Conan of Cimmeria Part 18

"Don't lie," answered Tuthmes. "Simply hint to him of your own suspicions. After all, even if a demon did slay Amboola, some human being summoned it out of the night. Perhaps Tananda is behind this, after all. So go quickly!"

When Afari, mulling, intensely over his patron's commands, had departed, Tuthmes stood for a moment in the midst of his chamber, which was hung with tapestries of barbaric magnificence. Blue smoke seeped through a domed censer of pierced bra.s.s in one corner. Tuthmes called: "Muru!"

Bare feet scuffed the floor. An arras of dull crimson cloth, hung athwart one wall, was thrust back, and an immensely tall, thin man ducked his head under the lintel of the hidden door and entered the room.

"I am here, master," he said.

The man, who towered over even the tall Tuthmes, wore a large piece of scarlet cloth, hung like a toga from one shoulder. Although his skin was as black as jet, his features were narrow and aquiline, like those of the ruling caste of Meroe". The woolly hair of his head was trimmed into a fantastic, crested shape.

"Is it back in its cell?" inquired Tuthmes.

"It is."

"Is all secure?"

"Aye, my lord."

Tuthmes frowned. "How can you be sure that it will always obey your commands and then return to you? How know you that some day, when you release it, it will not slay you and flee back to whatever unholy dimension it calls home?"

Muru spread his hands. "The spells I learned from my master, the exiled Stygian wizard, to control the demon, have never failed."

Tuthmes gave the sorcerer a piercing look. "Meseems you wizards spend most of your lives in exile. How do I know that some enemy will not bribe you to turn the monster loose on me some day?"

"Oh, master, think not such thoughts! Without your protection, whither should I go? The Kus.h.i.tes despise me, for I am not of their race; and for reasons you know, I cannot return to Kordafa."

"Hm. Well, take good care of your demon, for we may have more use for it soon. That loose-tongued fool, Afari, loves nothing more than to appear wise in the opinions of others. He will spread the tale of Amboola's murder, embellished with my hints of the queen's ro1e, to a hundred waiting ears. The breach between Tananda and her lords will widen, and I shall reap the benefit."

Chuckling with rare good humor, Tuthmes splashed wine into two silver cups and handed one to the gaunt sorcerer, who accepted it with a silent bow. Tuthmes continued:

"Of course, he will not mention that he began the whole charade with his false accusations against Amboola and Aahmes-without orders from me, too. He knows not that-thanks to your necromantic skill, friend Muru -I know all about this. He pretends to be devoted to my cause and faction but would sell us out in an instant if he thought he could gain thereby. His ultimate ambition is to wed Tananda and rule Kush as royal consort. When I am king, I shall need a more trustworthy tool than Afari."

Sipping the wine, Tuthmes mused: "Ever since the late king, her brother, perished in battle with the Stygians, Tananda has clung insecurely to the ivory throne, playing one faction off against another. But she lacks the character to hold power in a land whose tradition does not accept the rule of a woman. She is a rash, impulsive wanton, whose only method of securing power is to slay whatever n.o.ble she most fears at the moment, thus alerting and antagonizing the rest.

"Be sure to keep a close watch on Afari, O Muru. And keep your demon on a tight rein. We shall need the creature again."

When the Kordafan had left, ducking his head once more to get through the doorway, Tuthmes mounted a staircase of polished mahogany. He came out upon the flat, moonlit roof of his palace.

Looking over the parapet; he saw below him the silent streets of the Inner City of Meroe. He saw the palaces, the gardens, and the great inner square into which, at an instant's notice, a thousand black hors.e.m.e.n could ride from the courts of the adjoining barracks.

Looking farther, he saw the great bronze gates of the Inner City and, beyond them, the Outer City. Meroe stood in the midst of a great plain of rolling gra.s.slands, which stretched-broken only by occasional low hills-to the horizon. A narrow river, meandering across the gra.s.slands, touched the straggling edges of the Outer City.

A lofty, ma.s.sive wall, which enclosed the palaces of the ruling caste, separated the Inner and Outer Cities. The rulers were descendants of Stygians who, centuries ago, had come southward to hack out an empire and mix their proud blood with that of their black subjects. The Inner City was well laid out, with regular streets and squares, buildings of stone, and gardens.

The Outer City, on the other hand, was a sprawling wilderness of mud huts. Its streets straggled into irregular open s.p.a.ces. The black people of Kush, the aboriginal inhabitants of the country, dwelt in the Outer City. None but the ruling caste lived in the Inner City, except for their servants and the black hors.e.m.e.n who served as their guardsmen.

Tuthmes glanced out over that vast expanse of huts. Fires glowed in the ragged squares; torches swayed to and fro in the wandering streets.

From time to time he caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of song, a barbaric chant that thrummed with an undertone of wrath or blood l.u.s.t. Tuthmes drew his cloak more closely about him and shivered.

Advancing across the roof, he halted at the sight of a figure sleeping under a palm in the artificial garden. When stirred by Tuthmes' toe, this man awoke and sprang up.

"There is no need for speech," cautioned Tuthmes. "The deed is done.

Amboola is dead; and, before dawn, all Meroe will know he was murdered by Tananda."

"And the-the devil?" whispered the man, shivering.

"Safely back in its cell. Harken, Shubba; it is time you were gone.

Search among the Shemites until you find a suitable woman-a white woman. Bring her speedily here. If you return within the moon, I will give you her weight in silver. If you fail, I will hang your head from that palm tree."

Shubba prostrated himself and touched his forehead to the dust. Then, rising, he hurried from the roof. Tuthmes glanced again toward the Outer City. The fires seemed somehow to glow more fiercely, and a drum had begun to emit an ominous monotone. A sudden clamor of furious yells welled up to the stars.

"They have heard that Amboola is dead," muttered Tuthmes, and again a strong shudder shook his frame.

3. Tananda Rides

Dawn lit the skies above Meree* with crimson flame. Shafts of rich, ruddy light struck through the misty air and glanced from the copper-sheathed domes and spires of the stone-walled Inner City. Soon the people of Meroe were astir. In the Outer City, statuesque black women walked to the market square with gourds and baskets on their heads, while young girls chattered and laughed on their way to the wells. Naked children fought and played in the dust or chased each other through the narrow streets. Giant black men squatted in the doorways of their thatched huts, working at their trades, or lolled on the ground in the shade.

In the market square, merchants squatted under striped awnings, displaying pots and other manufactures, and vegetables and other produce, on the littered pavement. Black folks chaffered and bargained with endless talk over plaintains, banana beer, and hammered bra.s.s ornaments. Smiths crouched over little charcoal fires, laboriously beating out iron hoes, knives, and spearheads. The hot sun blazed down on all-the sweat, mirth, anger, nakedness, strength, squalor, and vigor of the black people of Kush.

Suddenly there came a change in the pattern, a new note in the timbre.

With a clatter of hoofs, a group of hors.e.m.e.n rode by in the direction of the great gate of the Inner City. There were half a dozen men and a woman, who dominated the group.

Her skin was a dusky brown; her hair, a thick, black ma.s.s, caught back and confined by a golden fillet Besides the sandals on her feet and the jewel-crusted golden plates that partly covered her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her only garment was a short silken skirt girdled at the waist. Her features were straight; her bold, scintillant eyes, full of challenge and sureness. She handled the slim Kus.h.i.te horse with ease and cert.i.tude by means of a jeweled bridle and palm-wide, gilt-worked reins of scarlet leather. Her sandaled feet stood in wide silver stirrups, and a gazelle lay across her saddle bow. A pair of slender coursing hounds trotted close behind her horse.

As the woman rode by, work and chatter ceased. The black faces grew sullen; the murky eyes burned redly. The blacks turned their heads to whisper in one another's ears, and the whispers grew to an audible, sinister murmur.

The youth who rode at the woman's stirrup became nervous. He glanced ahead, along the winding street. Estimating the distance to the bronze gates, not yet in view between the huts, he whispered, "The people grow ugly, Highness. It was folly to ride through the Outer City today."

"All the black dogs in Kush shall not keep me from my hunting!" replied the woman. "If any threaten, ride them down."

"Easier said than done," muttered the youth, scanning the silent throng. "They are coming from their houses and ma.s.sing thick along the street-look there!"

They entered a wide, ragged square, where the black folk swarmed. On one side of this square stood a house of dried mud and palm trunks, larger than its neighbors, with a cl.u.s.ter of skulls above the doorway.

This was the temple of Jullah, which the ruling caste contemptuously called the devil-devil house. The black folk worshiped Jullah in opposition to Set, the serpent-G.o.d of their rulers and of their Stygian ancestors.

The black folk thronged in this square, sullenly staring at the hors.e.m.e.n. There was an air of menace in their att.i.tude. Tananda, for the first time feeling a slight nervousness, failed to notice another rider, approaching the square along another street. This rider would ordinarily have attracted attention, for he was neither brown nor black. He was a white man, a powerful figure in chain mail and helmet.

"These dogs mean mischief," muttered the youth at Tananda's side, half drawing his curved sword. The other guardsmen-black men like the folk around them-drew closer about her but did not draw their blades. The low, sullen muttering grew louder, although no movement was made.

"Push through them," ordered Tananda, spurring her horse. The blacks gave back sullenly before her advance.

Then, suddenly, from the devil-devil house came a lean, black figure.

It was old Ageera, the witch-smeller, clad only in a loincloth.

Pointing at Tananda, he yelled: "There she rides, she whose hands are dipped in blood! She who murdered Amboola!"

His shout was the spark that set off the explosion. A vast roar arose from the mob. They surged forward, screaming, "Death to Tananda!"

In an instant, a hundred black hands were clawing at the legs of the riders. The youth reined between Tananda and the mob, but a flying stone shattered his skull. The guardsmen, thrusting and hacking, were torn from their steeds and beaten, stamped, and stabbed to death.

Tananda, beset at last by terror, screamed as her horse reared. A score of wild black figures, men and women, clawed at her.