Conan the Barbarian: The Complete Collection

The superb symmetry of body and limbs was more impressive at close range. Under the ebon skin long, rounded muscles rippled, and Conan did not doubt that the monster could rend an ordinary man limb from limb. The nails of the fingers provided further weapons, for they were grown like the talons of a wild beast. The face was a carven ebony mask. The eyes’ were tawny, a vibrant gold that glowed and glittered. But the face was inhuman; each line, each feature was stamped with evil — evil transcending the mere evil of humanity. The thing was not a human — it could not be; it was a growth of Life from the pits of blasphemous creation — a perversion of evolutionary development.

The giant cast Sancha down on the sward, where she groveled, crying with pain and terror. He cast a glance about as if uncertain, and his tawny eyes narrowed as they rested on the images overturned and knocked from the wall. Then he stooped, grasped his captive by her neck and crotch, and strode purposefully toward the green pool. And Conan glided from his archway, and raced like a wind of death across the sward.

The giant wheeled, and his eyes flared as he saw the bronzed avenger rushing toward him. In the instant of surprise his cruel grip relaxed and Sancha wriggled from his hands and fell to the grass. The taloned hands spread and clutched, but Conan ducked beneath their swoop and drove his sword through the giant’s groin. The black went down like a felled tree, gushing blood, and the next instant Conan was seized in a frantic grasp as Sancha sprang up and threw her arms around him in a frenzy of terror and hysterical relief.

He cursed as he disengaged himself, but his foe was already dead; the tawny eyes were glazed, the long ebony limbs had ceased to twitch.

“Oh, Conan,” Sancha was sobbing, clinging tenaciously to him, “what will become of us? What are these monsters? Oh, surely this is hell and that was the devil —”

“Then hell needs a new devil.” The Barachan grinned fiercely. “But how did he get hold of you? Have they taken the ship?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to wipe away her tears, fumbled for her skirt, and then remembered that she wore none. “I came ashore. I saw you follow Zaporavo, and I followed you both. I found Zaporavo — was — was it you who —”

“Who else?” he grunted. “What then?”

“I saw a movement in the trees,” she shuddered. “I thought it was you. I called — then I saw that — that black thing squatting like an ape among the branches, leering down at me. It was like a nightmare; I couldn’t run. All I could do was squeal. Then it dropped from the tree and seized me — oh, oh, oh!” She hid her face in her hands, and was shaken anew at the memory of the horror.

“Well, we’ve got to get out of here,” he growled, catching her wrist. “Come on; we’ve got to get to the crew —”

“Most of them were asleep on the beach as I entered the woods,” she said.

“Asleep?” he exclaimed profanely. “What in the seven devils of hell’s fire and damnation —”

“Listen!” She froze, a white quivering image of fright.

“I heard it!” he snapped. “A moaning cry! Wait!”

He bounded up the ledges again and, glaring over the wall, swore with a concentrated fury that made even Sancha gasp. The black men were returning, but they came not alone or empty-handed. Each bore a limp human form; some bore two. Their captives were the Freebooters; they hung slackly in their captors’ arms, and but for an occasional vague movement or twitching, Conan would have believed them dead. They had been disarmed but not stripped; one of the blacks bore their sheathed swords, a great armload of bristling steel. From time to time one of the seamen voiced a vague cry, like a drunkard calling out in sottish sleep.

Like a trapped wolf Conan glared about him. Three arches led out of the court of the pool. Through the eastern arch the blacks had left the court, and through it they would presumably return. He had entered by the southern arch. In the western arch he had hidden, and had not had time to notice what lay beyond it. Regardless of his ignorance of the plan of the castle, he was forced to make his decision promptly.

Springing down the wall, he replaced the images with frantic haste, dragged the corpse of his victim to the pool and cast it in. It sank instantly and, as he looked, he distinctly saw an appalling contraction — a shrinking, a hardening. He hastily turned away, shuddering. Then he seized his companion’s arm and led her hastily toward the southern archway, while she begged to be told what was happening.

“They’ve bagged the crew,” he answered hastily. “I haven’t any plan, but we’ll hide somewhere and watch. If they don’t look in the pool, they may not suspect our presence.”

“But they’ll see the blood on the grass!”

“Maybe they’ll think one of their own devils spilled it,” he answered. “Anyway, we’ll have to take the chance.”