in that room
besides himself. The first person he saw was Valeria. A curious black altar
stood before the throne-dais. Ranged about it, seven black candles in golden
candlesticks sent up oozing spirals of thick green smoke, disturbingly
scented. These spirals united in a cloud near the ceiling, forming a smoky
arch above the altar. On that altar lay Valeria, stark naked, her white flesh
gleaming in shocking contrast to the glistening ebon stone. She was not
bound. She lay at full length, her arms stretched out above her head to their
fullest extent. At the head of the altar knelt a young man, holding her wrists
firmly. A young woman knelt at the other end of the altar, grasping her
ankles. Between them she could neither rise nor move.
Eleven men and women of Tecuhltli knelt dumbly in a semicircle, watching
the scene with hot, lustful eyes.
On the ivory throne-seat Tascela lolled. Bronze bowls of incense rolled their
spirals about her; the wisps of smoke curled about her naked limbs like
caressing fingers. She could not sit still; she squirmed and shifted about
Page 90
with sensuous abandon, as if finding pleasure in the contact of the smooth
ivory with her sleek flesh.
The crash of the door as it broke beneath the impact of the hurtling bodies
caused no change in the scene. The kneeling men and women merely
glanced incuriously at the corpse of their prince and at the man who rose
from the ruins of the door, then swung their eyes greedily back to the
writhing white shape on the black altar. Tascela looked insolently at him,
and sprawled back on her seat, laughing mockingly.
"Slut!" Conan saw red. His hands clenched into iron hammers as he started
for her. With his first step something clanged loudly and steel bit savagely
into his leg. He stumbled and almost fell, checked in his headlong stride.
The jaws of an iron trap had closed on his leg, with teeth that sank deep and
held. Only the ridged muscles of his calf saved the bone from being
splintered. The accursed thing had sprung out of the smoldering floor
without warning. He saw the slots now, in the floor where the jaws had lain,
perfectly camouflaged.
"Fool!" laughed Tascela. "Did you think I would not guard against your
possible return? Every door in this chamber is guarded by such traps. Stand
there and watch now, while I fulfill the destiny of your handsome friend!
Then I will decide your own."
Conan's hand instinctively sought his belt, only to encounter an empty
scabbard. His sword was on the stair behind him. His poniard was lying
back in the forest, where the dragon had torn it from his jaw. The steel teeth
in his leg were like burning coals, but the pain was not as savage as the fury
that seethed in his soul. He was trapped, like a wolf. If he had had his sword
he would have hewn off his leg and crawled across the floor to slay Tascela.
Valeria's eyes rolled toward him with mute appeal, and his own helplessness
sent red waves of madness surging through his brain.
Dropping on the knee of his free leg, he strove to get his fingers between
the jaws of the trap, to tear them apart by sheer strength. Blood started from
beneath his finger nails, but the jaws fitted close about his leg in a circle
whose segments jointed perfectly, contracted until there was no space
between his mangled flesh and the fanged iron. The sight of Valeria's naked
body added flame to the fire of his rage.
ivory with her sleek flesh.
The crash of the door as it broke beneath the impact of the hurtling bodies
caused no change in the scene. The kneeling men and women merely
glanced incuriously at the corpse of their prince and at the man who rose
from the ruins of the door, then swung their eyes greedily back to the
writhing white shape on the black altar. Tascela looked insolently at him,
and sprawled back on her seat, laughing mockingly.
"Slut!" Conan saw red. His hands clenched into iron hammers as he started
for her. With his first step something clanged loudly and steel bit savagely
into his leg. He stumbled and almost fell, checked in his headlong stride.
The jaws of an iron trap had closed on his leg, with teeth that sank deep and
held. Only the ridged muscles of his calf saved the bone from being
splintered. The accursed thing had sprung out of the smoldering floor
without warning. He saw the slots now, in the floor where the jaws had lain,
perfectly camouflaged.
"Fool!" laughed Tascela. "Did you think I would not guard against your
possible return? Every door in this chamber is guarded by such traps. Stand
there and watch now, while I fulfill the destiny of your handsome friend!
Then I will decide your own."
Conan's hand instinctively sought his belt, only to encounter an empty
scabbard. His sword was on the stair behind him. His poniard was lying
back in the forest, where the dragon had torn it from his jaw. The steel teeth
in his leg were like burning coals, but the pain was not as savage as the fury
that seethed in his soul. He was trapped, like a wolf. If he had had his sword
he would have hewn off his leg and crawled across the floor to slay Tascela.
Valeria's eyes rolled toward him with mute appeal, and his own helplessness
sent red waves of madness surging through his brain.
Dropping on the knee of his free leg, he strove to get his fingers between
the jaws of the trap, to tear them apart by sheer strength. Blood started from
beneath his finger nails, but the jaws fitted close about his leg in a circle
whose segments jointed perfectly, contracted until there was no space
between his mangled flesh and the fanged iron. The sight of Valeria's naked
body added flame to the fire of his rage.
Page 91
Tascela ignored him. Rising languidly from her seat she swept the ranks of
her subjects with a searching glance, and asked: "Where are Xamec,
Zlanath and Tachic?"
"They did not return from the catacombs, princess," answered a man. "Like
the rest of us, they bore the bodies of the slain into the crypts, but they have
not returned. Perhaps the ghost of Tolkemec took them."
"Be silent, fool!" she ordered harshly. "The ghost is a myth."
She came down from her dais, playing with a thin gold-hilted dagger. Her
eyes burned like nothing on the hither side of hell. She paused beside the
altar and spoke in the tense stillness.
"Your life shall make me young, white woman!" she said. "I shall lean upon
your bosom and place my lips over yours, and slowly—ah, slowly!—sink
this blade through your heart, so that your life, fleeing your stiffening body,
shall enter mine, making me bloom again with youth and with life
everlasting!"
Slowly, like a serpent arching toward its victim, she bent down through the
writhing smoke, closer and closer over the now motionless woman who
stared up into her glowing dark eyes—eyes that grew larger and deeper,
blazing like black moons in the swirling smoke.
The kneeling people gripped their hands and held their breath, tense for the
bloody climax, and the only sound was Conan's fierce panting as he strove
to tear his leg from the trap.
All eyes were glued on the altar and the white figure there; the crash of a
thunderbolt could hardly have broken the spell, yet it was only a low cry
that shattered the fixity of the scene and brought all whirling about—a low
cry, yet one to make the hair stand up stiffly on the scalp. They looked, and
they saw.
Framed in the door to the left of the dais stood a nightmare figure. It was a
man, with a tangle of white hair and a matted white beard that fell over his
breast. Rags only partly covered his gaunt frame, revealing half-naked
limbs strangely unnatural in appearance. The skin was not like that of a
normal human. There was a suggestion of scaliness about it, as if the owner
her subjects with a searching glance, and asked: "Where are Xamec,
Zlanath and Tachic?"
"They did not return from the catacombs, princess," answered a man. "Like
the rest of us, they bore the bodies of the slain into the crypts, but they have
not returned. Perhaps the ghost of Tolkemec took them."
"Be silent, fool!" she ordered harshly. "The ghost is a myth."
She came down from her dais, playing with a thin gold-hilted dagger. Her
eyes burned like nothing on the hither side of hell. She paused beside the
altar and spoke in the tense stillness.
"Your life shall make me young, white woman!" she said. "I shall lean upon
your bosom and place my lips over yours, and slowly—ah, slowly!—sink
this blade through your heart, so that your life, fleeing your stiffening body,
shall enter mine, making me bloom again with youth and with life
everlasting!"
Slowly, like a serpent arching toward its victim, she bent down through the
writhing smoke, closer and closer over the now motionless woman who
stared up into her glowing dark eyes—eyes that grew larger and deeper,
blazing like black moons in the swirling smoke.
The kneeling people gripped their hands and held their breath, tense for the
bloody climax, and the only sound was Conan's fierce panting as he strove
to tear his leg from the trap.
All eyes were glued on the altar and the white figure there; the crash of a
thunderbolt could hardly have broken the spell, yet it was only a low cry
that shattered the fixity of the scene and brought all whirling about—a low
cry, yet one to make the hair stand up stiffly on the scalp. They looked, and
they saw.
Framed in the door to the left of the dais stood a nightmare figure. It was a
man, with a tangle of white hair and a matted white beard that fell over his
breast. Rags only partly covered his gaunt frame, revealing half-naked
limbs strangely unnatural in appearance. The skin was not like that of a
normal human. There was a suggestion of scaliness about it, as if the owner
Page 92
had dwelt long under conditions almost antithetical to those conditions
under which human life ordinarily thrives. And there was nothing at all
human about the eyes that blazed from the tangle of white hair. They were
great gleaming disks that stared unwinkingly, luminous, whitish, and
without a hint of normal emotion or sanity. The mouth gaped, but no
coherent words issued—only a high-pitched tittering.
"T olkemec!" whispered Tascela, livid, while the others crouched in
speechless horror. "No myth, then, no ghost! Set! You have dwelt
for twelve years in darkness! Twelve years among the bones of the
dead! What grisly food did you find? What mad travesty of life did you
live, in the stark blackness of that eternal night? I see now why Xamec and
Zlanath and Tachic did not return from the catacombs—and never will
return. But why have you waited so long to strike? Were you seeking
something, in the pits? Some secret weapon you knew was hidden there?
And have you found it at last?"
That hideous tittering was Tolkemec's only reply, as he bounded into the
room with a long leap that carried him over the secret trap before the door
—by chance, or by some faint recollection of the ways of Xuchotl. He was
not mad, as a man is mad. He had dwelt apart from humanity so long that
he was no longer human. Only an unbroken thread of memory embodied in
hate and the urge for vengeance had connected him with the humanity from
which he had been cut off, and held him lurking near the people he hated.
Only that thin string had kept him from racing and prancing off for ever into
the black corridors and realms of the subterranean world he had discovered,
long ago.
"You sought something hidden!" whispered Tascela, cringing back. "And
you have found it! You remember the feud! After all these years of
blackness, you remember!"
For in the lean hand of Tolkemec now waved a curious jade-hued wand, on
the end of which glowed a knob of crimson shaped like a pomegranate. She
sprang aside as he thrust it out like a spear, and a beam of crimson fire
under which human life ordinarily thrives. And there was nothing at all
human about the eyes that blazed from the tangle of white hair. They were
great gleaming disks that stared unwinkingly, luminous, whitish, and
without a hint of normal emotion or sanity. The mouth gaped, but no
coherent words issued—only a high-pitched tittering.
"T olkemec!" whispered Tascela, livid, while the others crouched in
speechless horror. "No myth, then, no ghost! Set! You have dwelt
for twelve years in darkness! Twelve years among the bones of the
dead! What grisly food did you find? What mad travesty of life did you
live, in the stark blackness of that eternal night? I see now why Xamec and
Zlanath and Tachic did not return from the catacombs—and never will
return. But why have you waited so long to strike? Were you seeking
something, in the pits? Some secret weapon you knew was hidden there?
And have you found it at last?"
That hideous tittering was Tolkemec's only reply, as he bounded into the
room with a long leap that carried him over the secret trap before the door
—by chance, or by some faint recollection of the ways of Xuchotl. He was
not mad, as a man is mad. He had dwelt apart from humanity so long that
he was no longer human. Only an unbroken thread of memory embodied in
hate and the urge for vengeance had connected him with the humanity from
which he had been cut off, and held him lurking near the people he hated.
Only that thin string had kept him from racing and prancing off for ever into
the black corridors and realms of the subterranean world he had discovered,
long ago.
"You sought something hidden!" whispered Tascela, cringing back. "And
you have found it! You remember the feud! After all these years of
blackness, you remember!"
For in the lean hand of Tolkemec now waved a curious jade-hued wand, on
the end of which glowed a knob of crimson shaped like a pomegranate. She
sprang aside as he thrust it out like a spear, and a beam of crimson fire
Page 93
lanced from the pomegranate. It missed Tascela, but the woman holding
Valeria's ankles was in the way. It smote between her shoulders. There was
a sharp crackling sound and the ray of fire flashed from her bosom and
struck the black altar, with a snapping of blue sparks. The woman toppled
sidewise, shriveling and withering like a mummy even as she fell.
Valeria rolled from the altar on the other side, and started for the opposite
wall on all fours. For hell had burst loose in the throne room of dead Olmec.
The man who had held Valeria's hands was the next to die. He turned to run,
but before he had taken half a dozen steps, Tolkemec, with an agility
appalling in such a frame, bounded around to a position that placed the man
between him and the altar. Again the red fire-beam flashed and the Tecuhltli
rolled lifeless to the floor, as the beam completed its course with a burst of
blue sparks against the altar.
Then began slaughter. Screaming insanely the people rushed about the
chamber, caroming from one another, stumbling and falling. And among
them Tolkemec capered and pranced, dealing death. They could not escape
by the doors; for apparently the metal of the portals served like the metal-
veined stone altar to complete the circuit for whatever hellish power flashed
like thunderbolts from the witch-wand the ancient waved in his hand. When
he caught a man or a woman between him and a door or the altar, that one
died instantly. He chose no special victim. He took them as they came, with
his rags flapping about his wildly gyrating limbs, and the gusty echoes of
his tittering sweeping the room above the screams. And bodies fell like
falling leaves about the altar and at the doors. One warrior in desperation
rushed at him, lifting a dagger, only to fall before he could strike. But the
rest were like crazed cattle, with no thought for resistance, and no chance of
escape.
The last Tecuhltli except Tascela had fallen when the princess reached the
Cimmerian and the girl who had taken refuge beside him. Tascela bent and
touched the floor, pressing a design upon it. Instantly the iron jaws released
the bleeding limb and sank back into the floor.
"Slay him if you can!" she panted, and pressed a heavy knife into his hand.
"I have no magic to withstand him!"
Valeria's ankles was in the way. It smote between her shoulders. There was
a sharp crackling sound and the ray of fire flashed from her bosom and
struck the black altar, with a snapping of blue sparks. The woman toppled
sidewise, shriveling and withering like a mummy even as she fell.
Valeria rolled from the altar on the other side, and started for the opposite
wall on all fours. For hell had burst loose in the throne room of dead Olmec.
The man who had held Valeria's hands was the next to die. He turned to run,
but before he had taken half a dozen steps, Tolkemec, with an agility
appalling in such a frame, bounded around to a position that placed the man
between him and the altar. Again the red fire-beam flashed and the Tecuhltli
rolled lifeless to the floor, as the beam completed its course with a burst of
blue sparks against the altar.
Then began slaughter. Screaming insanely the people rushed about the
chamber, caroming from one another, stumbling and falling. And among
them Tolkemec capered and pranced, dealing death. They could not escape
by the doors; for apparently the metal of the portals served like the metal-
veined stone altar to complete the circuit for whatever hellish power flashed
like thunderbolts from the witch-wand the ancient waved in his hand. When
he caught a man or a woman between him and a door or the altar, that one
died instantly. He chose no special victim. He took them as they came, with
his rags flapping about his wildly gyrating limbs, and the gusty echoes of
his tittering sweeping the room above the screams. And bodies fell like
falling leaves about the altar and at the doors. One warrior in desperation
rushed at him, lifting a dagger, only to fall before he could strike. But the
rest were like crazed cattle, with no thought for resistance, and no chance of
escape.
The last Tecuhltli except Tascela had fallen when the princess reached the
Cimmerian and the girl who had taken refuge beside him. Tascela bent and
touched the floor, pressing a design upon it. Instantly the iron jaws released
the bleeding limb and sank back into the floor.
"Slay him if you can!" she panted, and pressed a heavy knife into his hand.
"I have no magic to withstand him!"
Page 94
With a grunt he sprang before the women, not heeding his lacerated leg in
the heat of the fighting-lust. Tolkemec was coming toward him, his weird
eyes ablaze, but he hesitated at the gleam of the knife in Conan's hand.
Then began a grim game, as Tolkemec sought to circle about Conan and get
the barbarian between him and the altar or a metal door, while Conan
sought to avoid this and drive home his knife. The women watched tensely,
holding their breath.
There was no sound except the rustle and scrape of quick-shifting feet.
Tolkemec pranced and capered no more. He realized that grimmer game
confronted him than the people who had died screaming and fleeing. In the
elemental blaze of the barbarian's eyes he read an intent deadly as his own.
Back and forth they weaved, and when one moved the other moved as if
invisible threads bound them together. But all the time Conan was getting
closer and closer to his enemy. Already the coiled muscles of his thighs
were beginning to flex for a spring, when Valeria cried out. For a fleeting
instant a bronze door was in line with Conan's moving body. The red line
leaped, searing Conan's flank as he twisted aside, and even as he shifted he
hurled the knife. Old Tolkemec went down, truly slain at last, the hilt
vibrating on his breast.
T ascela sprang—not toward Conan, but toward the wand where it
shimmered like a live thing on the floor. But as she leaped, so did
Valeria, with a dagger snatched from a dead man, and the blade, driven
with all the power of the pirate's muscles, impaled the princess of Tecuhltli
so that the point stood out between her breasts. Tascela screamed once and
fell dead, and Valeria spurned the body with her heel as it fell.
"I had to do that much, for my own self-respect!" panted Valeria, facing
Conan across the limp corpse.
"Well, this cleans up the feud," he grunted. "It's been a hell of a night!
Where did these people keep their food? I'm hungry."
"You need a bandage on that leg." Valeria ripped a length of silk from a
hanging and knotted it about her waist, then tore off some smaller strips
the heat of the fighting-lust. Tolkemec was coming toward him, his weird
eyes ablaze, but he hesitated at the gleam of the knife in Conan's hand.
Then began a grim game, as Tolkemec sought to circle about Conan and get
the barbarian between him and the altar or a metal door, while Conan
sought to avoid this and drive home his knife. The women watched tensely,
holding their breath.
There was no sound except the rustle and scrape of quick-shifting feet.
Tolkemec pranced and capered no more. He realized that grimmer game
confronted him than the people who had died screaming and fleeing. In the
elemental blaze of the barbarian's eyes he read an intent deadly as his own.
Back and forth they weaved, and when one moved the other moved as if
invisible threads bound them together. But all the time Conan was getting
closer and closer to his enemy. Already the coiled muscles of his thighs
were beginning to flex for a spring, when Valeria cried out. For a fleeting
instant a bronze door was in line with Conan's moving body. The red line
leaped, searing Conan's flank as he twisted aside, and even as he shifted he
hurled the knife. Old Tolkemec went down, truly slain at last, the hilt
vibrating on his breast.
T ascela sprang—not toward Conan, but toward the wand where it
shimmered like a live thing on the floor. But as she leaped, so did
Valeria, with a dagger snatched from a dead man, and the blade, driven
with all the power of the pirate's muscles, impaled the princess of Tecuhltli
so that the point stood out between her breasts. Tascela screamed once and
fell dead, and Valeria spurned the body with her heel as it fell.
"I had to do that much, for my own self-respect!" panted Valeria, facing
Conan across the limp corpse.
"Well, this cleans up the feud," he grunted. "It's been a hell of a night!
Where did these people keep their food? I'm hungry."
"You need a bandage on that leg." Valeria ripped a length of silk from a
hanging and knotted it about her waist, then tore off some smaller strips
Page 95
which she bound efficiently about the barbarian's lacerated limb.
"I can walk on it," he assured her. "Let's begone. It's dawn, outside this
infernal city. I've had enough of Xuchotl. It's well the breed exterminated
itself. I don't want any of their accursed jewels. They might be haunted."
"There is enough clean loot in the world for you and me," she said,
straightening to stand tall and splendid before him.
The old blaze came back in his eyes, and this time she did not resist as he
caught her fiercely in his arms.
"It's a long way to the coast," she said presently, withdrawing her lips from
his.
"What matter?" he laughed. "There's nothing we can't conquer. We'll have
our feet on a ship's deck before the Stygians open their ports for the trading
season. And then we'll show the world what plundering means!"
"I can walk on it," he assured her. "Let's begone. It's dawn, outside this
infernal city. I've had enough of Xuchotl. It's well the breed exterminated
itself. I don't want any of their accursed jewels. They might be haunted."
"There is enough clean loot in the world for you and me," she said,
straightening to stand tall and splendid before him.
The old blaze came back in his eyes, and this time she did not resist as he
caught her fiercely in his arms.
"It's a long way to the coast," she said presently, withdrawing her lips from
his.
"What matter?" he laughed. "There's nothing we can't conquer. We'll have
our feet on a ship's deck before the Stygians open their ports for the trading
season. And then we'll show the world what plundering means!"
Page 96
[THE END]
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Weird Tales July,
August-September and October 1936. Extensive
research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Minor spelling and typographical errors have
been corrected without note.
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Weird Tales July,
August-September and October 1936. Extensive
research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Minor spelling and typographical errors have
been corrected without note.
Page 97
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