one!' laughed Totrasmek. 'So maidensdanced in the sacrifice to Hanuman centuries ago--but never with suchbeauty and suppleness. Dance, girl, dance! How long can you avoid thefangs of the Poison People? Minutes? Hours? You will weary at last. Yourswift, sure feet will stumble, your legs falter, your hips slow in theirrotations. Then the fangs will begin to sink deep into your ivoryflesh--'
Behind him the curtain shook as if struck by a gust of wind, andTotrasmek screamed. His eyes dilated and his hands caught convulsivelyat the length of bright steel which jutted suddenly from his breast.
The music broke off short. The girl swayed dizzily in her dance, cryingout in dreadful anticipation of the flickering fangs--and then only fourwisps of harmless blue smoke curled up from the floor about her, asTotrasmek sprawled headlong from the divan.
Conan came from behind the curtain, wiping his broad blade. Lookingthrough the hangings he had seen the girl dancing desperately betweenfour swaying spirals of smoke, but he had guessed that their appearancewas very different to her. He knew he had killed Totrasmek.
Zabibi sank down on the floor, panting, but even as Conan started towardher, she staggered up again, though her legs trembled with exhaustion.
'The phial!' she gasped. 'The phial!'
Totrasmek still grasped it in his stiffening hand. Ruthlessly she toreit from his locked fingers, and then began frantically to ransack hisgarments.
'What the devil are you looking for?' Conan demanded.
'A ring--he stole it from Alafdhal. He must have, while my lover walkedin madness through the streets. Set's devils!'
She had convinced herself that it was not on the person of Totrasmek.She began to cast about the chamber, tearing up divan-covers andhangings, and upsetting vessels.
She paused and raked a damp lock of hair out of her eyes.
'I forgot Baal-pteor!'
'He's in hell with his neck broken,' Conan assured her.
She expressed vindictive gratification at the news, but an instant laterswore expressively.
'We can't stay here. It's not many hours until dawn. Lesser priests arelikely to visit the temple at any hour of the night, and if we'rediscovered here with his corpse, the people will tear us to pieces. TheTuranians could not save us.'
She lifted the bolt on the secret door, and a few moments later theywere in the streets and hurrying away from the silent square wherebrooded the age-old shrine of Hanuman.
In a winding street a short distance away Conan halted and checked hiscompanion with a heavy hand on her naked shoulder.
'Don't forget there was a price--'
'I have not forgotten!' She twisted free. 'But we must go to--toAlafdhal first!'
A few minutes later the black slave let them through the wicket door.The young Turanian lay upon the divan, his arms and legs bound withheavy velvet ropes. His eyes were open, but they were like those of amad dog, and foam was thick on his lips. Zabibi shuddered.
'Force his jaws open!' she commanded, and Conan's iron fingersaccomplished the task.
Zabibi emptied the phial down the maniac's gullet. The effect was likemagic. Instantly he became quiet. The glare faded from his eyes; hestared up at the girl in a puzzled way, but with recognition andintelligence. Then he fell into a normal slumber.
'When he awakes he will be quite sane,' she whispered, motioning to thesilent slave.
With a deep bow he gave into her hands a small leathern bag, and drewabout her shoulders a silken cloak. Her manner had subtly changed whenshe beckoned Conan to follow her out of the chamber.
In an arch that opened on the street, she turned to him, drawing herselfup with a new regality.
'I must now tell you the truth,' she said. 'I am not Zabibi. I amNafertari. And _he_ is not Alafdhal, a poor captain of the guardsmen. Heis Jungir Khan, satrap of Zamboula.'
Conan made no comment; his scarred dark countenance was immobile.
'I lied to you because I dared not divulge the truth to anyone,' shesaid. 'We were alone when Jungir Khan went mad. None knew of it butmyself. Had it been known that the satrap of Zamboula was a madman,there would have been instant revolt and rioting, even as Totrasmekplanned, who plotted our destruction.
'You see now how impossible is the reward for which you hoped. Thesatrap's mistress is not--cannot be for you. But you shall not gounrewarded. Here is a sack of gold.'
She gave him the bag she had received from the slave.
'Go, now, and when the sun is come up to the palace, I will have JungirKhan make you captain of his guard. But you will take your orders fromme, secretly. Your first duty will be to march a squad to the shrine ofHanuman, ostensibly to search for clues of the priest's slayer; inreality to search for the Star of Khorala. It must be hidden theresomewhere. When you find it, bring it to me. You have my leave to gonow.'
He nodded, still silent, and strode away. The girl, watching the swingof his broad shoulders, was piqued to note that there was nothing in hisbearing to show that he was in any way chagrined or abashed.
* * * * *
When he had rounded a corner, he glanced back, and then changed hisdirection and quickened his pace. A few moments later he was in thequarter of the city containing the Horse Market. There he smote on adoor until from the window above a bearded head was thrust to demand thereason for the disturbance.
'A horse,' demanded Conan. 'The swiftest steed you have.'
'I open no gates at this time of night,' grumbled the horse-trader.
Conan rattled his coins.
'Dog's son knave! Don't you see I'm white, and alone? Come down, beforeI smash your door!'
Presently, on a bay stallion, Conan was riding toward the house of AramBaksh.
He turned off the road into the alley that lay between the taverncompound and the date-palm garden, but he did not pause at the gate. Herode on to the northeast corner of the wall, then turned and rode alongthe north wall, to halt within a few paces of the northwest angle. Notrees grew near the wall, but there were some low bushes. To one ofthese he tied his horse, and was about to climb into the saddle again,when he heard a low muttering of voices beyond the corner of the wall.
Drawing his foot from the stirrup he stole to the angle and peeredaround it. Three men were moving down the road toward the palm groves,and from their slouching gait he knew they were negroes. They halted athis low call, bunching themselves as he strode toward them, his sword inhis hand. Their eyes gleamed whitely in the starlight. Their brutishlust shone in their ebony faces, but they knew their three cudgels couldnot prevail against his sword, just as he knew it.
'Where are you going?' he challenged.
'To bid our brothers put out the fire in the pit beyond the groves,' wasthe sullen, guttural reply. 'Aram Baksh promised us a man, but he lied.We found one of our brothers dead in the trap-chamber. We go hungry thisnight.'
'I think not,' smiled Conan. 'Aram Baksh will give you a man. Do you seethat door?'
He pointed to a small, iron-bound portal set in the midst of the westernwall.
'Wait there. Aram Baksh will give you a man.'
Backing warily away until he was out of reach of a sudden bludgeon blow,he turned and melted around the northwest angle of the wall. Reachinghis horse he paused to ascertain that the blacks were not sneaking afterhim, and then he climbed into the saddle and stood upright on it,quieting the uneasy steed with a low word. He reached up, grasped thecoping of the wall and drew himself up and over. There he studied thegrounds for an instant. The tavern was built in the southwest corner ofthe enclosure, the remaining space of which was occupied by groves andgardens. He saw no one in the grounds. The tavern was dark and silent,and he knew all the doors and windows were barred and bolted.
Conan knew that Aram Baksh slept in a chamber that opened into acypress-bordered path that led to the door in the western wall. Like ashadow he glided among the trees and a few moments later he rappedlightly on the chamber door.
'What is it?' asked a rumbling voice within.
&nbs
p; 'Aram Baksh!' hissed Conan. 'The blacks are stealing over the wall!'
Almost instantly the door opened, framing the tavern-keeper, naked butfor his shirt, with a dagger in his hand.
He craned his neck to stare into the Cimmerian's face.
'What tale is this--_you!_'
Conan's vengeful fingers strangled the yell in his throat. They went tothe floor together and Conan wrenched the dagger from his enemy's hand.The blade glinted in the starlight, and blood spurted. Aram Baksh madehideous noises, gasping and gagging on a mouthful of blood. Conandragged him to his feet and again the dagger slashed, and most of thecurly beard fell to the floor.
Still gripping his captive's throat--for a man can scream incoherentlyeven with his tongue slit--Conan dragged him out of the dark chamber anddown the cypress-shadowed