Red Nails
manner that the leather band did not protect his scalp from the spikes.
This harness was connected by a slender chain to the mechanism that
upheld a huge iron ball which was suspended above the captive's hairy
breast. As long as the man could force himself to remain motionless the
iron ball hung in its place. But when the pain of the iron points caused
him to lift his head, the ball lurched downward a few inches. Presently
his aching neck muscles would no longer support his head in its
unnatural position and it would fall back on the spikes again. It was
obvious that eventually the ball would crush him to a pulp, slowly and
inexorably. The victim was gagged, and above the gag his great black
ox-eyes rolled wildly toward the man in the doorway, who stood in silent
amazement. The man on the rack was Olmec, prince of Tecuhltli.
_6. The Eyes of Tascela_
"Why did you bring me into this chamber to bandage my legs?" demanded
Valeria. "Couldn't you have done it just as well in the throne room?"
She sat on a couch with her wounded leg extended upon it, and the
Tecuhltli woman had just bound it with silk bandages. Valeria's
red-stained sword lay on the couch beside her.
She frowned as she spoke. The woman had done her task silently and
efficiently, but Valeria liked neither the lingering, caressing touch of
her slim fingers nor the expression in her eyes.
"They have taken the rest of the wounded into the other chambers,"
answered the woman in the soft speech of the Tecuhltli women, which
somehow did not suggest either softness or gentleness in the speakers. A
little while before, Valeria had seen this same woman stab a Xotalanca
woman through the breast and stamp the eyeballs out of a wounded
Xotalanca man.
"They will be carrying the corpses of the dead down into the catacombs,"
she added, "lest the ghosts escape into the chambers and dwell there."
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Valeria.
"I know the ghost of Tolkemec dwells in the catacombs," she answered
with a shiver. "Once I saw it, as I crouched in a crypt among the bones
of a dead queen. It passed by in the form of an ancient man with flowing
white beard and locks, and luminous eyes that blazed in the darkness. It
was Tolkemec; I saw him living when I was a child and he was being
tortured."
Her voice sank to a fearful whisper: "Olmec laughs, but I _know_
Tolkemec's ghost dwells in the catacombs! They say it is rats which gnaw
the flesh from the bones of the newly dead--but ghosts eat flesh. Who
knows but that----"
She glanced up quickly as a shadow fell across the couch. Valeria looked
up to see Olmec gazing down at her. The prince had cleansed his hands,
torso and beard of the blood that had splashed them; but he had not
donned his robe, and his great dark-skinned hairless body and limbs
renewed the impression of strength bestial in its nature. His deep black
eyes burned with a more elemental light, and there was the suggestion of
a twitching in the fingers that tugged at his thick blue-black beard.
He stared fixedly at the woman, and she rose and glided from the
chamber. As she passed through the door she cast a look over her
shoulder at Valeria, a glance full of cynical derision and obscene
mockery.
"She has done a clumsy job," criticized the prince, coming to the divan
and bending over the bandage. "Let me see----"
With a quickness amazing in one of his bulk he snatched her sword and
threw it across the chamber. His next move was to catch her in his giant
arms.
Quick and unexpected as the move was, she almost matched it; for even as
he grabbed her, her dirk was in her hand and she stabbed murderously at
his throat. More by luck than skill he caught her wrist, and then began
a savage wrestling-match. She fought him with fists, feet, knees, teeth
and nails, with all the strength of her magnificent body and all the
knowledge of hand-to-hand fighting she had acquired in her years of
roving and fighting on sea and land. It availed her nothing against his
brute strength. She lost her dirk in the first moment of contact, and
thereafter found herself powerless to inflict any appreciable pain on
her giant attacker.
The blaze in his weird black eyes did not alter, and their expression
filled her with fury, fanned by the sardonic smile that seemed carved
upon his bearded lips. Those eyes and that smile contained all the cruel
cynicism that seethes below the surface of a sophisticated and
degenerate race, and for the first time in her life Valeria experienced
fear of a man. It was like struggling against some huge elemental force;
his iron arms thwarted her efforts with an ease that sent panic racing
through her limbs. He seemed impervious to any pain she could inflict.
Only once, when she sank her white teeth savagely into his wrist so that
the blood started, did he react. And that was to buffet her brutally
upon the side of the head with his open hand, so that stars flashed
before her eyes and her head rolled on her shoulders.
Her shirt had been torn open in the struggle, and with cynical cruelty
he rasped his thick beard across her bare breasts, bringing the blood to
suffuse the fair skin, and fetching a cry of pain and outraged fury from
her. Her convulsive resistance was useless; she was crushed down on a
couch, disarmed and panting, her eyes blazing up at him like the eyes of
a trapped tigress.
A moment later he was hurrying from the chamber, carrying her in his
arms. She made no resistance, but the smoldering of her eyes showed that
she was unconquered in spirit, at least. She had not cried out. She knew
that Conan was not within call, and it did not occur to her that any in
Tecuhltli would oppose their prince. But she noticed that Olmec went
stealthily, with his head on one side as if listening for sounds of
pursuit, and he did not return to the throne chamber. He carried her
through a door that stood opposite that through which he had entered,
crossed another room and began stealing down a hall. As she became
convinced that he feared some opposition to the abduction, she threw
back her head and screamed at the top of her lusty voice.
She was rewarded by a slap that half stunned her, and Olmec quickened
his pace to a shambling run.
But her cry had been echoed, and twisting her head about, Valeria,
through the tears and stars that partly blinded her, saw Techotl limping
after them.
Olmec turned with a snarl, shifting the woman to an uncomfortable and
certainly undignified position under one huge arm, where he held her
writhing and kicking vainly, like a child.
"Olmec!" protested Techotl. "You cannot be such a dog as to do this
thing! She is Conan's woman! She helped us slay the Xotalancas, and----"
* * * * *
Without a word Olmec balled his free hand into a huge fist and stretched
the wounded warrior senseless at his feet. Stooping, and hindered not at
all by the struggles and imprecations of his captive, he drew Techotl's
sword from its sheath and stabbed the warrior in the breast. Then
casting aside the weapon he fled on along the corridor. He did not see a
woman's dark face peer cautiously after him from behind a hanging. It
vanished, and presently Techotl groaned and stirred, rose dazedly and
staggered drunkenly away, calling Conan's name.
Olmec hurried on down the corridor, and descended a winding ivory
staircase. He crossed several corridors and halted at last in a broad
chamber whose doors were veiled with heavy tapestries, with one
exception--a heavy bronze door similar to the Door of the Eagle on the
upper floor.
He was moved to rumble, pointing to it: "That is one of the outer doors
of Tecuhltli. For the first time in fifty years it is unguarded. We need
not guard it now, for Xotalanc is no more."
"Thanks to Conan and me, you bloody rogue!" sneered Valeria, trembling
with fury and the shame of physical coercion. "You treacherous dog!
Conan will cut your throat for this!"
Olmec did not bother to voice his belief that Conan's own gullet had
already been severed according to his whispered command. He was too
utterly cynical to be at all interested in her thoughts or opinions. His
flame-lit eyes devoured her, dwelling burningly on the generous expanses
of clear white flesh exposed where her shirt and breeches had been torn
in the struggle.
"Forget Conan," he said thickly. "Olmec is lord of Xuchotl. Xotalanc is
no more. There will be no more fighting. We shall spend our lives in
drinking and love-making. First let us drink!"
He seated himself on an ivory table and pulled her down on his knees,
like a dark-skinned satyr with a white nymph in his arms. Ignoring her
un-nymphlike profanity, he held her helpless with one great arm about
her waist while the other reached across the table and secured a vessel
of wine.
"Drink!" he commanded, forcing it to her lips, as she writhed her head
away.
The liquor slopped over, stinging her lips, splashing down on her naked
breasts.
"Your guest does not like your wine, Olmec," spoke a cool, sardonic
voice.
Olmec stiffened; fear grew in his flaming eyes. Slowly he swung his
great head about and stared at Tascela who posed negligently in the
curtained doorway, one hand on her smooth hip. Valeria twisted herself
about in his iron grip, and when she met the burning eyes of Tascela, a
chill tingled along her supple spine. New experiences were flooding
Valeria's proud soul that night. Recently she had learned to fear a man;
now she knew what it was to fear a woman.
Olmec sat motionless, a gray pallor growing under his swarthy skin.
Tascela brought her other hand from behind her and displayed a small
gold vessel.
"I feared she would not like your wine, Olmec," purred the princess, "so
I brought some of mine, some I brought with me long ago from the shores
of Lake Zuad--do you understand, Olmec?"
Beads of sweat stood out suddenly on Olmec's brow. His muscles relaxed,
and Valeria broke away and put the table between them. But though reason
told her to dart from the room, some fascination she could not
understand held her rigid, watching the scene.
Tascela came toward the seated prince with a swaying, undulating walk
that was mockery in itself. Her voice was soft, slurringly caressing,
but her eyes gleamed. Her slim fingers stroked his beard lightly.
"You are selfish, Olmec," she crooned, smiling. "You would keep our
handsome guest to yourself, though you knew I wished to entertain her.
You are much at fault, Olmec!"
The mask dropped for an instant; her eyes flashed, her face was
contorted and with an appalling show of strength her hand locked
convulsively in his beard and tore out a great handful. This evidence of
unnatural strength was no more terrifying than the momentary baring of
the hellish fury that raged under her bland exterior.
Olmec lurched up with a roar, and stood swaying like a bear, his mighty
hands clenching and unclenching.
"Slut!" His booming voice filled the room. "Witch! She-devil! Tecuhltli
should have slain you fifty years ago! Begone! I have endured too much
from you! This white-skinned wench is mine! Get hence before I slay
you!"
The princess laughed and dashed the blood-stained strands into his face.
Her laughter was less merciful than the ring of flint on steel.
"Once you spoke otherwise, Olmec," she taunted. "Once, in your youth,
you spoke words of love. Aye, you were my lover once, years ago, and
because you loved me, you slept in my arms beneath the enchanted
lotus--and thereby put into my hands the chains that enslaved you. You
know you cannot withstand me. You know I have but to gaze into your
eyes, with the mystic power a priest of Stygia taught me, long ago, and
you are powerless. You remember the night beneath the black lotus that