Red Nails
waved above us, stirred by no worldly breeze; you scent again the
unearthly perfumes that stole and rose like a cloud about you to enslave
you. You cannot fight against me. You are my slave as you were that
night--as you shall be so long as you shall live, Olmec of Xuchotl!"
* * * * *
Her voice had sunk to a murmur like the rippling of a stream running
through starlit darkness. She leaned close to the prince and spread her
long tapering fingers upon his giant breast. His eyes glazed, his great
hands fell limply to his sides.
With a smile of cruel malice, Tascela lifted the vessel and placed it to
his lips.
"Drink!"
Mechanically the prince obeyed. And instantly the glaze passed from his
eyes and they were flooded with fury, comprehension and an awful fear.
His mouth gaped, but no sound issued. For an instant he reeled on
buckling knees, and then fell in a sodden heap on the floor.
His fall jolted Valeria out of her paralysis. She turned and sprang
toward the door, but with a movement that would have shamed a leaping
panther, Tascela was before her. Valeria struck at her with her clenched
fist, and all the power of her supple body behind the blow. It would
have stretched a man senseless on the floor. But with a lithe twist of
her torso, Tascela avoided the blow and caught the pirate's wrist. The
next instant Valeria's left hand was imprisoned, and holding her wrists
together with one hand, Tascela calmly bound them with a cord she drew
from her girdle. Valeria thought she had tasted the ultimate in
humiliation already that night, but her shame at being manhandled by
Olmec was nothing to the sensations that now shook her supple frame.
Valeria had always been inclined to despise the other members of her
sex; and it was overwhelming to encounter another woman who could handle
her like a child. She scarcely resisted at all when Tascela forced her
into a chair and drawing her bound wrists down between her knees,
fastened them to the chair.
Casually stepping over Olmec, Tascela walked to the bronze door and shot
the bolt and threw it open, revealing a hallway without.
"Opening upon this hall," she remarked, speaking to her feminine captive
for the first time, "there is a chamber which in old times was used as a
torture room. When we retired into Tecuhltli, we brought most of the
apparatus with us, but there was one piece too heavy to move. It is
still in working order. I think it will be quite convenient now."
An understanding flame of terror rose in Olmec's eyes. Tascela strode
back to him, bent and gripped him by the hair.
"He is only paralyzed temporarily," she remarked conversationally. "He
can hear, think, and feel--aye, he can feel very well indeed!"
With which sinister observation she started toward the door, dragging
the giant bulk with an ease that made the pirate's eyes dilate. She
passed into the hall and moved down it without hesitation, presently
disappearing with her captive into a chamber that opened into it, and
whence shortly thereafter issued the clank of iron.
Valeria swore softly and tugged vainly, with her legs braced against the
chair. The cords that confined her were apparently unbreakable.
Tascela presently returned alone; behind her a muffled groaning issued
from the chamber. She closed the door but did not bolt it. Tascela was
beyond the grip of habit, as she was beyond the touch of other human
instincts and emotions.
Valeria sat dumbly, watching the woman in whose slim hands, the pirate
realized, her destiny now rested.
Tascela grasped her yellow locks and forced back her head, looking
impersonally down into her face. But the glitter in her dark eyes was
not impersonal.
"I have chosen you for a great honor," she said. "You shall restore the
youth of Tascela. Oh, you stare at that! My appearance is that of youth,
but through my veins creeps the sluggish chill of approaching age, as I
have felt it a thousand times before. I am old, so old I do not remember
my childhood. But I was a girl once, and a priest of Stygia loved me,
and gave me the secret of immortality and youth everlasting. He died,
then--some said by poison. But I dwelt in my palace by the shores of
Lake Zuad and the passing years touched me not. So at last a king of
Stygia desired me, and my people rebelled and brought me to this land.
Olmec called me a princess. I am not of royal blood. I am greater than a
princess. I am Tascela, whose youth your own glorious youth shall
restore."
Valeria's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She sensed here a
mystery darker than the degeneracy she had anticipated.
The taller woman unbound the Aquilonian's wrists and pulled her to her
feet. It was not fear of the dominant strength that lurked in the
princess' limbs that made Valeria a helpless, quivering captive in her
hands. It was the burning, hypnotic, terrible eyes of Tascela.
_7. He Comes from the Dark_
"Well, I'm a Kushite!"
Conan glared down at the man on the iron rack.
"What the devil are _you_ doing on that thing?"
Incoherent sounds issued from behind the gag and Conan bent and tore it
away, evoking a bellow of fear from the captive; for his action caused
the iron ball to lurch down until it nearly touched the broad breast.
"Be careful, for Set's sake!" begged Olmec.
"What for?" demanded Conan. "Do you think I care what happens to you? I
only wish I had time to stay here and watch that chunk of iron grind
your guts out. But I'm in a hurry. Where's Valeria?"
"Loose me!" urged Olmec, "I will tell you all!"
"Tell me first."
"Never!" The prince's heavy jaws set stubbornly.
"All right." Conan seated himself on a near-by bench. "I'll find her
myself, after you've been reduced to a jelly. I believe I can speed up
that process by twisting my sword-point around in your ear," he added,
extending the weapon experimentally.
"Wait!" Words came in a rush from the captive's ashy lips. "Tascela took
her from me. I've never been anything but a puppet in Tascela's hands."
"Tascela?" snorted Conan, and spat. "Why, the filthy----"
"No, no!" panted Olmec. "It's worse than you think. Tascela is
old--centuries old. She renews her life and her youth by the sacrifice
of beautiful young women. That's one thing that has reduced the clan to
its present state. She will draw the essence of Valeria's life into her
own body, and bloom with fresh vigor and beauty."
"Are the doors locked?" asked Conan, thumbing his sword edge.
"Aye! But I know a way to get into Tecuhltli. Only Tascela and I know,
and she thinks me helpless and you slain. Free me and I swear I will
help you rescue Valeria. Without my help you cannot win into Tecuhltli;
for even if you tortured me into revealing the secret, you couldn't work
it. Let me go, and we will steal on Tascela and kill her before she can
work magic--before she can fix her eyes on us. A knife thrown from
behind will do the work. I should have killed her thus long ago, but I
feared that without her to aid us the Xotalancas would overcome us. She
needed my help, too; that's the only reason she let me live this long.
Now neither needs the other, and one must die. I swear that when we have
slain the witch, you and Valeria shall go free without harm. My people
will obey me when Tascela is dead."
Conan stooped and cut the ropes that held the prince, and Olmec slid
cautiously from under the great ball and rose, shaking his head like a
bull and muttering imprecations as he fingered his lacerated scalp.
Standing shoulder to shoulder the two men presented a formidable picture
of primitive power. Olmec was as tall as Conan, and heavier; but there
was something repellent about the Tlazitlan, something abysmal and
monstrous that contrasted unfavorably with the clean-cut, compact
hardness of the Cimmerian. Conan had discarded the remnants of his
tattered, blood-soaked shirt, and stood with his remarkable muscular
development impressively revealed. His great shoulders were as broad as
those of Olmec, and more cleanly outlined, and his huge breast arched
with a more impressive sweep to a hard waist that lacked the paunchy
thickness of Olmec's midsection. He might have been an image of primal
strength cut out of bronze. Olmec was darker, but not from the burning
of the sun. If Conan was a figure out of the dawn of Time, Olmec was a
shambling, somber shape from the darkness of Time's pre-dawn.
"Lead on," demanded Conan. "And keep ahead of me. I don't trust you any
farther than I can throw a bull by the tail."
Olmec turned and stalked on ahead of him, one hand twitching slightly as
it plucked at his matted beard.
* * * * *
Olmec did not lead Conan back to the bronze door, which the prince
naturally supposed Tascela had locked, but to a certain chamber on the
border of Tecuhltli.
"This secret has been guarded for half a century," he said. "Not even
our own clan knew of it, and the Xotalancas never learned. Tecuhltli
himself built this secret entrance, afterward slaying the slaves who did
the work; for he feared that he might find himself locked out of his own
kingdom some day because of the spite of Tascela, whose passion for him
soon changed to hate. But she discovered the secret, and barred the
hidden door against him one day as he fled back from an unsuccessful
raid, and the Xotalancas took him and flayed him. But once, spying upon
her, I saw her enter Tecuhltli by this route, and so learned the
secret."
He pressed upon a gold ornament in the wall, and a panel swung inward,
disclosing an ivory stair leading upward.
"This stair is built within the wall," said Olmec. "It leads up to a
tower upon the roof, and thence other stairs wind down to the various
chambers. Hasten!"
"After you, comrade!" retorted Conan satirically, swaying his
broadsword as he spoke, and Olmec shrugged his shoulders and stepped
onto the staircase. Conan instantly followed him, and the door shut
behind them. Far above a cluster of fire-jewels made the staircase a
well of dusky dragon-light.
They mounted until Conan estimated that they were above the level of the
fourth floor, and then came out into a cylindrical tower, in the domed
roof of which was set the bunch of fire-jewels that lighted the stair.
Through gold-barred windows, set with unbreakable crystal panes, the
first windows he had seen in Xuchotl, Conan got a glimpse of high
ridges, domes and more towers, looming darkly against the stars. He was
looking across the roofs of Xuchotl.
Olmec did not look through the windows. He hurried down one of the
several stairs that wound down from the tower, and when they had
descended a few feet, this stair changed into a narrow corridor that
wound tortuously on for some distance. It ceased at a steep flight of
steps leading downward. There Olmec paused.
Up from below, muffled, but unmistakable, welled a woman's scream, edged
with fright, fury and shame. And Conan recognized Valeria's voice.
In the swift rage roused by that cry, and the amazement of wondering
what peril could wring such a shriek from Valeria's reckless lips, Conan
forgot Olmec. He pushed past the prince and started down the stair.
Awakening instinct brought him about again, just as Olmec struck with
his great mallet-like fist. The blow, fierce and silent, was aimed at
the base of Conan's brain. But the Cimmerian wheeled in time to receive
the buffet on the side of his neck instead. The impact would have
snapped the vertebræ of a lesser man. As it was, Conan swayed backward,
but even as he reeled he dropped his sword, useless at such close
quarters, and grasped Olmec's extended arm, dragging the prince with him
as he fell. Headlong they went down the steps together, in a revolving