Conan the Fearless Part 19

Another pause, this time of greater length. Conan sought to shift his body ever so slightly, so that he might see. but the cushion must have been as thick as a horse; it still blocked his vision with its pinkness!

"There is some merit in what you say, Lemparius," Djuvula said. "Very well. Demonstrate your newfound prowess."

"Here? Now?"

"Why not? Your men have battered the barbarian well enough so that he might sleep for a day; if he should wake, I would not be bothered by his watching. Unless you have scruples about such things?"

Lemparius laughed, but it sounded strained to Conan. "Hardly," he said.

"All right, then."

There came a rustle of clothing to Conan's sharp ears; he took the opportunity to shift a bit more on the cushions. Now he could see a bit of high ceiling and a wooden post; likely this post was part of some fancy bed upon which Conan lay trussed. Well, at least his hands were bound in front of his body, where he could get his teeth at the straps.

He brought his hands toward his face very carefully and slowly, until the silken bindings were at his lips. He began to gnaw at the material, which tasted of dye. It would take some time to chew through, he knew.

"Set take this cursed barbarian!" Lemparius said loudly.

"Some problem, Lemparius?" Djuvula's voice dripped with the sweetness of a beehive in spring.

"You can see very well there is! I am injured! That oaf kicked me! I-I feel a terrible pain when I try to-"

"A pity," Djuvula cut in. "So much for your vitality-"

"Hardly a fair test, Djuvula! You must give me time to recover from my injury!"

"Must I?" The woman laughed. "Well, I suppose I can wait a few more days before animating my Prince of the Lance. I shall allow three evenings, Lemparius. Perhaps the barbarian can keep me entertained until then."

"You mock me!"

"Nay, Lemparius. I would not trouble to do so; I merely please myself.

The barbarian is a brave man, truly, and it is his heart I shall have, living in the chest of my Prince. Meanwhile, I generously give you and him three days."

Conan had heard enough. He was to be sacrificed in some foul rite of magic! Abruptly, he sat up, and found himself seated on a bed next to a dead or unconscious black-skinned man of heroic proportions.

Lemparius and Djuvula lay on cushions near the bed. Both were unclothed. They turned to stare at Conan.

Conan brought his hands up in front of his face. He took a deep breath and expended it in a deep guttural yell. At the same time the young giant strained against the partially severed bonds on his wrists.

Muscles rippled in his shoulders and back; sinews crackled and raised on his arms as he concentrated his entire being upon the straps binding him. Suddenly, the material gave way. There came a m.u.f.fled snap, and his hands were free.

Lemparius cursed, leaped up, and scrabbled among his clothes for his knife. He found the curved weapon, jerked it from its scabbard, and turned toward the Cimmerian.

Conan grabbed up the silken cushion nearest his hand and flung it at Lemparius. It was soft, the cushion, but solid and thick. The pillow flew past Lemparius's startled slash with the knife and knocked him backward. He stumbled and fell, landing smack upon his bare backside.

Wasting no time, Conan bent and tore the lashing from his ankles. As he finished he looked up, to see Lemparius recovered from his fall, already up and moving.

Conan sprang to meet Lemparius's charge. Fast the man might be, but Conan was not slow; in an eyeblink the Cimmerian locked his powerful hands around the wrists of the senator. Conan turned his hip into the knee thrust at his groin, was met with the senator's hip when he sought to bring his own knee into contact with the man's already-tender scrotal parts. The two men fell, still locked together. Conan was the stronger, he knew, and it would be but a matter of a few moments for him to overcome the other man.

The thin hair of Lemparius's wrists began to writhe under Conan's palms. And some trick of the light made the straining senator seem suddenly plastic-featured; his face seemed somehow to be sinking . . .

Crom! The man was no longer a man. but becoming a great beast! Fangs sprouted from his mouth, claws grew from his hands, and what had been Senator Lemparius now growled and tried to bite off Conan's face.

He cursed and flung the half-man, half-cat away from him, using the thick muscles of his chest and arms to their fullest. The beast flew across the room to slam into the wall.

A werepanther! Conan knew there were men who wore such guises to become wolves, but he had never heard of one who became a cat. He did not like his chances against such an unnatural creature with only his bare hands. And it was said that human weapons could not harm a wereman. It would not have helped if he had a sword, which he did not.

The panther rebounded from the wall and landed upon its feet. It turned and snarled, a throaty roar that sounded all too loud in the closed room. Slowly, the beast began to pad toward Conan. He would swear the cat smiled as it moved.

A weapon, he needed a weapon! Conan looked around quickly, but there was no-ah, wait! Lemparius's curved knife lay near Conan's bare foot.

He bent and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the knife. Armed, he felt better.

"You must not kill him!" Djuvula screamed.

Conan glanced at her, but she spoke to the panther, not to him The cat ignored the woman's imprecation. But when the Cimmerian extended the wickedly curved knife toward him, the werepanther stopped his forward padding and snarled.

Conan spared a glance from the beast for the knife. Perhaps since this knife belonged to Lemparius, it might be more than it seemed. He might damage the beast.

With Conan, the thought was oft as the deed; he leaped toward the werepanther, slashing. The beast gave ground even as it struck out with its own sharp claws, batting at him, but missing. The big Cimmerian saw he was within a few steps of the door to the bedchamber. Time to depart. He cut the curved knife through the air to keep the panther at bay as he backed toward the exit. The beast snarled, but would not come close enough to strike.

Conan gained the door, jerked it open, and started through the portal.

The cat made a desperate rush then, slashing at the Cimmerian's leg with its right paw. Conan snapped the point of the sicklelike weapon down hard, and buried the tip in the panther's foreleg. The unnatural creature screamed and jerked its foreleg back, laying open the tawny hide in a crimson gash. The panther retreated, screaming continuously, and Conan slammed the bra.s.s-bound door upon the sight. He saw nothing to stay him in the hallway in which he found himself, and so he fled, running like a man pursued by demons.

He did not look back.

Chapter Thirteen.

Lemparius had departed to rally his minions. Djuvula sat alone in her chamber, staring at the inert form of her Prince. That she was furious did not begin to describe her black rage. Lemparius was a fool to think his wereman cloak would enhance either his anatomy or performance to majuscule proportions; worse, he had allowed her beautiful barbarian to escape! He would pay for that.

Then there stood the matter of Loganaro, free agent and betrayer. His proffered barbarian and Conan were one and the same, and the fat toad had sold him to her would-be consort. Now, there was a man who was going to pay for a moron's mistake, and do it twisting slowly as well.

The man who had sliced the hand from her demon-brother was without her grasp, and Djuvula needed small excuse to seek a target upon which to spend her anger.

Purple haze smote the air of her chamber within a yellow flash of tainted light. Well, well. Look who chose that moment to arrive.

Djavul bent to avoid hitting his head upon the ceiling.

"Sister," he grated, "I sense that you have captured my quarry."

Djavula laughed. "Oh, 'tis hardly better you come late than never, half-brother."

"Speak clearly, woman!"

"He is escaped, your hand-chopping barbarian. Due to an inept senator who fancies himself a kind of master swordsman."

"I shall have his skull for a soup bowl!"

"Nay, brother, he belongs to me. And I shall have little trouble in locating our mutual prey, for I have his clothes and sword at my beck.

I will cast the proper spells for you to locate him exactly-provided you return him to me before you exact your vengeance."

"You would bargain with me, sister?"