Part 48 (1/2)

Reaching the spot he sought, Conan halted, gripping the wall with his free hand. Inside the building rose a sudden clamor, showing that the body had at last been discovered. His captive whimpered and twisted, renewing her importunities. Conan glanced down into the muck and slime of the alleys below; he listened briefly to the clamor inside and the pleas of the wench; then he dropped her with great accuracy into a cesspool. He enjoyed her kickings and flounderings and the concentrated venom of her profanity for a few seconds, and even allowed himself a low rumble of laughter. Then he lifted his head, listened to the growing tumult within the building, and decided it was time for him to kill Nabonidus.

It was a reverberating clang of metal that roused Murilo. He groaned and struggled dazedly to a sitting posture. About him all was silence and darkness, and for an instant he was sickened with the fear that he was blind. Then he remembered what had gone before, and his flesh crawled.

By the sense of touch he found that he was lying on a floor of evenly joined stone slabs.

Further groping discovered a wall of the same material. He rose and leaned against it, trying in vain to orient himself. That he was in some sort of a prison seemed certain, but where and how long he was unable to guess. He remembered dimly a clas.h.i.+ng noise, and wondered if it had been the iron door of his dungeon closing on him, or if it betokened the entrance of an executioner.

At this thought he shuddered profoundly and began to feel his way along the wall.

268.

Momentarily he expected to encounter the limits of his prison, but after awhile he came to the conclusion that he was travelling down a corridor. He kept to the wall, fearful of pits or other traps, and was presently aware of something near him in the blackness. He could see nothing, but either his ears had caught a stealthy sound, or some subconscious sense warned him. He stopped short, his hair standing on end; as surely as he lived, he felt the presence of some living creature crouching in the darkness in front of him.

He thought his heart would stop when a voice hissed in a barbaric accent: ”Murilo! Is it you?”

”Conan!” Limp from the reaction, the young n.o.bleman groped in the darkness and his hands encountered a pair of great naked shoulders.

”A good thing I recognized you,” grunted the barbarian. ”I was about to stick you like a

fattened pig.

”Where are we, in Mitra's name?

”In the pits under the Red Priest's house; but why ”.

”What is the time?

”Not long after midnight.

Murilo shook his head, trying to a.s.semble his scattered wits.

”What are you doing here?” demanded the Cimmerian.

”I came to kill Nabonidus. I heard they had changed the guard at your prison ”.

”They did,” growled Conan. ”I broke the new jailer's head and walked out. I would have beenhere hours agone, but I had some personal business to attend to. Well, shall we hunt forNabonidus?

Murilo shuddered. ”Conan, we are in the house of the archfiend! I came seeking a human enemy; I found a hairy devil out of h.e.l.l!

”.Conan grunted uncertainly; fearless as a wounded tiger as far as human foes were concerned,he had all the superst.i.tious dreads of the primitive.

”I gained access to the house,” whispered Murilo, as if the darkness were full of listening ears.

”In the outer gardens I found Nabonidus' dog mauled to death. Within the house I came upon269.

Joka, the servant. His neck had been broken. Then I saw Nabonidus himself seated in his chair, clad in his accustomed garb. At first I thought he too was dead. I stole up to stab him. He rose and faced me. G.o.ds!” The memory of that horror struck the young n.o.bleman momentarily speechless as he re-lived that awful instant.

”Conan,” he whispered, ”it was no man that stood before me! In body and posture it was not unlike a man, but from the scarlet hood of the priest grinned a face of madness and nightmare!

It was covered with black hair, from which small pig-like eyes glared redly; its nose was flat, with great flaring nostrils; its loose lips writhed back, disclosing huge yellow fangs, like the teeth of a dog. The hands that hung from the scarlet sleeves were misshapen and likewise covered with black hair. All this I saw in one glance, and then I was overcome with horror; my senses left me and I swooned.”

”What then?” muttered the Cimmerian uneasily.

”I recovered consciousness only a short time ago; the monster must have thrown me into these pits. Conan, I have suspected that Nabonidus was not wholly human! He is a demon a were- thing! By day he moves among humanity in the guise of men, and by night he takes on his true aspect.”

”That's evident,” answered Conan. ”Every one knows there are men who take the form of wolves at will. But why did he kill his servants?”