Shadows in the Moonlight
At last a Shemite spoke up above the clamor: 'Why do you argue over a
dead man?'
'He's not dead,' answered the Corinthian, rising from beside the
prostrate Cimmerian. 'It was a glancing blow; he's only stunned.'
At that the clamor rose anew, Aratus trying to get at the senseless man
and Ivanos finally bestriding him, sword in hand, and defying all and
sundry. Olivia sensed that it was not so much in defense of Conan that
the Corinthian took his stand, but in opposition to Aratus. Evidently
these men had been Sergius's lieutenants, and there was no love lost
between them. After more arguments, it was decided to bind Conan and
take him along with them, his fate to be voted on later.
The Cimmerian, who was beginning to regain consciousness, was bound with
leather girdles, and then four pirates lifted him, and with many
complaints and curses, carried him along with the band, which took up
its journey across the plateau once more. The body of Sergius was left
where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed
sward.
Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was
incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with
horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away.
How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the
pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them
swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps
of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them
came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western
rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into
the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing
material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the
distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods,
echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing
casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins,
cursing lustily under their burdens.
Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain
was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized
how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There
intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make
the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it
came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they
were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had
never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless
there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had shielded her,
protected her, and--so far--demanded nothing in return. Laying her head
in her rounded arms she wept, until distant shouts of ribald revelry
roused her to her own danger.
She glanced from the dark ruins about which the fantastic figures, small
in the distance, weaved and staggered, to the dusky depths of the green
forest. Even if her terrors in the ruins the night before had been only
dreams, the menace that lurked in those green leafy depths below was no
figment of nightmare. Were Conan slain or carried away captive, her only
choice would lie between giving herself up to the human wolves of the
sea, or remaining alone on that devil-haunted island.
As the full horror of her situation swept over her, she fell forward in
a swoon.
3
The sun was hanging low when Olivia regained her senses. A faint wind
wafted to her ears distant shouts and snatches of ribald song. Rising
cautiously, she looked out across the plateau. She saw the pirates
clustered about a great fire outside the ruins, and her heart leaped as
a group emerged from the interior dragging some object she knew was
Conan. They propped him against the wall, still evidently bound fast,
and there ensued a long discussion, with much brandishing of weapons. At
last they dragged him back into the hall, and took up anew the business
of ale-guzzling. Olivia sighed; at least she knew that the Cimmerian
still lived. Fresh determination steeled her. As soon as night fell, she
would steal to those grim ruins and free him or be taken herself in the
attempt. And she knew it was not selfish interest alone which prompted
her decision.
With this in mind she ventured to creep from her refuge to pluck and eat
nuts which grew sparsely near at hand. She had not eaten since the day
before. It was while so occupied that she was troubled by a sensation of
being watched. She scanned the rocks nervously, then, with a shuddering
suspicion, crept to the north edge of the cliff and gazed down into the
waving green mass below, already dusky with the sunset. She saw nothing;
it was impossible that she could be seen, when not on the cliff's edge,
by anything lurking in those woods. Yet she distinctly felt the glare of
hidden eyes, and felt that _something_ animate and sentient was aware of
her presence and her hiding-place.
Stealing back to her rocky eyrie, she lay watching the distant ruins
until the dusk of night masked them, and she marked their position by
the flickering flames about which black figures leaped and cavorted
groggily.
Then she rose. It was time to make her attempt. But first she stole back
to the northern edge of the cliffs, and looked down into the woods that
bordered the beach. And as she strained her eyes in the dim starlight,
she stiffened, and an icy hand touched her heart.
Far below her something moved. It was as if a black shadow detached
itself from the gulf of shadows below her. It moved slowly up the sheer
face of the cliff--a vague bulk, shapeless in the semi-darkness. Panic
caught Olivia by the throat, and she struggled with the scream that
tugged at her lips. Turning, she fled down the southern slope.
That flight down the shadowed cliffs was a nightmare in which she slid
and scrambled, catching at jagged rocks with cold fingers. As she tore
her tender skin and bruised her soft limbs on the rugged boulders over
which Conan had so lightly lifted her, she realized again her dependence
on the iron-thewed barbarian. But this thought was but one in a
fluttering maelstrom of dizzy fright.
The descent seemed endless, but at last her feet struck the grassy
levels, and in a very frenzy of eagerness she sped away toward the fire
that burned like the red heart of night. Behind her, as she fled, she
heard a shower of stones rattle down the steep slope, and the sound lent
wings to her heels. What grisly climber dislodged those stones she dared
not try to think.
Strenuous physical action dissipated her blind terror somewhat and
before she had reached the ruin, her mind was clear, her reasoning
faculties alert, though her limbs trembled from her efforts.
She dropped to the sward and wriggled along on her belly until, from
behind a small tree that had escaped the axes of the pirates, she
watched her enemies. They had completed their supper, but were still
drinking, dipping pewter mugs or jewelled goblets into the broken heads
of the wine-casks. Some were already snoring drunkenly on the grass,
while others had staggered into the ruins. Of Conan she saw nothing. She
lay there, while the dew formed on the grass about her and the leaves
overhead, and the men about the fire cursed, gambled and argued. There
were only a few about the fire; most of them had gone into the ruins to
sleep.
She lay watching them, her nerves taut with the strain of waiting, the
flesh crawling between her shoulders at the thought of what might be
watching her in turn--of what might be stealing up behind her. Time
dragged on leaden feet. One by one the revellers sank down in drunken
slumber, until all were stretched senseless beside the dying fire.
Olivia hesitated--then was galvanized by a distant glow rising through
the trees. The moon was rising!
With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as
she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping
portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their
besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of
joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake,
bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of
the waning fire outside.
Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she
had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the
portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips.
She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating
of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall
stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with
subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped.
The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its
senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail
cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled
desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor
toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars.
Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and
legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along
the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful
patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and
groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the
black feet. The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger
from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash.
He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring
the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking
like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of
the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the
shadows?
Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword
from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia
lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the
ivy-grown wall.
No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly
across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean
closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive
shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her.
In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and
Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of
the cliffs.
'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling
behind me as I came down.'
'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted.
'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed.
'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered.
'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never
heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos
refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and
spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either
way--'
He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick
gesture he tossed the girl lightly to one side and behind him. Rising to
her knees on the soft sward, she screamed at what she saw.
Out of the shadows of the cliffs moved a monstrous shambling bulk--an
anthropomorphic horror, a grotesque travesty of creation.
In general outline it was not unlike a man. But its face, limned in the
bright moonlight, was bestial, with close-set ears, flaring nostrils,
and a great flabby-lipped mouth in which gleamed white tusk-like fangs.
It was covered with shaggy grayish hair, shot with silver which shone in