rh.conanthewarrior-第40章

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　　In　that　instant　of　horror　and　panic　Balthus　started　up…and　then　a　muscular　arm　out　of　the　darkness　locked　fiercely　about　his　throat；　strangling　his　yell。　The　canoe　rocked　wildly。　Balthus'　knife　was　in　his　hand；　though　he　did　not　remember　jerking　it　out　of　his　boot；　and　he　stabbed　fiercely　and　blindly。　He　felt　the　blade　sink　deep；　and　a　fiendish　yell　rang　in　his　ear；　a　yell　that　was　horribly　answered。　The　darkness　seemed　to　e　to　life　about　him。　A　bestial　clamor　rose　on　all　sides；　and　other　arms　grappled　him。　Borne　under　a　mass　of　hurtling　bodies　the　canoe　rolled　sidewise；　but　before　he　went　under　with　it；　something　cracked　against　Balthus'　head　and　the　night　was　briefly　illuminated　by　a　blinding　burst　of　fire　before　it　gave　way　to　a　blackness　where　not　even　stars　shone。
　　
　　
　　　4。　　The　Beasts　of　Zogar　Sag
　　
　　Fires　dazzled　Balthus　again　as　he　slowly　recovered　his　senses。　He　blinked；　shook　his　head。　Their　glare　hurt　his　eyes。　A　confused　medley　of　sound　rose　about　him；　growing　more　distinct　as　his　senses　cleared。　He　lifted　his　head　and　stared　stupidly　about　him。　Black　figures　hemmed　him　in；　etched　against　crimson　tongues　of　flame。
　　Memory　and　understanding　came　in　a　rush。　He　was　bound　upright　to　a　post　in　an　open　space；　ringed　by　fierce　and　terrible　figures。　Beyond　that　ring　fires　burned；　tended　by　naked；　dark…skinned　women。　Beyond　the　fires　he　saw　huts　of　mud　and　wattle；　thatched　with　brush。　Beyond　the　huts　there　was　a　stockade　with　a　broad　gate。　But　he　saw　these　things　only　incidentally。　Even　the　cryptic　dark　women　with　their　curious　coiffures　were　noted　by　him　only　absently。　His　full　attention　was　fixed　in　awful　fascination　on　the　men　who　stood　glaring　at　him。
　　Short　men；　broad…shouldered；　deep…chested；　lean…hipped；　they　were　naked　except　for　scanty　loin…clouts。　The　firelight　brought　out　the　play　of　their　swelling　muscles　in　bold　relief。　Their　dark　faces　were　immobile；　but　their　narrow　eyes　glittered　with　the　fire　that　burns　in　the　eyes　of　a　stalking　tiger。　Their　tangled　manes　were　bound　back　with　bands　of　copper。　Swords　and　axes　were　in　their　hands。　Crude　bandages　banded　the　limbs　of　some；　and　smears　of　blood　were　dried　on　their　dark　skins。　There　had　been　fighting；　recent　and　deadly。
　　His　eyes　wavered　away　from　the　steady　glare　of　his　captors；　and　he　repressed　a　cry　of　horror。　A　few　feet　away　there　rose　a　low；　hideous　pyramid：　it　was　built　of　gory　human　heads。　Dead　eyes　glared　glassily　up　the　black　sky。　Numbly　he　recognized　the　countenances　which　were　turned　toward　him。　They　were　the　heads　of　the　men　who　had　followed　Conan　into　the　forest。　He　could　not　tell　if　the　Cimmerian's　head　were　among　them。　Only　a　few　faces　were　visible　to　him。　It　looked　to　him　as　if　there　must　be　ten　or　eleven　heads　at　least。　A　deadly　sickness　assailed　him。　He　fought　a　desire　to　retch。　Beyond　the　heads　lay　the　bodies　of　half　a　dozen　Picts；　and　he　was　aware　of　a　fierce　exultation　at　the　sight。　The　forest　runners　had　taken　toll；　at　least。
　　Twisting　his　head　away　from　the　ghastly　spectacle；　he　became　aware　that　another　post　stood　near　him…a　stake　painted　black　as　was　the　one　to　which　he　was　bound。　A　man　sagged　in　his　bonds　there；　naked　except　for　his　leathern　breeks；　whom　Balthus　recognized　as　one　of　Conan's　woodsmen。　Blood　trickled　from　his　mouth；　oozed　sluggishly　from　a　gash　in　his　side。　Lifting　his　head　as　he　licked　his　livid　lips；　he　muttered；　making　himself　heard　with　difficulty　above　the　fiendish　clamor　of　the　Picts：　〃So　they　got　you；　too！〃
　　〃Sneaked　up　in　the　water　and　cut　the　other　fellow's　throat；〃　groaned　Balthus。　〃We　never　heard　them　till　they　were　on　us。　Mitra；　how　can　anything　move　so　silently？〃
　　〃They're　devils；〃　mumbled　the　frontiersman。　〃They　must　have　been　watching　us　from　the　time　we　left　midstream。　We　walked　into　a　trap。　Arrows　from　all　sides　were　ripping　into　us　before　we　knew　it。　Most　of　us　dropped　at　the　first　fire。　Three　or　four　broke　through　the　bushes　and　came　to　hand…grips。　But　there　were　too　many。　Conan　might　have　gotten　away。　I　haven't　seen　his　head。　Been　better　for　you　and　me　if　they'd　killed　us　outright。　I　can't　blame　Conan。　Ordinarily　we'd　have　gotten　to　the　village　without　being　discovered。　They　don't　keep　spies　on　the　river　bank　as　far　down　as　we　landed。　We　must　have　stumbled　into　a　big　party　ing　up　the　river　from　the　south。　Some　devilment　is　up。　Too　many　Picts　here。　These　aren't　all　Gwaweli；　men　from　the　western　tribes　here　and　from　up　and　down　the　river。〃
　　Balthus　stared　at　the　ferocious　shapes。　Little　as　he　knew　of　Pictish　ways；　he　was　aware　that　the　number　of　men　clustered　about　them　was　out　of　proportion　to　the　size　of　the　village。　There　were　not　enough　huts　to　have　acmodated　them　all。　Then　he　noticed　that　there　was　a　difference　in　the　barbaric　tribal　designs　painted　on　their　faces　and　breasts。
　　〃Some　kind　of　devilment；〃　muttered　the　forest　runner。　〃They　might　have　gathered　here　to　watch　Zogar's　magic…making。　He'll　make　some　rare　magic　with　our　carcasses。　Well；　a　border…man　doesn't　expect　to　die　in　bed。　But　I　wish　we'd　gone　out　along　with　the　rest。〃
　　The　wolfish　howling　of　the　Picts　rose　in　volume　and　exultation；　and　from　a　movement　in　their　ranks；　an　eager　surging　and　crowding；　Balthus　deduced　that　someone　of　importance　was　ing。　Twisting　his　head　about；　he　saw　that　the　stakes　were　set　before　a　long　building；　larger　than　the　other　huts；　decorated　by　human　skulls　dangling　from　the　eaves。　Through　the　door　of　that　structure　now　danced　a　fantastic　figure。
　　〃Zogar！〃　muttered　the　woodsman；　his　bloody　countenance　set　in　wolfish　lines　as　he　unconsciously　strained　at　his　cords。　Balthus　saw　a　lean　figure　of　middle　height；　almost　hidden　in　ostrich　plumes　set　on　a　harness　of　leather　and　copper。　From　amidst　the　plumes　peered　a　hideous　and　malevolent　face。　The　plumes　puzzled　Balthus。　He　knew　their　source　lay　half　the　width　of　a　world　to　the　south。　They　fluttered　and　rustled　evilly　as　the　shaman　leaped　and　cavorted。
　　With　fantastic　bounds　and　prancings　he　entered　the　ring　and　whirled　before　his　bound　and　silent　captives。　With　another　man　it　would　have　seemed　ridiculous…a　foolish　savage　prancing　meaninglessly　in　a　whirl　of　feathers。　But　that　ferocious　face　glaring　out　from　the　billowing　mass　gave　the　scene　a　grim　significance。　No　man　with　a　face　like　that　could　seem　ridiculous　or　like　anything　except　the　devil　he　was。
　　Suddenly　he　froze　to　statuesque　stillness；　the　plumes　rippled　once　and　sank　about　him。　The　howling　warriors　fell　silent。　Zogar　Sag　stood　erect　and　motionless；　and　he　seemed　to　increase　in　height…to　grow　and　expand。　Balthus　experienced　the　illusion　that　the　Pict　was　towering　above　him；　staring　contemptuously　down　from　a　great　height；　though　he　knew　the　shaman　was　not　as　tall　as　himself。　He　shook　off　the　illusion　with　difficulty。
　　The　shaman　was　talking　now；　a　harsh；　guttural　intonation　that　yet　carried　the　hiss　of　a　cobra。　He　thrust　his　head　on　his　long　neck　toward　the　wounded　man　on　the　stake；　his　eyes　shone　red　as　blood　in　the　firelight。　The　frontiersman　spat　full　in　his　face。
　　With　a　fiendish　howl　Zogar　bounded　convulsively　into　the　air；　and　the　warriors　gave　tongue　to　a　yell　that　shuddered　up　to　the　stars。　They　rushed　toward　the　man　on　the　stake；　but　the　shaman　beat　them　back。　A　snarled　mand　sent　men　running　to　the　gate。　They　hurled　it　open；　turned　and　raced　back　to　the　circle。　The　ring　of　men　split；　divided　with　desperate　haste　to　right　and　left。　Balthus　saw　the　women　and　naked　children　scurrying　to　the　huts。　They　peeked　out　of　doors　and　windows。　A　broad　lane　was　left　to　the　open　gate；　beyond　which　loomed　the　black　forest；　crowding　sullenly　in　upon　the　clearing；　unlighted　by　the　fires。
　　A　tense　silence　reigned　as　Zogar　Sag　turned　toward　the　forest；　raised　on　his　tiptoes　and　sent　a　weird　inhuman　call　shuddering　out　into　the　night。　Somewhere；　far　out　in　the　black　forest；　a　deeper　cry　answered　him。　Balthus　shudedered。　From　the　timbre　of　that　cry　he　knew　it　never　came　from　a　human　throat。　He　remembered　what　Valannus　had　said…that　Zogar　boasted　that　he　could　summon　wild　beasts　to　do　his　bidding。　The　woodsman　was　livid　beneath　his　mask　of　blood。　He　licked　his　lips　spasmodically。
　　The　village　held　its　breath。　Zogar　Sag　stood　still　as　a　statue；　his