The People of the Black Circle

by Robert E. Howard

  9 The Castle of the Wizards

  The sun had risen over the white Himelian peaks. At the foot of a longslope a group of horsemen halted and stared upward. High above them astone tower poised on the pitch of the mountainside. Beyond and abovethat gleamed the walls of a greater keep, near the line where the snowbegan that capped Yimsha's pinnacle. There was a touch of unrealityabout the whole--purple slopes pitching up to that fantastic castle,toy-like with distance, and above it the white glistening peakshouldering the cold blue.

  'We'll leave the horses here,' grunted Conan. 'That treacherous slope issafer for a man on foot. Besides, they're done.'

  He swung down from the black stallion which stood with wide-braced legsand drooping head. They had pushed hard throughout the night, gnawing atscraps from saddle-bags, and pausing only to give the horses the reststhey had to have.

  'That first tower is held by the acolytes of the Black Seers,' saidConan. 'Or so men say; watch-dogs for their masters--lesser sorcerers.They won't sit sucking their thumbs as we climb this slope.'

  Kerim Shah glanced up the mountain, then back the way they had come;they were already far up Yimsha's side, and a vast expanse of lesserpeaks and crags spread out beneath them. Among these labyrinths theTuranian sought in vain for a movement of color that would betray men.Evidently the pursuing Afghulis had lost their chiefs trail in thenight.

  'Let us go, then.' They tied the weary horses in a clump of tamarisk andwithout further comment turned up the slope. There was no cover. It wasa naked incline, strewn with boulders not big enough to conceal a man.But they did conceal something else.

  The party had not gone fifty steps when a snarling shape burst frombehind a rock. It was one of the gaunt savage dogs that infested thehill villages, and its eyes glared redly, its jaws dripped foam. Conanwas leading, but it did not attack him. It dashed past him and leaped atKerim Shah. The Turanian leaped aside, and the great dog flung itselfupon the Irakzai behind him. The man yelled and threw up his arm, whichwas torn by the brute's fangs as it bore him backward, and the nextinstant half a dozen tulwars were hacking at the beast. Yet not until itwas literally dismembered did the hideous creature cease its efforts toseize and rend its attackers.

  Kerim Shah bound up the wounded warrior's gashed arm, looked at himnarrowly, and then turned away without a word. He rejoined Conan, andthey renewed the climb in silence.

  Presently Kerim Shah said: 'Strange to find a village dog in thisplace.'

  'There's no offal here,' grunted Conan.

  Both turned their heads to glance back at the wounded warrior toilingafter them among his companions. Sweat glistened on his dark face andhis lips were drawn back from his teeth in a grimace of pain. Then bothlooked again at the stone tower squatting above them.

  A slumberous quiet lay over the uplands. The tower showed no sign oflife, nor did the strange pyramidal structure beyond it. But the men whotoiled upward went with the tenseness of men walking on the edge of acrater. Kerim Shah had unslung the powerful Turanian bow that killed atfive hundred paces, and the Irakzai looked to their own lighter and lesslethal bows.

  But they were not within bow-shot of the tower when something shot downout of the sky without warning. It passed so close to Conan that he feltthe wind of rushing wings, but it was an Irakzai who staggered and fell,blood jetting from a severed jugular. A hawk with wings like burnishedsteel shot up again, blood dripping from the scimitar-beak, to reelagainst the sky as Kerim Shah's bowstring twanged. It dropped like aplummet, but no man saw where it struck the earth.

  Conan bent over the victim of the attack, but the man was already dead.No one spoke; useless to comment on the fact that never before had ahawk been known to swoop on a man. Red rage began to vie with fatalisticlethargy in the wild souls of the Irakzai. Hairy fingers nocked arrowsand men glared vengefully at the tower whose very silence mocked them.

  But the next attack came swiftly. They all saw it--a white puffball ofsmoke that tumbled over the tower-rim and came drifting and rolling downthe slope toward them. Others followed it. They seemed harmless, merewoolly globes of cloudy foam, but Conan stepped aside to avoid contactwith the first. Behind him one of the Irakzai reached out and thrust hissword into the unstable mass. Instantly a sharp report shook themountainside. There was a burst of blinding flame, and then the puffballhad vanished, and the too-curious warrior remained only a heap ofcharred and blackened bones. The crisped hand still gripped the ivorysword-hilt, but the blade was gone--melted and destroyed by that awfulheat. Yet men standing almost within reach of the victim had notsuffered except to be dazzled and half blinded by the sudden flare.

  'Steel touches it off,' grunted Conan. 'Look out--here they come!'

  The slope above them was almost covered by the billowing spheres. KerimShah bent his bow and sent a shaft into the mass, and those touched bythe arrow burst like bubbles in spurting flame. His men followed hisexample and for the next few minutes it was as if a thunderstorm ragedon the mountain slope, with bolts of lightning striking and bursting inshowers of flame. When the barrage ceased, only a few arrows were leftin the quivers of the archers.

  They pushed on grimly, over soil charred and blackened, where the nakedrock had in places been turned to lava by the explosion of thosediabolical bombs.

  Now they were almost within arrow-flight of the silent tower, and theyspread their line, nerves taut, ready for any horror that might descendupon them.

  On the tower appeared a single figure, lifting a ten-foot bronze horn.Its strident bellow roared out across the echoing slopes, like the blareof trumpets on Judgment Day. And it began to be fearfully answered. Theground trembled under the feet of the invaders, and rumblings andgrindings welled up from the subterranean depths.

  The Irakzai screamed, reeling like drunken men on the shuddering slope,and Conan, eyes glaring, charged recklessly up the incline, knife inhand, straight at the door that showed in the tower-wall. Above him thegreat horn roared and bellowed in brutish mockery. And then Kerim Shahdrew a shaft to his ear and loosed.

  Only a Turanian could have made that shot. The bellowing of the hornceased suddenly, and a high, thin scream shrilled in its place. Thegreen-robed figure on the tower staggered, clutching at the long shaftwhich quivered in its bosom, and then pitched across the parapet. Thegreat horn tumbled upon the battlement and hung precariously, andanother robed figure rushed to seize it, shrieking in horror. Again theTuranian bow twanged, and again it was answered by a death-howl. Thesecond acolyte, in falling, struck the horn with his elbow and knockedit clattering over the parapet to shatter on the rocks far below.

  At such headlong speed had Conan covered the ground that before theclattering echoes of that fall had died away, he was hacking at thedoor. Warned by his savage instinct, he gave back suddenly as a tide ofmolten lead splashed down from above. But the next instant he was backagain, attacking the panels with redoubled fury. He was galvanized bythe fact that his enemies had resorted to earthly weapons. The sorceryof the acolytes was limited. Their necromantic resources might well beexhausted.

  Kerim Shah was hurrying up the slope, his hill-men behind him in astraggling crescent. They loosed as they ran, their arrows splinteringagainst the walls or arching over the parapet.

  The heavy teak portal gave way beneath the Cimmerian's assault, and hepeered inside warily, expecting anything. He was looking into a circularchamber from which a stair wound upward. On the opposite side of thechamber a door gaped open, revealing the outer slope--and the backs ofhalf a dozen green-robed figures in full retreat.

  Conan yelled, took a step into the tower, and then native caution jerkedhim back, just as a great block of stone fell crashing to the floorwhere his foot had been an instant before. Shouting to his followers, heraced around the tower.

  The acolytes had evacuated their first line of defence. As Conan roundedthe tower he saw their green robes twinkling up the mountain ahead ofhim. He gave chase, panting with earnest blood-lust, and behind himKerim Shah and the Irakzai came pelting, t
he latter yelling like wolvesat the flight of their enemies, their fatalism momentarily submerged bytemporary triumph.

  The tower stood on the lower edge of a narrow plateau whose upward slantwas barely perceptible. A few hundred yards away this plateau endedabruptly in a chasm which had been invisible farther down the mountain.Into this chasm the acolytes apparently leaped without checking theirspeed. Their pursuers saw the green robes flutter and disappear over theedge.

  A few moments later they themselves were standing on the brink of themighty moat that cut them off from the castle of the Black Seers. Itwas a sheer-walled ravine that extended in either direction as far asthey could see, apparently girdling the mountain, some four hundredyards in width and five hundred feet deep. And in it, from rim to rim, astrange, translucent mist sparkled and shimmered.

  Looking down, Conan grunted. Far below him, moving across the glimmeringfloor, which shone like burnished silver, he saw the forms of thegreen-robed acolytes. Their outline was wavering and indistinct, likefigures seen under deep water. They walked in single file, moving towardthe opposite wall.

  Kerim Shah nocked an arrow and sent it singing downward. But when itstruck the mist that filled the chasm it seemed to lose momentum anddirection, wandering widely from its course.

  'If they went down, so can we!' grunted Conan, while Kerim Shah staredafter his shaft in amazement. 'I saw them last at this spot--'

  Squinting down he saw something shining like a golden thread across thecanyon floor far below. The acolytes seemed to be following this thread,and there suddenly came to him Khemsa's cryptic words--'Follow thegolden vein!' On the brink, under his very hand as he crouched, he foundit, a thin vein of sparkling gold running from an outcropping of ore tothe edge and down across the silvery floor. And he found something else,which had before been invisible to him because of the peculiarrefraction of the light. The gold vein followed a narrow ramp whichslanted down into the ravine, fitted with niches for hand and foot hold.

  'Here's where they went down,' he grunted to Kerim Shah. 'They're noadepts, to waft themselves through the air! We'll follow them--'

  It was at that instant that the man who had been bitten by the mad dogcried out horribly and leaped at Kerim Shah, foaming and gnashing histeeth. The Turanian, quick as a cat on his feet, sprang aside and themadman pitched head-first over the brink. The others rushed to the edgeand glared after him in amazement. The maniac did not fall plummet-like.He floated slowly down through the rosy haze like a man sinking in deepwater. His limbs moved like a man trying to swim, and his features werepurple and convulsed beyond the contortions of his madness. Far down atlast on the shining floor his body settled and lay still.

  'There's death in that chasm,' muttered Kerim Shah, drawing back fromthe rosy mist that shimmered almost at his feet. 'What now, Conan?'

  'On!' answered the Cimmerian grimly. 'Those acolytes are human; if themist doesn't kill them, it won't kill me.'

  He hitched his belt, and his hands touched the girdle Khemsa had givenhim; he scowled, then smiled bleakly. He had forgotten that girdle; yetthrice had death passed him by to strike another victim.

  The acolytes had reached the farther wall and were moving up it likegreat green flies. Letting himself upon the ramp, he descended warily.The rosy cloud lapped about his ankles, ascending as he lowered himself.It reached his knees, his thighs, his waist, his arm-pits. He felt asone feels a thick heavy fog on a damp night. With it lapping about hischin he hesitated, and then ducked under. Instantly his breath ceased;all air was shut off from him and he felt his ribs caving in on hisvitals. With a frantic effort he heaved himself up, fighting for life.His head rose above the surface and he drank air in great gulps.

  Kerim Shah leaned down toward him, spoke to him, but Conan neither heardnor heeded. Stubbornly, his mind fixed on what the dying Khemsa had toldhim, the Cimmerian groped for the gold vein, and found that he had movedoff it in his descent. Several series of hand-holds were niched in theramp. Placing himself directly over the thread, he began climbing downonce more. The rosy mist rose about him, engulfed him. Now his head wasunder, but he was still drinking pure air. Above him he saw hiscompanions staring down at him, their features blurred by the haze thatshimmered over his head. He gestured for them to follow, and went downswiftly, without waiting to see whether they complied or not.

  Kerim Shah sheathed his sword without comment and followed, and theIrakzai, more fearful of being left alone than of the terrors that mightlurk below, scrambled after him. Each man clung to the golden thread asthey saw the Cimmerian do.

  Down the slanting ramp they went to the ravine floor and moved outacross the shining level, treading the gold vein like rope-walkers. Itwas as if they walked along an invisible tunnel through which aircirculated freely. They felt death pressing in on them above and oneither hand, but it did not touch them.

  The vein crawled up a similar ramp on the other wall up which theacolytes had disappeared, and up it they went with taut nerves, notknowing what might be waiting for them among the jutting spurs of rockthat fanged the lip of the precipice.

  It was the green-robed acolytes who awaited them, with knives in theirhands. Perhaps they had reached the limits to which they could retreat.Perhaps the Stygian girdle about Conan's waist could have told why theirnecromantic spells had proven so weak and so quickly exhausted. Perhapsit was knowledge of death decreed for failure that sent them leapingfrom among the rocks, eyes glaring and knives glittering, resorting intheir desperation to material weapons.

  There among the rocky fangs on the precipice lip was no war of wizardcraft. It was a whirl of blades, where real steel bit and real bloodspurted, where sinewy arms dealt forthright blows that severed quiveringflesh, and men went down to be trodden under foot as the fight ragedover them.

  One of the Irakzai bled to death among the rocks, but the acolytes weredown--slashed and hacked asunder or hurled over the edge to floatsluggishly down to the silver floor that shone so far below.

  Then the conquerors shook blood and sweat from their eyes, and looked atone another. Conan and Kerim Shah still stood upright, and four of theIrakzai.

  They stood among the rocky teeth that serrated the precipice brink, andfrom that spot a path wound up a gentle slope to a broad stair,consisting of half a dozen steps, a hundred feet across, cut out of agreen jade-like substance. They led up to a broad stage or rooflessgallery of the same polished stone, and above it rose, tier upon tier,the castle of the Black Seers. It seemed to have been carved out of thesheer stone of the mountain. The architecture was faultless, butunadorned. The many casements were barred and masked with curtainswithin. There was no sign of life, friendly or hostile.

  They went up the path in silence, and warily as men treading the lair ofa serpent. The Irakzai were dumb, like men marching to a certain doom.Even Kerim Shah was silent. Only Conan seemed unaware what a monstrousdislocating and uprooting of accepted thought and action their invasionconstituted, what an unprecedented violation of tradition. He was not ofthe East; and he came of a breed who fought devils and wizards aspromptly and matter-of-factly as they battled human foes.

  He strode up the shining stairs and across the wide green gallerystraight toward the great golden-bound teak door that opened upon it. Hecast but a single glance upward at the higher tiers of the greatpyramidal structure towering above him. He reached a hand for the bronzeprong that jutted like a handle from the door--then checked himself,grinning hardly. The handle was made in the shape of a serpent, headlifted on arched neck; and Conan had a suspicion that that metal headwould come to grisly life under his hand.

  He struck it from the door with one blow, and its bronze clink on theglassy floor did not lessen his caution. He flipped it aside with hisknife-point, and again turned to the door. Utter silence reigned overthe towers. Far below them the mountain slopes fell away into a purplehaze of distance. The sun glittered on snow-clad peaks on either hand.High above, a vulture hung like a black dot in the cold blue of the sky.But for it, the men bef
ore the gold-bound door were the only evidence oflife, tiny figures on a green jade gallery poised on the dizzy height,with that fantastic pile of stone towering above them.

  A sharp wind off the snow slashed them, whipping their tatters about.Conan's long knife splintering through the teak panels roused thestartled echoes. Again and again he struck, hewing through polished woodand metal bands alike. Through the sundered ruins he glared into theinterior, alert and suspicious as a wolf. He saw a broad chamber, thepolished stone walls untapestried, the mosaic floor uncarpeted. Square,polished ebon stools and a stone dais formed the only furnishings. Theroom was empty of human life. Another door showed in the opposite wall.

  'Leave a man on guard outside,' grunted Conan. 'I'm going in.'

  Kerim Shah designated a warrior for that duty, and the man fell backtoward the middle of the gallery, bow in hand. Conan strode into thecastle, followed by the Turanian and the three remaining Irakzai. Theone outside spat, grumbled in his beard, and started suddenly as a lowmocking laugh reached his ears.

  He lifted his head and saw, on the tier above him, a tall, black-robedfigure, naked head nodding slightly as he stared down. His wholeattitude suggested mockery and malignity. Quick as a flash the Irakzaibent his bow and loosed, and the arrow streaked upward to strike full inthe black-robed breast. The mocking smile did not alter. The Seerplucked out the missile and threw it back at the bowman, not as a weaponis hurled, but with a contemptuous gesture. The Irakzai dodged,instinctively throwing up his arm. His fingers closed on the revolvingshaft.

  Then he shrieked. In his hand the wooden shaft suddenly _writhed_. Itsrigid outline became pliant, melting in his grasp. He tried to throw itfrom him, but it was too late. He held a living serpent in his nakedhand, and already it had coiled about his wrist and its wickedwedge-shaped head darted at his muscular arm. He screamed again and hiseyes became distended, his features purple. He went to his knees shakenby an awful convulsion, and then lay still.

  The men inside had wheeled at his first cry. Conan took a swift stridetoward the open doorway, and then halted short, baffled. To the menbehind him it seemed that he strained against empty air. But though hecould see nothing, there was a slick, smooth, hard surface under hishands, and he knew that a sheet of crystal had been let down in thedoorway. Through it he saw the Irakzai lying motionless on the glassygallery, an ordinary arrow sticking in his arm.

  Conan lifted his knife and smote, and the watchers were dumbfounded tosee his blow checked apparently in midair, with the loud clang of steelthat meets an unyielding substance. He wasted no more effort. He knewthat not even the legendary tulwar of Amir Khurum could shatter thatinvisible curtain.

  In a few words he explained the matter to Kerim Shah, and the Turanianshrugged his shoulders. 'Well, if our exit is barred, we must findanother. In the meanwhile our way lies forward, does it not?'

  With a grunt the Cimmerian turned and strode across the chamber to theopposite door, with a feeling of treading on the threshold of doom. Ashe lifted his knife to shatter the door, it swung silently open as if ofits own accord. He strode into the great hall, flanked with tall glassycolumns. A hundred feet from the door began the broad jade-green stepsof a stair that tapered toward the top like the side of a pyramid. Whatlay beyond that stair he could not tell. But between him and itsshimmering foot stood a curious altar of gleaming black jade. Four greatgolden serpents twined their tails about this altar and reared theirwedge-shaped heads in the air, facing the four quarters of the compasslike the enchanted guardians of a fabled treasure. But on the altar,between the arching necks, stood only a crystal globe filled with acloudy smoke-like substance, in which floated four golden pomegranates.

  The sight stirred some dim recollection in his mind; then Conan heededthe altar no longer, for on the lower steps of the stair stood fourblack-robed figures. He had not seen them come. They were simply there,tall, gaunt, their vulture-heads nodding in unison, their feet and handshidden by their flowing garments.

  One lifted his arm and the sleeve fell away revealing his hand--and itwas not a hand at all. Conan halted in mid-stride, compelled against hiswill. He had encountered a force differing subtly from Khemsa'smesmerism, and he could not advance, though he felt it in his power toretreat if he wished. His companions had likewise halted, and theyseemed even more helpless than he, unable to move in either direction.

  The seer whose arm was lifted beckoned to one of the Irakzai, and theman moved toward him like one in a trance, eyes staring and fixed, bladehanging in limp fingers. As he pushed past Conan, the Cimmerian threw anarm across his breast to arrest him. Conan was so much stronger than theIrakzai that in ordinary circumstances he could have broken his spinebetween his hands. But now the muscular arm was brushed aside like strawand the Irakzai moved toward the stair, treading jerkily andmechanically. He reached the steps and knelt stiffly, proffering hisblade and bending his head. The Seer took the sword. It flashed as heswung it up and down. The Irakzai's head tumbled from his shoulders andthudded heavily on the black marble floor. An arch of blood jetted fromthe severed arteries and the body slumped over and lay with arms spreadwide.

  Again a malformed hand lifted and beckoned, and another Irakzaistumbled stiffly to his doom. The ghastly drama was re-enacted andanother headless form lay beside the first.

  As the third tribesman clumped his way past Conan to his death, theCimmerian, his veins bulging in his temples with his efforts to breakpast the unseen barrier that held him, was suddenly aware of alliedforces, unseen, but waking into life about him. This realization camewithout warning, but so powerfully that he could not doubt his instinct.His left hand slid involuntarily under his Bakhariot belt and closed onthe Stygian girdle. And as he gripped it he felt new strength flood hisnumbed limbs; the will to live was a pulsing white-hot fire, matched bythe intensity of his burning rage.

  The third Irakzai was a decapitated corpse, and the hideous finger waslifting again when Conan felt the bursting of the invisible barrier. Afierce, involuntary cry burst from his lips as he leaped with theexplosive suddenness of pent-up ferocity. His left hand gripped thesorcerer's girdle as a drowning man grips a floating log, and the longknife was a sheen of light in his right. The men on the steps did notmove. They watched calmly, cynically; if they felt surprise they did notshow it. Conan did not allow himself to think what might chance when hecame within knife-reach of them. His blood was pounding in his temples,a mist of crimson swam before his sight. He was afire with the urge tokill--to drive his knife deep into flesh and bone, and twist the bladein blood and entrails.

  Another dozen strides would carry him to the steps where the sneeringdemons stood. He drew his breath deep, his fury rising redly as hischarge gathered momentum. He was hurtling past the altar with its goldenserpents when like a levin-flash there shot across his mind again asvividly as if spoken in his external ear, the cryptic words of Khemsa:'_Break the crystal ball!_'

  His reaction was almost without his own volition. Execution followedimpulse so spontaneously that the greatest sorcerer of the age would nothave had time to read his mind and prevent his action. Wheeling like acat from his headlong charge, he brought his knife crashing down uponthe crystal. Instantly the air vibrated with a peal of terror, whetherfrom the stairs, the altar, or the crystal itself he could not tell.Hisses filled his ears as the golden serpents, suddenly vibrant withhideous life, writhed and smote at him. But he was fired to the speed ofa maddened tiger. A whirl of steel sheared through the hideous trunksthat waved toward him, and he smote the crystal sphere again and yetagain. And the globe burst with a noise like a thunderclap, rainingfiery shards on the black marble, and the gold pomegranates, as ifreleased from captivity, shot upward toward the lofty roof and weregone.

  A mad screaming, bestial and ghastly, was echoing through the greathall. On the steps writhed four black-robed figures, twisting inconvulsions, froth dripping from their livid mouths. Then with onefrenzied crescendo of inhuman ululation they stiffened and lay still,and Conan knew that they wer
e dead. He stared down at the altar and thecrystal shards. Four headless golden serpents still coiled about thealtar, but no alien life now animated the dully gleaming metal.

  Kerim Shah was rising slowly from his knees, whither he had been dashedby some unseen force. He shook his head to clear the ringing from hisears.

  'Did you hear that crash when you struck? It was as if a thousandcrystal panels shattered all over the castle as that globe burst. Werethe souls of the wizards imprisoned in those golden balls?--Ha!'

  Conan wheeled as Kerim Shah drew his sword and pointed.

  Another figure stood at the head of the stair. His robe, too, was black,but of richly embroidered velvet, and there was a velvet cap on hishead. His face was calm, and not unhandsome.

  'Who the devil are you?' demanded Conan, staring up at him, knife inhand.

  'I am the Master of Yimsha!' His voice was like the chime of a templebell, but a note of cruel mirth ran through it.

  'Where is Yasmina?' demanded Kerim Shah.

  The Master laughed down at him.

  'What is that to you, dead man? Have you so quickly forgotten mystrength, once lent to you, that you come armed against me, you poorfool? I think I will take your heart, Kerim Shah!'

  He held out his hand as if to receive something, and the Turanian criedout sharply like a man in mortal agony. He reeled drunkenly, and then,with a splintering of bones, a rending of flesh and muscle and asnapping of mail-links, his breast burst outward with a shower of blood,and through the ghastly aperture something red and dripping shot throughthe air into the Master's outstretched hand, as a bit of steel leaps tothe magnet. The Turanian slumped to the floor and lay motionless, andthe Master laughed and hurled the object to fall before Conan's feet--astill-quivering human heart.

  With a roar and a curse Conan charged the stair. From Khemsa's girdle hefelt strength and deathless hate flow into him to combat the terribleemanation of power that met him on the steps. The air filled with ashimmering steely haze through which he plunged like a swimmer, headlowered, left arm bent about his face, knife gripped low in his righthand. His half-blinded eyes, glaring over the crook of his elbow, madeout the hated shape of the Seer before and above him, the outlinewavering as a reflection wavers in disturbed water.

  He was racked and torn by forces beyond his comprehension, but he felta driving power outside and beyond his own lifting him inexorably upwardand onward, despite the wizard's strength and his own agony.

  Now he had reached the head of the stairs, and the Master's face floatedin the steely haze before him, and a strange fear shadowed theinscrutable eyes. Conan waded through the mist as through a surf, andhis knife lunged upward like a live thing. The keen point ripped theMaster's robe as he sprang back with a low cry. Then before Conan'sgaze, the wizard vanished--simply disappeared like a burst bubble, andsomething long and undulating darted up one of the smaller stairs thatled up to left and right from the landing.

  Conan charged after it, up the left-hand stair, uncertain as to justwhat he had seen whip up those steps, but in a berserk mood that drownedthe nausea and horror whispering at the back of his consciousness.

  He plunged out into a broad corridor whose uncarpeted floor anduntapestried walls were of polished jade, and something long and swiftwhisked down the corridor ahead of him, and into a curtained door. Fromwithin the chamber rose a scream of urgent terror. The sound lent wingsto Conan's flying feet and he hurtled through the curtains and headlonginto the chamber within.

  A frightful scene met his glare. Yasmina cowered on the farther edge ofa velvet-covered dais, screaming her loathing and horror, an arm liftedas if to ward off attack, while before her swayed the hideous head of agiant serpent, shining neck arching up from dark-gleaming coils. With achoked cry Conan threw his knife.

  Instantly the monster whirled and was upon him like the rush of windthrough tall grass. The long knife quivered in its neck, point and afoot of blade showing on one side, and the hilt and a hand's-breadth ofsteel on the other, but it only seemed to madden the giant reptile. Thegreat head towered above the man who faced it, and then darted down, thevenom-dripping jaws gaping wide. But Conan had plucked a dagger from hisgirdle and he stabbed upward as the head dipped down. The point torethrough the lower jaw and transfixed the upper, pinning them together.The next instant the great trunk had looped itself about the Cimmerianas the snake, unable to use its fangs, employed its remaining form ofattack.

  Conan's left arm was pinioned among the bone-crushing folds, but hisright was free. Bracing his feet to keep upright, he stretched forth hishand, gripped the hilt of the long knife jutting from the serpent'sneck, and tore it free in a shower of blood. As if divining his purposewith more than bestial intelligence, the snake writhed and knotted,seeking to cast its loops about his right arm. But with the speed oflight the long knife rose and fell, shearing halfway through thereptile's giant trunk.

  Before he could strike again, the great pliant loops fell from him andthe monster dragged itself across the floor, gushing blood from itsghastly wounds. Conan sprang after it, knife lifted, but his viciousswipe cut empty air as the serpent writhed away from him and struck itsblunt nose against a paneled screen of sandalwood. One of the panelsgave inward and the long, bleeding barrel whipped through it and wasgone.

  Conan instantly attacked the screen. A few blows rent it apart and heglared into the dim alcove beyond. No horrific shape coiled there; therewas blood on the marble floor, and bloody tracks led to a cryptic archeddoor. Those tracks were of a man's bare feet....

  '_Conan!_' He wheeled back into the chamber just in time to catch theDevi of Vendhya in his arms as she rushed across the room and threwherself upon him, catching him about the neck with a frantic clasp, halfhysterical with terror and gratitude and relief.

  His wild blood had been stirred to its uttermost by all that had passed.He caught her to him in a grasp that would have made her wince atanother time, and crushed her lips with his. She made no resistance; theDevi was drowned in the elemental woman. She closed her eyes and drankin his fierce, hot, lawless kisses with all the abandon of passionatethirst. She was panting with his violence when he ceased for breath, andglared down at her lying limp in his mighty arms.

  'I knew you'd come for me,' she murmured. 'You would not leave me inthis den of devils.'

  At her words recollection of their environment came to him suddenly. Helifted his head and listened intently. Silence reigned over the castleof Yimsha, but it was a silence impregnated with menace. Peril crouchedin every corner, leered invisibly from every hanging.

  'We'd better go while we can,' he muttered. 'Those cuts were enough tokill any common beast--or _man_--but a wizard has a dozen lives. Woundone, and he writhes away like a crippled snake to soak up fresh venomfrom some source of sorcery.'

  He picked up the girl and carrying her in his arms like a child, hestrode out into the gleaming jade corridor and down the stairs, nervestautly alert for any sign or sound.

  'I met the Master,' she whispered, clinging to him and shuddering. 'Heworked his spells on me to break my will. The most awful thing was amoldering corpse which seized me in its arms--I fainted then and lay asone dead, I do not know how long. Shortly after I regained consciousnessI heard sounds of strife below, and cries, and then that snake cameslithering through the curtains--ah!' She shook at the memory of thathorror. 'I knew somehow that it was not an illusion, but a real serpentthat sought my life.'

  'It was not a shadow, at least,' answered Conan cryptically. 'He knew hewas beaten, and chose to slay you rather than let you be rescued.'

  'What do you mean, _he_?' she asked uneasily, and then shrank againsthim, crying out, and forgetting her question. She had seen the corpsesat the foot of the stairs. Those of the Seers were not good to look at;as they lay twisted and contorted, their hands and feet were exposed toview, and at the sight Yasmina went livid and hid her face againstConan's powerful shoulder.

  10 Yasmina and Conan

  Conan passed through the hall quickly
enough, traversed the outerchamber and approached the door that led upon the gallery. Then he sawthe floor sprinkled with tiny, glittering shards. The crystal sheet thathad covered the doorway had been shivered to bits, and he remembered thecrash that had accompanied the shattering of the crystal globe. Hebelieved that every piece of crystal in the castle had broken at thatinstant, and some dim instinct or memory of esoteric lore vaguelysuggested the truth of the monstrous connection between the Lords of theBlack Circle and the golden pomegranates. He felt the short hair bristlechilly at the back of his neck and put the matter hastily out of hismind.

  He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he stepped out upon the green jadegallery. There was still the gorge to cross, but at least he could seethe white peaks glistening in the sun, and the long slopes falling awayinto the distant blue hazes.

  The Irakzai lay where he had fallen, an ugly blotch on the glassysmoothness. As Conan strode down the winding path, he was surprised tonote the position of the sun. It had not yet passed its zenith; and yetit seemed to him that hours had passed since he plunged into the castleof the Black Seers.

  He felt an urge to hasten, not a mere blind panic, but an instinct ofperil growing behind his back. He said nothing to Yasmina, and sheseemed content to nestle her dark head against his arching breast andfind security in the clasp of his iron arms. He paused an instant on thebrink of the chasm, frowning down. The haze which danced in the gorgewas no longer rose-hued and sparkling. It was smoky, dim, ghostly, likethe life-tide that flickered thinly in a wounded man. The thought camevaguely to Conan that the spells of magicians were more closely bound totheir personal beings than were the actions of common men to theactors.

  But far below, the floor shone like tarnished silver, and the goldthread sparkled undimmed. Conan shifted Yasmina across his shoulder,where she lay docilely, and began the descent. Hurriedly he descendedthe ramp, and hurriedly he fled across the echoing floor. He had aconviction that they were racing with time, that their chances ofsurvival depended upon crossing that gorge of horrors before the woundedMaster of the castle should regain enough power to loose some other doomupon them.

  When he toiled up the farther ramp and came out upon the crest, hebreathed a gusty sigh of relief and stood Yasmina upon her feet.

  'You walk from here,' he told her; 'it's downhill all the way.'

  She stole a glance at the gleaming pyramid across the chasm; it rearedup against the snowy slope like the citadel of silence and immemorialevil.

  'Are you a magician, that you have conquered the Black Seers of Yimsha,Conan of Ghor?' she asked, as they went down the path, with his heavyarm about her supple waist.

  'It was a girdle Khemsa gave me before he died,' Conan answered. 'Yes, Ifound him on the trail. It is a curious one, which I'll show you when Ihave time. Against some spells it was weak, but against others it wasstrong, and a good knife is always a hearty incantation.'

  'But if the girdle aided you in conquering the Master,' she argued, 'whydid it not aid Khemsa?'

  He shook his head. 'Who knows? But Khemsa had been the Master's slave;perhaps that weakened its magic. He had no hold on me as he had onKhemsa. Yet I can't say that I conquered him. He retreated, but I have afeeling that we haven't seen the last of him. I want to put as manymiles between us and his lair as we can.'

  He was further relieved to find horses tethered among the tamarisks ashe had left them. He loosed them swiftly and mounted the black stallion,swinging the girl up before him. The others followed, freshened by theirrest.

  'And what now?' she asked. 'To Afghulistan?'

  'Not just now!' He grinned hardly. 'Somebody--maybe the governor--killedmy seven headmen. My idiotic followers think I had something to do withit, and unless I am able to convince them otherwise, they'll hunt melike a wounded jackal.'

  'Then what of me? If the headmen are dead, I am useless to you as ahostage. Will you slay me, to avenge them?'

  He looked down at her, with eyes fiercely aglow, and laughed at thesuggestion.

  'Then let us ride to the border,' she said. 'You'll be safe from theAfghulis there--'

  'Yes, on a Vendhyan gibbet.'

  'I am Queen of Vendhya,' she reminded him with a touch of her oldimperiousness. 'You have saved my life. You shall be rewarded.'

  She did not intend it as it sounded, but he growled in his throat, illpleased.

  'Keep your bounty for your city-bred dogs, princess! If you're a queenof the plains, I'm a chief of the hills, and not one foot toward theborder will I take you!'

  'But you would be safe--' she began bewilderedly.

  'And you'd be the Devi again,' he broke in. 'No, girl; I prefer you asyou are now--a woman of flesh and blood, riding on my saddle-bow.'

  'But you can't _keep_ me!' she cried. 'You can't--'

  'Watch and see!' he advised grimly.

  'But I will pay you a vast ransom--'

  'Devil take your ransom!' he answered roughly, his arms hardening abouther supple figure. 'The kingdom of Vendhya could give me nothing Idesire half so much as I desire you. I took you at the risk of my neck;if your courtiers want you back, let them come up the Zhaibar and fightfor you.'

  'But you have no followers now!' she protested. 'You are hunted! How canyou preserve your own life, much less mine?'

  'I still have friends in the hills,' he answered. 'There is a chief ofthe Khurakzai who will keep you safely while I bicker with the Afghulis.If they will have none of me, by Crom! I will ride northward with you tothe steppes of the _kozaki_. I was a hetman among the Free Companionsbefore I rode southward. I'll make you a queen on the Zaporoska River!'

  'But I can not!' she objected. 'You must not hold me--'

  'If the idea's so repulsive,' he demanded, 'why did you yield your lipsto me so willingly?'

  'Even a queen is human,' she answered, coloring. 'But because I am aqueen, I must consider my kingdom. Do not carry me away into someforeign country. Come back to Vendhya with me!'

  'Would you make me your king?' he asked sardonically.

  'Well, there are customs--' she stammered, and he interrupted her with ahard laugh.

  'Yes, civilized customs that won't let you do as you wish. You'll marrysome withered old king of the plains, and I can go my way with only thememory of a few kisses snatched from your lips. Ha!'

  'But I must return to my kingdom!' she repeated helplessly.

  'Why?' he demanded angrily. 'To chafe your rump on gold thrones, andlisten to the plaudits of smirking, velvet-skirted fools? Where is thegain? Listen: I was born in the Cimmerian hills where the people areall barbarians. I have been a mercenary soldier, a corsair, a _kozak_,and a hundred other things. What king has roamed the countries, foughtthe battles, loved the women, and won the plunder that I have?

  'I came into Ghulistan to raise a horde and plunder the kingdoms to thesouth--your own among them. Being chief of the Afghulis was only astart. If I can conciliate them, I'll have a dozen tribes following mewithin a year. But if I can't I'll ride back to the steppes and loot theTuranian borders with the _kozaki_. And you'll go with me. To the devilwith your kingdom; they fended for themselves before you were born.'

  She lay in his arms looking up at him, and she felt a tug at her spirit,a lawless, reckless urge that matched his own and was by it called intobeing. But a thousand generations of sovereignship rode heavy upon her.

  'I can't! I can't!' she repeated helplessly.

  'You haven't any choice,' he assured her. 'You--what the devil!'

  They had left Yimsha some miles behind them, and were riding along ahigh ridge that separated two deep valleys. They had just topped a steepcrest where they could gaze down into the valley on their right hand.And there was a running fight in progress. A strong wind was blowingaway from them, carrying the sound from their ears, but even so theclashing of steel and thunder of hoofs welled up from far below.

  They saw the glint of the sun on lance-tip and spired helmet. Threethousand mailed horsemen were driving before them a ragged band ofturbaned
riders, who fled snarling and striking like fleeing wolves.

  'Turanians,' muttered Conan. 'Squadrons from Secunderam. What the devilare they doing here?'

  'Who are the men they pursue?' asked Yasmina. 'And why do they fall backso stubbornly? They can not stand against such odds.'

  'Five hundred of my mad Afghulis,' he growled, scowling down into thevale. 'They're in a trap, and they know it.'

  The valley was indeed a cul-de-sac at that end. It narrowed to ahigh-walled gorge, opening out further into a round bowl, completelyrimmed with lofty, unscalable walls.

  The turbaned riders were being forced into this gorge, because there wasnowhere else for them to go, and they went reluctantly, in a shower ofarrows and a whirl of swords. The helmeted riders harried them, but didnot press in too rashly. They knew the desperate fury of the hilltribes, and they knew too that they had their prey in a trap from whichthere was no escape. They had recognized the hill-men as Afghulis, andthey wished to hem them in and force a surrender. They needed hostagesfor the purpose they had in mind.

  Their emir was a man of decision and initiative. When he reached theGurashah valley, and found neither guides nor emissary waiting for him,he pushed on, trusting to his own knowledge of the country. All the wayfrom Secunderam there had been fighting, and tribesmen were lickingtheir wounds in many a crag-perched village. He knew there was a goodchance that neither he nor any of his helmeted spearmen would ever ridethrough the gates of Secunderam again, for the tribes would all be upbehind him now, but he was determined to carry out his orders--whichwere to take Yasmina Devi from the Afghulis at all costs, and to bringher captive to Secunderam, or if confronted by impossibility, to strikeoff her head before he himself died.

  Of all this, of course, the watchers on the ridge were not aware. ButConan fidgeted with nervousness.

  'Why the devil did they get themselves trapped?' he demanded of theuniverse at large. 'I know what they're doing in these parts--they werehunting me, the dogs! Poking into every valley--and found themselvespenned in before they knew it. The poor fools! They're making a stand inthe gorge, but they can't hold out for long. When the Turanians havepushed them back into the bowl, they'll slaughter them at theirleisure.'

  The din welling up from below increased in volume and intensity. In thestrait of the narrow gut, the Afghulis, fighting desperately, were forthe time holding their own against the mailed riders, who could notthrow their whole weight against them.

  Conan scowled darkly, moved restlessly, fingering his hilt, and finallyspoke bluntly: 'Devi, I must go down to them. I'll find a place for youto hide until I come back to you. You spoke of your kingdom--well, Idon't pretend to look on those hairy devils as my children, but afterall, such as they are, they're my henchmen. A chief should never deserthis followers, even if they desert him first. They think they were rightin kicking me out--hell, I won't be cast off! I'm still chief of theAfghulis, and I'll prove it! I can climb down on foot into the gorge.'

  'But what of me?' she queried. 'You carried me away forcibly from _my_people; now will you leave me to die in the hills alone while you godown and sacrifice yourself uselessly?'

  His veins swelled with the conflict of his emotions.

  'That's right,' he muttered helplessly. 'Crom knows what I _can_ do.'

  She turned her head slightly, a curious expression dawning on herbeautiful face. Then:

  'Listen!' she cried. 'Listen!'

  A distant fanfare of trumpets was borne faintly to their ears. Theystared into the deep valley on the left, and caught a glint of steel onthe farther side. A long line of lances and polished helmets moved alongthe vale, gleaming in the sunlight.

  'The riders of Vendhya!' she cried exultingly.

  'There are thousands of them!' muttered Conan. 'It has been long since aKshatriya host has ridden this far into the hills.'

  'They are searching for me!' she exclaimed. 'Give me your horse! I willride to my warriors! The ridge is not so precipitous on the left, and Ican reach the valley floor. I will lead my horsemen into the valley atthe upper end and fall upon the Turanians! We will crush them in thevise! Quick, Conan! Will you sacrifice your men to your own desire?'

  The burning hunger of the steppes and the wintry forests glared out ofhis eyes, but he shook his head and swung off the stallion, placing thereins in her hands.

  'You win!' he grunted. 'Ride like the devil!'

  She wheeled away down the left-hand slope and he ran swiftly along theridge until he reached the long ragged cleft that was the defile inwhich the fight raged. Down the rugged wall he scrambled like an ape,clinging to projections and crevices, to fall at last, feet first, intothe melee that raged in the mouth of the gorge. Blades were whickeringand clanging about him, horses rearing and stamping, helmet plumesnodding among turbans that were stained crimson.

  As he hit, he yelled like a wolf, caught a gold-worked rein, and dodgingthe sweep of a scimitar, drove his long knife upward through the rider'svitals. In another instant he was in the saddle, yelling ferociousorders to the Afghulis. They stared at him stupidly for an instant; thenas they saw the havoc his steel was wreaking among their enemies, theyfell to their work again, accepting him without comment. In that infernoof licking blades and spurting blood there was no time to ask or answerquestions.

  The riders in their spired helmets and gold-worked hauberks swarmedabout the gorge mouth, thrusting and slashing, and the narrow defile waspacked and jammed with horses and men, the warriors crushed breast tobreast, stabbing with shortened blades, slashing murderously when therewas an instant's room to swing a sword. When a man went down he did notget up from beneath the stamping, swirling hoofs. Weight and sheerstrength counted heavily there, and the chief of the Afghulis did thework of ten. At such times accustomed habits sway men strongly, and thewarriors, who were used to seeing Conan in their vanguard, wereheartened mightily, despite their distrust of him.

  But superior numbers counted too. The pressure of the men behind forcedthe horsemen of Turan deeper and deeper into the gorge, in the teeth ofthe flickering tulwars. Foot by foot the Afghulis were shoved back,leaving the defile-floor carpeted with dead, on which the riderstrampled. As he hacked and smote like a man possessed, Conan had timefor some chilling doubts--would Yasmina keep her word? She had but tojoin her warriors, turn southward and leave him and his band to perish.

  But at last, after what seemed centuries of desperate battling, in thevalley outside there rose another sound above the clash of steel andyells of slaughter. And then with a burst of trumpets that shook thewalls, and rushing thunder of hoofs, five thousand riders of Vendhyasmote the hosts of Secunderam.

  That stroke split the Turanian squadrons asunder, shattered, tore andrent them and scattered their fragments all over the valley. In aninstant the surge had ebbed back out of the gorge; there was a chaotic,confused swirl of fighting, horsemen wheeling and smiting singly and inclusters, and then the emir went down with a Kshatriya lance through hisbreast, and the riders in their spired helmets turned their horses downthe valley, spurring like mad and seeking to slash a way through theswarms which had come upon them from the rear. As they scattered inflight, the conquerors scattered in pursuit, and all across the valleyfloor, and up on the slopes near the mouth and over the crests streamedthe fugitives and the pursuers. The Afghulis, those left to ride, rushedout of the gorge and joined in the harrying of their foes, accepting theunexpected alliance as unquestioningly as they had accepted the returnof their repudiated chief.

  The sun was sinking toward the distant crags when Conan, his garmentshacked to tatters and the mail under them reeking and clotted withblood, his knife dripping and crusted to the hilt, strode over thecorpses to where Yasmina Devi sat her horse among her nobles on thecrest of the ridge, near a lofty precipice.

  'You kept your word, Devi!' he roared. 'By Crom, though, I had some badseconds down in that gorge--_look out!_'

  Down from the sky swooped a vulture of tremendous size with a thunder ofwings that knocked men sprawling
from their horses.

  The scimitar-like beak was slashing for the Devi's soft neck, but Conanwas quicker--a short run, a tigerish leap, the savage thrust of adripping knife, and the vulture voiced a horribly human cry, pitchedsideways and went tumbling down the cliffs to the rocks and river athousand feet below. As it dropped, its black wings thrashing the air,it took on the semblance, not of a bird, but of a black-robed human bodythat fell, arms in wide black sleeves thrown abroad.

  Conan turned to Yasmina, his red knife still in his hand, his blue eyessmoldering, blood oozing from wounds on his thickly muscled arms andthighs.

  'You are the Devi again,' he said, grinning fiercely at the gold-claspedgossamer robe she had donned over her hill-girl attire, and awed not atall by the imposing array of chivalry about him. 'I have you to thankfor the lives of some three hundred and fifty of my rogues, who are atleast convinced that I didn't betray them. You have put my hands on thereins of conquest again.'

  'I still owe you my ransom,' she said, her dark eyes glowing as theyswept over him. 'Ten thousand pieces of gold I will pay you--'

  He made a savage, impatient gesture, shook the blood from his knife andthrust it back in its scabbard, wiping his hands on his mail.

  'I will collect your ransom in my own way, at my own time,' he said. 'Iwill collect it in your palace at Ayodhya, and I will come with fiftythousand men to see that the scales are fair.'

  She laughed, gathering her reins into her hands. 'And I will meet you onthe shores of the Jhumda with a hundred thousand!'

  His eyes shone with fierce appreciation and admiration, and steppingback, he lifted his hand with a gesture that was like the assumption ofkingship, indicating that her road was clear before her.