compliment. She was regaining her poise swiftly.
'My lover is a--a young Turanian soldier. To spite me, Totrasmek gavehim a drug that drove him mad. Tonight he snatched up a sword and cameat me to slay me in his madness, but I fled from him into the streets.The negroes seized me and brought me to this--_what was that?_'
Conan had already moved. Soundlessly as a shadow he drew her behind thenearest hut, beneath the straggling palms. They stood in tensestillness, while the low mutterings both had heard grew louder untilvoices were distinguishable. A group of negroes, some nine or ten, werecoming along the road from the direction of the city. The girl clutchedConan's arm and he felt the terrified quivering of her supple bodyagainst his.
Now they could understand the gutturals of the black men.
'Our brothers have already assembled at the pit,' said one. 'We have hadno luck. I hope they have enough for us.'
'Aram promised us a man,' muttered another, and Conan mentally promisedAram something.
'Aram keeps his word,' grunted yet another. 'Many a man we have takenfrom his tavern. But we pay him well. I myself have given him ten balesof silk I stole from my master. It was good silk, by Set!'
The blacks shuffled past, bare splay feet scuffing up the dust, andtheir voices dwindled down the road.
'Well for us those corpses are lying behind these huts,' muttered Conan.'If they look in Aram's death-room they'll find another. Let's begone.'
'Yes, let us hasten!' begged the girl, almost hysterical again. 'Mylover is wandering somewhere in the streets alone. The negroes may takehim.'
'A devil of a custom this is!' growled Conan, as he led the way towardthe city, paralleling the road but keeping behind the huts andstraggling trees. 'Why don't the citizens clean out these black dogs?'
'They are valuable slaves,' murmured the girl. 'There are so many ofthem they might revolt if they were denied the flesh for which theylust. The people of Zamboula know they skulk the streets at night, andall are careful to remain within locked doors, except when somethingunforeseen happens, as it did to me. The blacks prey on anything theycatch, but they seldom catch anybody but strangers. The people ofZamboula are not concerned with the strangers that pass through thecity.
'Such men as Aram Baksh sell these strangers to the blacks. He would notdare attempt such a thing with a citizen.'
Conan spat in disgust, and a moment later led his companion out into theroad which was becoming a street, with still, unlighted houses on eachside. Slinking in the shadows was not congenial to his nature.
'Where do you want to go?' he asked. The girl did not seem to object tohis arm about her waist.
'To my house, to rouse my servants,' she answered. 'To bid them searchfor my lover. I do not wish the city--the priests--anyone--to know ofhis madness. He--he is a young officer with a promising future. Perhapswe can drive this madness from him if we can find him.'
'If _we_ find him?' rumbled Conan. 'What makes you think I want to spendthe night scouring the streets for a lunatic?'
She cast a quick glance into his face, and properly interpreted thegleam in his blue eyes. Any woman could have known that he would followher wherever she led--for a while, at least. But being a woman, sheconcealed her knowledge of that fact.
'Please,' she began with a hint of tears in her voice, 'I have no oneelse to ask for help--you have been kind--'
'All right!' he grunted. 'All right! What's the young reprobate's name?'
'Why--Alafdhal. I am Zabibi, a dancing-girl. I have danced often beforethe satrap, Jungir Khan, and his mistress Nafertari, and before all thelords and royal ladies of Zamboula. Totrasmek desired me, and because Irepulsed him, he made me the innocent tool of his vengeance againstAlafdhal. I asked a love potion of Totrasmek, not suspecting the depthof his guile and hate. He gave me a drug to mix with my lover's wine,and he swore that when Alafdhal drank it, he would love me even moremadly than ever, and grant my every wish. I mixed the drug secretly withmy lover's wine. But having drunk, my lover went raving mad and thingscame about as I have told you. Curse Totrasmek, the hybrid snake--ahhh!'
She caught his arm convulsively and both stopped short. They had comeinto a district of shops and stalls, all deserted and unlighted, for thehour was late. They were passing an alley, and in its mouth a man wasstanding, motionless and silent. His head was lowered, but Conan caughtthe weird gleam of eery eyes regarding them unblinkingly. His skincrawled, not with fear of the sword in the man's hand, but because ofthe uncanny suggestion of his posture and silence. They suggestedmadness. Conan pushed the girl aside and drew his sword.
'Don't kill him!' she begged. 'In the name of Set, do not slay him! Youare strong--overpower him!'
'We'll see,' he muttered, grasping his sword in his right hand andclenching his left into a mallet-like fist.
He took a wary step toward the alley--and with a horrible moaning laughthe Turanian charged. As he came he swung his sword, rising on his toesas he put all the power of his body behind the blows. Sparks flashedblue as Conan parried the blade, and the next instant the madman wasstretched senseless in the dust from a thundering buffet of Conan's leftfist.
The girl ran forward.
'Oh, he is not--he is not--'
Conan bent swiftly, turned the man on his side and ran quick fingersover him.
'He's not hurt much,' he grunted. 'Bleeding at the nose, but anybody'slikely to do that, after a clout on the jaw. He'll come to after a bit,and maybe his mind will be right. In the meantime I'll tie his wristswith his sword-belt--so. Now where do you want me to take him?'
'Wait!' She knelt beside the senseless figure, seized the bound handsand scanned them avidly. Then, shaking her head as if in baffleddisappointment, she rose. She came close to the giant Cimmerian, andlaid her slender hands on his arching breast. Her dark eyes, like wetblack jewels in the starlight, gazed up into his.
'You are a man! Help me! Totrasmek must die! Slay him for me!'
'And put my neck into a Turanian noose?' he grunted.
'Nay!' The slender arms, strong as pliant steel, were around his cordedneck. Her supple body throbbed against his. 'The Hyrkanians have no lovefor Totrasmek. The priests of Set fear him. He is a mongrel, who rulesmen by fear and superstition. I worship Set, and the Turanians bow toErlik, but Totrasmek sacrifices to Hanuman the accursed! The Turanianlords fear his black arts and his power over the hybrid population, andthey hate him. If he were slain in his temple at night, they would notseek his slayer very closely.'
'And what of his magic?' rumbled the Cimmerian.
'You are a fighting-man,' she answered. 'To risk your life is part ofyour profession.'
'For a price,' he admitted.
'There will be a price!' she breathed, rising on tiptoe, to gaze intohis eyes.
The nearness of her vibrant body drove a flame through his veins. Theperfume of her breath mounted to his brain. But as his arms closed abouther supple figure she avoided them with a lithe movement, saying: 'Wait!First serve me in this matter.'
'Name your price.' He spoke with some difficulty.
'Pick up my lover,' she directed, and the Cimmerian stooped and swungthe tall form easily to his broad shoulder. At the moment he felt as ifhe could have toppled over Jungir Khan's palace with equal ease. Thegirl murmured an endearment to the unconscious man, and there was nohypocrisy in her attitude. She obviously loved Alafdhal sincerely.Whatever business arrangement she made with Conan would have no bearingon her relationship with Alafdhal. Women are more practical about thesethings than men.
'Follow me!' She hurried along the street, while the Cimmerian strodeeasily after her, in no way discomforted by his limp burden. He kept awary eye out for black shadows skulking under arches, but saw nothingsuspicious. Doubtless the men of Darfar were all gathered at theroasting-pit. The girl turned down a narrow side street, and presentlyknocked cautiously at an arched door.
Almost instantly a wicket opened in the upper panel, and a black faceglanced out. She bent close to the opening, whispering swift
ly. Boltscreaked in their sockets, and the door opened. A giant black man stoodframed against the soft glow of a copper lamp. A quick glance showedConan the man was not from Darfar. His teeth were unfiled and his kinkyhair was cropped close to his skull. He was from the Wadai.
At a word from Zabibi, Conan gave the limp body into the black's arms,and saw the young officer laid on a velvet divan. He showed no signs ofreturning consciousness. The blow that had rendered him senseless mighthave felled an ox. Zabibi bent over him for an instant, her fingersnervously twining and twisting. Then she straightened and beckoned theCimmerian.
The door closed softly, the locks clicked