Part 34 (1/2)

”Fool,” she began, and her green eyes started with horror as her slim fingers rose to the golden pin that held her scarlet cloak and undid it. The cloak slid from her shoulders to the floor. ”I am the Red Hawk,” she said. It was little more than a whisper, but her voice rose to a scream. ”I am the Red Hawk!”

She could not stop watching with bulging eyes as her hands removed the golden breastplates from her heavy round b.r.e.a.s.t.s and casually dropped them, unfastened the emerald girdle that rode low on her flaring hips.

”Enough,” Amanar said. ”Leave the boots. I like the picture they present.” She wanted to weep as her hands returned quiescent to her sides. ”Beyond these walls,” the black-robed man went on, ”you are the Red Hawk. Inside them, you are... whatever I want you to be. I think from now on I will keep you thus when you are with me, aware of what is happening. Your fear is like the rarest of wines.”

”Think you I'll return once I am free?” she spat. ”Let me get a sword in my hand and my hounds about me, and I will tear this keep down about your head.”

His laughter sent s.h.i.+vers along her bones. ”When you leave these walls, you will remember what I tell you to remember. You will go believing that we conferred, on this matter or that. But when once again within this donjon, you will remember the true nature of things. The Red Hawk will grovel at my feet and crawl to serve my pleasure. You will hate it, but you will obey.”

”I'll die first!” she shouted defiantly.

”That will not be permitted,” he smiled coldly. ”Now be silent.” The words she was about to speak froze on her tongue. Amanar produced a knife with a gilded blade from beneath his robe and tested its edge with his thumb. ”You will watch what occurs here. I do not think Susa will mind.” The girl on the altar moaned. The sorcerer's red-flecked black eyes suddenly held Karela's gaze as a viper holds the gaze of a bird. She could feel those eyes reaching into the very depths of her.

”You will watch,” Amanar said softly, ”and you will begin to learn the true meaning of fear.” He turned back to the altar; his chant rose, cutting into her mind like a knife. Flaming mists began to form.

Karela's green eyes bulged as if they would start from her head. She would not scream, she told herself. Even if she had a voice she would not scream. But her flanks and the rounded slopes of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were of a sudden slick with sweat, and in her mind there was gibbering terror.

Chapter XXVII.

”Conan!” Haranides shouted. ”Conan!” The three men still lay chained to the walls of the cell beneath Amanar's keep.

Conan opened one eye, where he lay curled as comfortably as he could manage on the stone. ”I'm sleeping,” he said, and closed it again.

The Cimmerian estimated that a full day and more had pa.s.sed since Karela had come to their cell, though there had been no food and but three pannikins of stale water brought to their cell.

”Sleeping,” Haranides grumbled. ”When do we hear of this escape plan of yours?”

”The Red Hawk,” Hordo said hopefully. ”When she sets me free, I'll get the rest of you out. Even you, Zamoran.”

Conan sat up, stretching until his shoulder joints cracked. ”If she were coming, Hordo,” he said. ”she'd have been here long since.”

”She may yet come,” the one-eyed man muttered. ”Mayhap she took my advice and rode away.”

Conan said nothing. His best hope for Karela was that she had accepted Amanar's word for Hordo's crimes and was even then in the bandit camp, surrounded by the men she called her hounds.

”In any case,” Haranides said, ”we cannot put our hopes on her. Even if she gets you free, bearded one, you heard her say she'd do nothing for the Cimmerian and myself. I think me she is a woman of her word.”

”Wait,” Conan said. ”The t.i.the will come.”

A key rattled in the lock.

”'Tis Ort who's come,” Haranides growled. ”With his irons, no doubt.”

”Ort?” Hordo said. ”Who is-”

The heavy, iron-strapped cell door slammed open, and the fat jailor stood in the opening. Behind him was a brazier full of glowing coals, and from the coals projected the wooden handles of irons, their metal ends already as bright red as the coals they nestled among.

”Who's to be first?” Ort giggled.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed an iron from the fire and waved its fiery tip at them.