18
'I Am the Woman Who Never Died'
Conan stared with burning interest at his masked companions. One of themwas Thutothmes, or else the destination of the band was a rendezvouswith the man he sought. And he knew what that destination was, whenbeyond the palms he glimpsed a black triangular bulk looming against theshadowy sky.
They passed through the belt of huts and groves, and if any man saw themhe was careful not to show himself. The huts were dark. Behind them theblack towers of Khemi rose gloomily against the stars that were mirroredin the waters of the harbor; ahead of them the desert stretched away indim darkness; somewhere a jackal yapped. The quick-passing sandals ofthe silent neophytes made no noise in the sand. They might have beenghosts, moving toward that colossal pyramid that rose out of the murk ofthe desert. There was no sound over all the sleeping land.
Conan's heart beat quicker as he gazed at the grim black wedge thatstood etched against the stars, and his impatience to close withThutothmes in whatever conflict the meeting might mean was not unmixedwith a fear of the unknown. No man could approach one of those somberpiles of black stone without apprehension. The very name was a symbol ofrepellent horror among the northern nations, and legends hinted that theStygians did not build them; that they were in the land at whateverimmeasurably ancient date the dark-skinned people came into the land ofthe great river.
As they approached the pyramid he glimpsed a dim glow near the basewhich presently resolved itself into a doorway, on either side of whichbrooded stone lions with the heads of women, cryptic, inscrutable,nightmares crystalized in stone. The leader of the band made straightfor the doorway, in the deep well of which Conan saw a shadowy figure.
The leader paused an instant beside this dim figure, and then vanishedinto the dark interior, and one by one the others followed. As eachmasked priest passed through the gloomy portal he was halted briefly bythe mysterious guardian and something passed between them, some word orgesture Conan could not make out. Seeing this, the Cimmerian purposelylagged behind, and stooping, pretended to be fumbling with the fasteningof his sandal. Not until the last of the masked figures had disappeareddid he straighten and approach the portal.
He was uneasily wondering if the guardian of the temple were human,remembering some tales he had heard. But his doubts were set at rest. Adim bronze cresset glowing just within the door lighted a long narrowcorridor that ran away into blackness, and a man standing silent in themouth of it, wrapped in a wide black cloak. No one else was in sight.Obviously the masked priests had disappeared down the corridor.
Over the cloak that was drawn about his lower features, the Stygian'spiercing eyes regarded Conan sharply. With his left hand he made acurious gesture. On a venture Conan imitated it. But evidently anothergesture was expected; the Stygian's right hand came from under his cloakwith a gleam of steel and his murderous stab would have pierced theheart of an ordinary man.
But he was dealing with one whose thews were nerved to the quickness ofa jungle cat. Even as the dagger flashed in the dim light, Conan caughtthe dusky wrist and smashed his clenched right fist against theStygian's jaw. The man's head went back against the stone wall with adull crunch that told of a fractured skull.
Standing for an instant above him, Conan listened intently. The cressetburned low, casting vague shadows about the door. Nothing stirred in theblackness beyond, though far away and below him, as it seemed, he caughtthe faint, muffled note of a gong.
He stooped and dragged the body behind the great bronze door which stoodwide, opened inward, and then the Cimmerian went warily but swiftly downthe corridor, toward what doom he did not even try to guess.
He had not gone far when he halted, baffled. The corridor split in twobranches, and he had no way of knowing which the masked priests hadtaken. At a venture he chose the left. The floor slanted slightlydownward and was worn smooth as by many feet. Here and there a dimcresset cast a faint nightmarish twilight. Conan wondered uneasily forwhat purpose these colossal piles had been reared, in what forgottenage. This was an ancient, ancient land. No man knew how many ages theblack temples of Stygia had looked against the stars.
Narrow black arches opened occasionally to right and left, but he keptto the main corridor, although a conviction that he had taken the wrongbranch was growing in him. Even with their start on him, he should haveovertaken the priests by this time. He was growing nervous. The silencewas like a tangible thing, and yet he had a feeling that he was notalone. More than once, passing a nighted arch he seemed to feel theglare of unseen eyes fixed upon him. He paused, half minded to turn backto where the corridor had first branched. He wheeled abruptly, knifelifted, every nerve tingling.
A girl stood at the mouth of a smaller tunnel, staring fixedly at him.Her ivory skin showed her to be Stygian of some ancient noble family,and like all such women she was tall, lithe, voluptuously figured, herhair a great pile of black foam, among which gleamed a sparkling ruby.But for her velvet sandals and broad jewel-crusted girdle about hersupple waist she was quite nude.
'What do you here?' she demanded.
To answer would betray his alien origin. He remained motionless, a grim,somber figure in the hideous mask with the plumes floating over him. Hisalert gaze sought the shadows behind her and found them empty. But theremight be hordes of fighting-men within her call.
She advanced toward him, apparently without apprehension though withsuspicion.
'You are not a priest,' she said. 'You are a fighting-man. Even withthat mask that is plain. There is as much difference between you and apriest as there is between a man and a woman. By Set!' she exclaimed,halting suddenly, her eyes flaring wide. 'I do not believe you are evena Stygian!'
With a movement too quick for the eye to follow, his hand closed abouther round throat, lightly as a caress.
'Not a sound out of you!' he muttered.
Her smooth ivory flesh was cold as marble, yet there was no fear in thewide, dark, marvelous eyes which regarded him.
'Do not fear,' she answered calmly. 'I will not betray you. But are youmad to come, a stranger and a foreigner, to the forbidden temple ofSet?'
'I'm looking for the priest Thutothmes,' he answered. 'Is he in thistemple?'
'Why do you seek him?' she parried.
'He has something of mine which was stolen.'
'I will lead you to him,' she volunteered so promptly that hissuspicions were instantly roused.
'Don't play with me, girl,' he growled.
'I do not play with you. I have no love for Thutothmes.'
He hesitated, then made up his mind; after all, he was as much in herpower as she was in his.
'Walk beside me,' he commanded, shifting his grasp from her throat toher wrist. 'But walk with care. If you make a suspicious move--'
She led him down the slanting corridor, down and down, until there wereno more cressets, and he groped his way in darkness, aware less by sightthan by feel and sense of the woman at his side. Once when he spoke toher, she turned her head toward him and he was startled to see her eyesglowing like golden fire in the dark. Dim doubts and vague monstroussuspicions haunted his mind, but he followed her, through a labyrinthinemaze of black corridors that confused even his primitive sense ofdirection. He mentally cursed himself for a fool, allowing himself to beled into that black abode of mystery; but it was too late to turn backnow. Again he felt life and movement in the darkness about him, sensedperil and hunger burning impatiently in the blackness. Unless his earsdeceived him he caught a faint sliding noise that ceased and receded ata muttered command from the girl.
She led him at last into a chamber lighted by a curious seven-branchedcandelabrum in which black candles burned weirdly. He knew they were farbelow the earth. The chamber was square, with walls and ceiling ofpolished black marble and furnished after the manner of the ancientStygians; there was a couch of ebony, covered with black velvet, and ona black stone dais lay a carven mummy-case.
Conan stood waiting expectantly, staring at the vari
ous black archeswhich opened into the chamber. But the girl made no move to go farther.Stretching herself on the couch with feline suppleness, she intertwinedher fingers behind her sleek head and regarded him from under longdrooping lashes.
'Well?' he demanded impatiently. 'What are you doing? Where'sThutothmes?'
'There is no haste,' she answered lazily. 'What is an hour--or a day, ora year, or a century, for that matter? Take off your mask. Let me seeyour features.'
With a grunt of annoyance Conan dragged off the bulky headpiece, and thegirl nodded as if in approval as she scanned his dark scarred face andblazing eyes.
'There is strength in you--great strength; you could strangle abullock.'
He moved restlessly, his suspicion growing. With his hand on his hilt hepeered into the gloomy arches.
'If you've brought me into a trap,' he said, 'you won't live to enjoyyour handiwork. Are you going to get off that couch and do as youpromised, or do I have to--'
His voice trailed away. He was staring at the mummy-case, on which thecountenance of the occupant was carved in ivory with the startlingvividness of a forgotten art. There was a disquieting familiarity aboutthat carven mask, and with something of a shock he realized what it was;there was a startling resemblance between it and the face of the girllolling on the ebon couch. She might have been the model from which itwas carved, but he knew the portrait was at least centuries old. Archaichieroglyphics were scrawled across the lacquered lid, and, seeking backinto his mind for tag-ends of learning, picked up here and there asincidentals of an adventurous life, he spelled them out, and said aloud:'Akivasha!'
'You have heard of Princess Akivasha?' inquired the girl on the couch.
'Who hasn't?' he grunted. The name of that ancient, evil, beautifulprincess still lived the world over in song and legend, though tenthousand years had rolled their cycles since the daughter of Tuthamonhad reveled in purple feasts amid the black halls of ancient Luxur.
'Her only sin was that she loved life and all the meanings of life,'said the Stygian girl. 'To win life she courted death. She could notbear to think of growing old and shriveled and worn, and dying at lastas hags die. She wooed Darkness like a lover and his gift was life--lifethat, not being life as mortals know it, can never grow old and fade.She went into the shadows to cheat age and death--'
Conan glared at her with eyes that were suddenly burning slits. And hewheeled and tore the lid from the sarcophagus. It was empty. Behind himthe girl was laughing and the sound froze the blood in his veins. Hewhirled back to her, the short hairs on his neck bristling.
'You are Akivasha!' he grated.
She laughed and shook back her burnished locks, spread her armssensuously.
'I am Akivasha! I am the woman who never died, who never grew old! Whofools say was lifted from the earth by the gods, in the full bloom ofher youth and beauty, to queen it for ever in some celestial clime! Nay,it is in the shadows that mortals find immortality! Ten thousand yearsago I died to live for ever! Give me your lips, strong man!'
Rising lithely she came to him, rose on tiptoe and flung her arms abouthis massive neck. Scowling down into her upturned, beautiful countenancehe was aware of a fearful fascination and an icy fear.
'Love me!' she whispered, her head thrown back, eyes closed and lipsparted. 'Give me of your blood to renew my youth and perpetuate myeverlasting life! I will make you, too, immortal! I will teach you thewisdom of all the ages, all the secrets that have lasted out the eons inthe blackness beneath these dark temples. I will make you king of thatshadowy horde which revels among the tombs of the ancients when nightveils the desert and bats flit across the moon. I am weary of priestsand magicians, and captive girls dragged screaming through the portalsof death. I desire a man. Love me, barbarian!'
She pressed her dark head down against his mighty breast, and he felt asharp pang at the base of his throat. With a curse he tore her away andflung her sprawling across the couch.
'Damned vampire!' Blood was trickling from a tiny wound in his throat.
She reared up on the couch like a serpent poised to strike, all thegolden fires of hell blazing in her wide eyes. Her lips drew back,revealing white pointed teeth.
'Fool!' she shrieked. 'Do you think to escape me? You will live and diein darkness! I have brought you far below the temple. You can never findyour way out alone. You can never cut your way through those which guardthe tunnels. But for my protection the sons of Set would long ago havetaken you into their bellies. Fool, I shall yet drink your blood!'
'Keep away from me or I'll slash you asunder,' he grunted, his fleshcrawling with revulsion. 'You may be immortal, but steel will dismemberyou.'
As he backed toward the arch through which he had entered, the lightwent out suddenly. All the candles were extinguished at once, though hedid not know how; for Akivasha had not touched them. But the vampire'slaugh rose mockingly behind him, poison-sweet as the viols of hell, andhe sweated as he groped in the darkness for the arch in a near-panic.His fingers encountered an opening and he plunged through it. Whether itwas the arch through which he had entered he did not know, nor did hevery much care. His one thought was to get out of the haunted chamberwhich had housed that beautiful, hideous, undead fiend for so manycenturies.
His wanderings through those black, winding tunnels were a sweatingnightmare. Behind him and about him he heard faint slitherings andglidings, and once the echo of that sweet, hellish laughter he had heardin the chamber of Akivasha. He slashed ferociously at sounds andmovements he heard or imagined he heard in the darkness near him, andonce his sword cut through some yielding tenuous substance that mighthave been cobwebs. He had a desperate feeling that he was being playedwith, lured deeper and deeper into ultimate night, before being set uponby demoniac talon and fang.
And through his fear ran the sickening revulsion of his discovery. Thelegend of Akivasha was so old, and among the evil tales told of her rana thread of beauty and idealism, of everlasting youth. To so manydreamers and poets and lovers she was not alone the evil princess ofStygian legend, but the symbol of eternal youth and beauty, shining forever in some far realm of the gods. And this was the hideous reality.This foul perversion was the truth of that everlasting life. Through hisphysical revulsion ran the sense of a shattered dream of man's idolatry,its glittering gold proved slime and cosmic filth. A wave of futilityswept over him, a dim fear of the falseness of all men's dreams andidolatries.
And now he knew that his ears were not playing him tricks. He was beingfollowed, and his pursuers were closing in on him. In the darknesssounded shufflings and slidings that were never made by human feet; no,nor by the feet of any normal animal. The underworld had its bestiallife too, perhaps. They were behind him. He turned to face them, thoughhe could see nothing, and slowly backed away. Then the sounds ceased,even before he turned his head and saw, somewhere down the longcorridor, a glow of light.