Part 23 (2/2)

There was a small water pouch hanging from his saddle bow. They had no food, and his sword was in the chamber of the Red Tower. Without food and unarmed, they faced the desert; but its peril seemed less grim than the horror of the city behind them.

Without speaking, they rode. Amalric headed south; somewhere in that direction was a water hole. Just at dawn, as they mounted a crest of sand, he looked back toward Gazal, unreal in the pink light. He stiffened, and Lissa cried out. Out of a breach in the wall rode seven hors.e.m.e.n. Their steeds were black, and the riders were cloaked in black from head to foot. There had been no horses in Gazal. Horror swept over Amalric and, turning, he urged their mounts on.

The sun rose red, and then gold, and then a ball of white beaten flame.

On and on the fugitives pressed, reeling with heat and fatigue, blinded by the glare. From time to time, they moistened their lips with water.

And behind them, at an even pace, rode seven black dots.

Evening began to fall, and the sun reddened and lurched toward the desert's rim. A cold hand clutched Amalric's heart. The riders were closing in.

As darkness came on, so came the black riders. Amalric glanced at Lissa, and a groan burst from him. His stallion stumbled and fell. The sun had gone down; the moon was suddenly blotted out by a bat-shaped shadow. In the utter darkness, the stars glowed red, and behind him Amalric heard a rising rush, as of an approaching wind. A black, speeding clump bulked against the night; in which glinted sparks of awful light.

”Ride, girl!” he cried despairingly. ”Go on-save yourself; it is I they want!”

For answer, she slid down from the camel and threw her arms about him.

”I will die with you!”

Seven black shapes loomed against the stars, racing like the wind.

Under the hoods shone b.a.l.l.s of evil fire; fleshless jawbones seemed to clack together.

Then there was an interruption; a horse swept past Amalric, a vague bulk in the unnatural darkness. There was the sound of an impact as the unknown steed caromed among the oncoming shapes. A horse screamed frenziedly, and a bull-like voice bellowed in a strange tongue. From somewhere in the night, a clamor of yells replied.

Some sort of violent action was taking place. Horses' hoofs stamped and clattered; there was the impact of savage blows; and the same stentorian voice cursed l.u.s.tily. Thai the moon came abruptly out and lit a fantastic scene.

A man on a giant horse whirled, slashed, and smote, apparently at thin air. From another direction swept a wild horde of riders, their curved swords flas.h.i.+ng in the moonlight Away over the crest of a rise, seven black figures were vanis.h.i.+ng, their cloaks floating out like the wings of bats.

Amalric was swamped by wild men, who leaped from their horses and swarmed around him. Sinewy arms pinioned him; fierce brown hawklike faces snarled at him. Lissa screamed.

Then the attackers were thrust right and left as the man on the great horse reined through the crowd. He bent from his saddle and glared closely at Amalric.

”The devil!” he roared. ”Amalric the Aquilonian!”

”Conan!” Amalric exclaimed in bewilderment ”Conan! Alive!”

”More alive than you seem to be,” answered the other. ”By Crom, man, you look as if all the devils of this desert had been hunting you through the night. What things were those pursuing you? I was riding around the camp my men had pitched, to make sure no enemies were in hiding, when the moon went out like a candle, and then I heard sounds of flight. I rode toward the sounds; and by Macha, I was among those devils before I knew what was happening. I had my sword in my hand and I laid about me-by Crom, their eyes blazed like fire in the dark! I know my edge bit them; but, when the moon came out, they were gone like a puff of wind. Were they men or devils?”

”Fiends sent up from h.e.l.l,” shuddered Amalric ”Ask me not; some things are not to be discussed.”

Conan did not press the matter; nor did he look incredulous. His beliefs included night fiends, ghosts, hobgoblins, and dwarfs.

”Trust you to find a woman, even in a desert,” he said, glancing at Lissa. The girl had crept to Amalric and was clinging close to him, glancing fearfully at the wild figures that hemmed them in.

”Wind” roared Conan. ”Bring flasks! Here!” He seized a leather flask from those thrust out at him and placed it in Amalric's hand. ”Give the girl a swig and drink some yourself,” he advised. ”Then we'll put you on horses and take you to the camp. You need food, rest, and sleep. I can see that.”

A richly caparisoned horse was brought, rearing and prancing, and willing hands helped Amalric into the saddle. The girl was handed up to him, and they moved off southward, surrounded by the wiry brown riders in their picturesque tatters. Many wore face cloths, which concealed their faces below the eyes.

”Who is he?” whispered Lissa, her arms about her lover's neck. He was holding her on the saddle in front of him.

”Conan the Cimmerian!” muttered Amalric. The man I wandered with in the desert after the defeat of the mercenaries. These are the men who struck him down. I left him lying under their spears, apparently dead.

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