8a6b6f1538d19c1936f7845f41563941 by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

How long Conan stood drowned in dizzy cogitation, he never knew. A voice shook him out of his gaze,a feminine voice that shrieked more and more loudly, as if the owner of the voice were being bornenearer. Conan recognized that voice, and his paralysis vanished instantly.

A quick bound carried him high up on the narrow ledges, where he clung, kicking aside the clusteringimages to obtain room for his feet. Another spring and a scramble, and he was clinging to the rim of thewall, glaring over it. It was an outer wall; he was looking into the green meadow that surrounded thecastle.

Across the grassy level a giant black was striding, carrying a squirming captive under one arm as a manmight carry a rebellious child. It was Sancha, her black hair falling in disheveled rippling waves, her oliveskin contrasting abruptly with the glossy ebony of her captor. He gave no heed to her wrigglings and criesas he made for the outer archway.

As he vanished within, Conan sprang recklessly down the wall and glided into the arch that opened intothe further court. Crouching there, he saw the giant enter the court of the pool, carrying his writhingcaptive. Now he was able to make out the creature's details.

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 limbfrom limb. The nails of the fingers provided further weapons, for they were grown like the talons of a wildbeast. The face was a carven ebony mask. The eyes' were tawny, a vibrant gold that glowed andglittered. But the face was inhuman; each line, each feature was stamped with evil--evil transcending themere evil of humanity. The thing was not a human--it could not be; it was a growth of Life from the pits ofblasphemous creation--a perversion of evolutionary development.

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

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

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

"Oh, Conan," Sancha was

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