Part 6 (1/2)
”Easy, girl,” he grunted. ”You're all right How did they catch you?”
She sobbed something unintelligible. He forgot all about Aram Baksh as he scrutinized her by the light of the stars. She was white, though a very definite brunette, obviously one of Zamboula's many mixed breeds.
She was tall, with a slender, supple form, as he was in a good position to observe. Admiration burned in his fierce eyes as he looked down on her splendid bosom and her lithe limbs, which still quivered from fright and exertion. He pa.s.sed an arm around her flexible waist and said, rea.s.suringly: ”Stop shaking, wench; you're safe enough.”
His touch seemed to restore her shaken sanity. She tossed back her thick, glossy locks and cast a fearful glance over her shoulder, while she pressed closer to the Cimmerian as if seeking security in the contact.
”They caught me in the streets,” she muttered, shuddering. ”Lying in wait, beneath a dark arch-black men, like great, hulking apes! Set have mercy on me! I shall dream of it!”
”What were you doing out on the streets this time of night?” he inquired, fascinated by the satiny feel of her sleek skin under his questing fingers.
She raked back her hair and stared blankly up into his face. She did not seem aware of his caresses.
”My lover” she said. ”My lover drove me into the streets. He went mad and tried to kill me. As I fled from him I was seized by those beasts.”
”Beauty like yours might drive a man mad,” quoth Conan, running his fingers experimentally through her glossy tresses.
She shook her head, like one emerging from a daze. She no longer trembled, and her voice was steady.
”It was the spite of a priest-of Totrasmek, the high priest of Hanuman, who desires me for himself-the dog!”
”No need to curse him for that,” grinned Conan. ”The old hyena has better taste than I thought.”
She ignored the bluff compliment. She was regaining her poise swiftly.
”My lover is a-a young Turanian soldier. To spite me, Totrasmek gave him a drug that drove him mad. Tonight he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a sword and came at 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 the nearest hut, beneath the straggling palms. They stood in tense stillness, while the low mutterings both had heard grew louder until voices were distinguishable. A group of Negroes, some nine or ten, were coming along the road from the direction of the city. The girl clutched Conan's arm and he felt the terrified quivering of her supple body against his.
Now they could understand the gutturals of the black men.
”Our brothers are already a.s.sembled at the pit,” said one. ”We have had no luck. I hope they have enough for us.”
”Aram promised us a man,” muttered another, and Conan mentally promised Aram something.
”Aram keeps his word,” grunted yet another. ”Many a man we have taken from his tavern. But we pay him well. I myself have given him ten bales of silk I stole from my master. It was good silk, by Set!”
The blacks shuffled past, bare splay feet scuffing up the dust, and their 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. ”My lover is wandering somewhere in the streets alone. The Negroes may take him.”
”A devil of a custom this is!” growled Conan, as he led the way toward the city, paralleling the road but keeping behind the huts and straggling trees. ”Why don't the citizens clean out these black dogs?”
”They are valuable slaves,” murmured the girl. ”There are so many of them they might revolt if they were denied the flesh for which they l.u.s.t The people of Zamboula know they skulk the streets at night, and all are careful to remain within locked doors, except when something unforeseen happens, as it did to me. The blacks prey on anything they catch, but they seldom catch anybody but strangers. The people of Zamboula are not concerned with the strangers that pa.s.s through the city.
”Such men as Aram Baksh sell these strangers to the blacks. He would not dare attempt such a thing with a citizen.”