rh.conanthewarrior-第33部分

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　　The　village　held　its　breath。　Zogar　Sag　stood　still　as　a　statue；　his　plumes　trembling　faintly　about　him。　But　suddenly　the　gate　was　no　longer　empty。
　　A　shuddering　gasp　swept　over　the　village　and　men　crowded　hastily　back；　jamming　one　another　between　the　huts。　Balthus　felt　the　short　hair　stir　on　his　scalp。　The　creature　that　stood　in　the　gate　was　like　the　embodiment　of　nightmare　legend。　Its　color　was　of　a　curious　pale　quality　which　made　it　seem　ghostly　and　unreal　in　the　dim　light。　But　there　was　nothing　unreal　about　the　low…hung　savage　head；　and　the　great　curved　fangs　that　glistened　in　the　firelight。　On　noiseless　padded　feet　it　approached　like　a　phantom　out　of　the　past。　It　was　a　survival　of　an　older；　grimmer　age；　the　ogre　of　many　an　ancient　legend…a　saber…tooth　tiger。　No　Hyborian　hunter　had　looked　upon　one　of　those　primordial　brutes　for　centuries。　Immemorial　myths　lent　the　creatures　a　supernatural　quality；　induced　by　their　ghostly　color　and　their　fiendish　ferocity。
　　The　beast　that　glided　toward　the　men　on　the　stakes　was　longer　and　heavier　than　a　mon；　striped　tiger；　almost　as　bulky　as　a　bear。　Its　shoulders　and　forelegs　were　so　massive　and　mightily　muscled　as　to　give　it　a　curiously　top…heavy　look；　though　its　hindquarters　were　more　powerful　than　that　of　a　lion。　Its　jaws　were　massive；　but　its　head　was　brutishly　shaped。　Its　brain　capacity　was　small。　It　had　room　for　no　instincts　except　those　of　destruction。　It　was　a　freak　of　carnivorous　development；　evolution　run　amuck　in　a　horror　of　fangs　and　talons。
　　This　was　the　monstrosity　Zogar　Sag　had　summoned　out　of　the　forest。　Balthus　no　longer　doubted　the　actuality　of　the　shaman's　magic。　Only　the　black　arts　could　establish　a　domination　over　that　tiny…brained；　mighty…thewed　monster。　Like　a　whisper　at　the　back　of　his　consciousness　rose　the　vague　memory　of　the　name　of　an　ancient　god　of　darkness　and　primordial　fear；　to　whom　once　both　men　and　beasts　bowed　and　whose　children…men　whispered…still　lurked　in　dark　corners　of　the　world。　New　horror　tinged　the　glare　he　fixed　on　Zogar　Sag。
　　The　monster　moved　past　the　heap　of　bodies　and　the　pile　of　gory　heads　without　appearing　to　notice　them。　He　was　no　scavenger。　He　hunted　only　the　living；　in　a　life　dedicated　solely　to　slaughter。　An　awful　hunger　burned　greenly　in　the　wide；　unwinking　eyes；　the　hunger　not　alone　of　belly…emptiness；　but　the　lust　of　death…dealing。　His　gaping　jaws　slavered。　The　shaman　stepped　back；　his　hand　waved　toward　the　woodsman。
　　The　great　cat　sank　into　a　crouch；　and　Balthus　numbly　remembered　tales　of　its　appalling　ferocity：　of　how　it　would　spring　upon　an　elephant　and　drive　its　sword…like　fangs　so　deeply　into　the　titan's　skull　that　they　could　never　be　withdrawn；　but　would　keep　it　nailed　to　its　victim；　to　die　by　starvation。　The　shaman　cried　out　shrilly；　and　with　an　ear…shattering　roar　the　monster　sprang。
　　Balthus　had　never　dreamed　of　such　a　spring；　such　a　hurtling　of　incarnated　destruction　embodied　in　that　giant　bulk　of　iron　thews　and　ripping　talons。　Full　on　the　woodsman's　breast　it　struck；　and　the　stake　splintered　and　snapped　at　the　base；　crashing　to　the　earth　under　the　impact。　Then　the　saber…tooth　was　gliding　toward　the　gate；　half　dragging；　half　carrying　a　hideous　crimson　hulk　that　only　faintly　resembled　a　man。　Balthus　glared　almost　paralyzed；　his　brain　refusing　to　credit　what　his　eyes　had　seen。
　　In　that　leap　the　great　beast　had　not　only　broken　off　the　stake；　it　had　ripped　the　mangled　body　of　its　victim　from　the　post　to　which　it　was　bound。　The　huge　talons　in　that　instant　of　contact　had　disemboweled　and　partially　dismembered　the　man；　and　the　giant　fangs　had　torn　away　the　whole　top　of　his　head；　shearing　through　the　skull　as　easily　as　through　flesh。　Stout　rawhide　thongs　had　given　way　like　paper；　where　the　thongs　had　held；　flesh　and　bones　had　not。　Balthus　retched　suddenly。　He　had　hunted　bears　and　panthers；　but　he　had　never　dreamed　the　beast　lived　which　could　make　such　a　red　ruin　of　a　human　frame　in　the　flicker　of　an　instant。
　　The　saber…tooth　vanished　through　the　gate；　and　a　few　moments　later　a　deep　roar　sounded　through　the　forest；　receding　in　the　distance。　But　the　Picts　still　shrank　back　against　the　huts；　and　the　shaman　still　stood　facing　the　gate　that　was　like　a　black　opening　to　let　in　the　night。
　　Cold　sweat　burst　suddenly　out　on　Balthus'　skin。　What　new　horror　would　e　through　that　gate　to　make　carrion…meat　of　his　body？　Sick　panic　assailed　him　and　he　strained　futilely　at　his　thongs。　The　night　pressed　in　very　black　and　horrible　outside　the　firelight。　The　fires　themselves　glowed　lurid　as　the　fires　of　Hell。　He　felt　the　eyes　of　the　Picts　upon　him…hundreds　of　hungry；　cruel　eyes　that　reflected　the　lust　of　souls　utterly　without　humanity　as　he　knew　it。　They　no　longer　seemed　men；　they　were　devils　of　this　black　jungle；　as　inhuman　as　the　creatures　to　which　the　fiend　in　the　nodding　plumes　screamed　through　the　darkness。
　　Zogar　sent　another　call　shuddering　through　the　night；　and　it　was　utterly　unlike　the　first　cry。　There　was　a　hideous　sibilance　in　it…Balthus　turned　cold　at　the　implication。　If　a　serpent　could　hiss　that　loud；　it　would　make　just　such　asound。
　　This　time　there　was　no　answer…only　a　period　of　breathless　silence　in　which　the　pound　of　Balthus'　heart　strangled　him；　and　then　there　sounded　a　swishing　outside　the　gate；　a　dry　rustling　that　sent　chills　down　Balthus'　spine。　Again　the　firelit　gate　held　a　hideous　occupant。
　　Again　Balthus　recognized　the　monster　from　ancient　legends。　He　saw　and　knew　the　ancient　and　evil　serpent　which　swayed　there；　its　wedge…shaped　head；　huge　as　that　of　a　horse；　as　high　as　a　tall　man's　head；　and　its　palely　gleaming　barrel　rippling　out　behind　it。　A　forked　tongue　darted　in　and　out；　and　the　firelight　glittered　on　bared　fangs。
　　Balthus　became　incapable　of　emotion。　The　horror　of　his　fate　paralyzed　him。　That　was　the　reptile　that　the　ancients　called　Ghost　Snake；　the　pale；　abominable　terror　that　of　old　glided　into　huts　by　night　to　devour　whole　families。　Like　the　python　it　crushed　its　victim；　but　unlike　other　constrictors　its　fangs　bore　venom　that　carried　madness　and　death。　It　too　had　long　been　considered　extinct。　But　Valannus　had　spoken　truly。　No　white　man　knew　what　shapes　haunted　the　great　forests　beyond　Black　River。
　　It　came　on　silently；　rippling　over　the　ground；　its　hideous　head　on　the　same　level；　its　neck　curving　back　slightly　for　the　stroke。　Balthus　gazed　with　a　glazed；　hypnotized　stare　into　that　loathsome　gullet　down　which　he　would　soon　be　engulfed；　and　he　was　aware　of　no　sensation　except　a　vague　nausea。
　　And　then　something　that　glinted　in　the　firelight　streaked　from　the　shadows　of　the　huts；　and　the　great　reptile　whipped　about　and　went　into　instant　convulsions。　As　in　a　dream　Balthus　saw　a　short　throwing…spear　transfixing　the　mighty　neck；　just　below　the　gaping　jaws；　the　shaft　protruded　from　one　side；　the　steel　head　from　the　other。
　　Knotting　and　looping　hideously；　the　maddened　reptile　rolled　into　the　circle　of　men　who　stove　back　from　him。　The　spear　had　not　severed　its　spine；　but　merely　transfixed　its　great　neck　muscles。　Its　furiously　lashing　tail　mowed　down　a　dozen　men　and　its　jaws　snapped　convulsively；　splashing　others　with　venom　that　burned　like　liquid　fire。　Howling；　cursing；　screaming；　frantic；　they　scattered　before　it；　knocking　each　other　down　in　their　flight；　trampling　the　fallen；　bursting　through　the　huts。　The　giant　snake　rolled　into　a　fire；　scattering　sparks　and　brands；　and　the　pain　lashed　it　to　more　frenzied　efforts。　A　hut　wall　buckled　under　the　ram…like　impact　of　its　flailing　tail；　disgorging　howling　people。
　　Men　stampeded　through　the　fires；　knocking　the　logs　right　and　left。　The　flames　sprang　up；　then　sank。　A　reddish　dim　glow　was　all　that　lighted　that　nightmare　scene　where　the　giant　reptile　whipped　and　rolled；　and　men　clawed　and　shrieked　in　frantic　flight。
　　Balthus　felt　something　jerk　at　his　wrists；　and　then；　miraculously；　he　was　free；　and　a　strong　hand　dragged　him　behind　the　post。　Dazedly　he　saw　Conan；　felt　the　forest　man's　iron　grip　on　his　arm。
　　There　was　blood　on　the　Cimmerian's　mail；　dried　blood　on　the　sword　in　his　right　hand；　he　loomed　dim　and　gigantic　in　the　shadowy　light。
　　〃e　on！　Before　they　get　over　their　panic！〃
　　Balthus　felt　the　haft　of　an　ax　shoved　into　his　hand。　Zogar　Sag　had　disappeared。　Conan　dragged　Balthus　after　him　until　the　youth's　numb　brain　awoke；　and　his　legs　began　to　move　of　their　own　accord。　Then　Conan　released　him　and　ran　into　the　building　where　the　skulls　hung。　Balthus　followed　him。　He　got　a　glimpse　of　a　grim　stone　altar；　faintly　lighted　by　the　glow　outside；　five　human　heads　grinned　on　that　altar；　and　there　was　a　grisly　familiarity　about　the　features　of　the　freshest；　it　was　the　head　of　the　merchant　Tiberias。　Behind　the　altar　was　an　idol；　dim；　indistinct；　bestial；　yet　vaguely　man…like　in　outline。　Then　fresh　horror　choked　Balthus　as　the　shape　heaved　up　suddenly　with　a　rattle　of　chains；　lifting　long　misshapen　arms　in　the　gloom。
　　Conan's　sword　flailed　down；　crunching　through　flesh　and　bone；　and　then　the　Cimmerian　was　dragging　Balthus　around　the　altar；　past　a　huddled　shaggy　bulk　on　the　floor；　to　a　door　at　the　back　of　the　long　hut。　Through　this　they　burst；　out　into　the　enclosure　again。　But　a　few　yards　beyond　them　loomed　the　stockade。
　　It　was　dark　behind　the　altar…hut。　The　mad　stampede　of　the　Picts　had　not　carried　them　in　that　direction。　At　the　wall　Conan　halted；　gripped　Balthus；　and　heaved　him　at　arm's　length　into　the　air　as　he　might　have　lifted　a　child。　Balthus　grasped　the　points　of　the　upright　logs　set　in　the　sun…dried　mud　and　scrambled　up　on　them；　ignoring　the　havoc　done　his　skin。　He　lowered　a　hand　to　the　Cimmerian；　when　around　a　corner　of　the　altar…hut　sprang　a　fleeing　Pict。　He　halted　short；　glimpsing　the　man　on　the　wall　in　the　faint　glow　of　the　fires。　Conan　hurled　his　ax　with　deadly　aim；　but　the　warrior's　mouth　was　already　open　for　a　yell　of　warning；　and　it　rang　loud　above　the　din；　cut　short　as　he　dropped　with　a　shattered　skull。
　　Blinding　terror　had　not　submerged　all　ingrained　instincts。　As　that　wild　yell　rose　above　the　clamor；　there　was　an　instant's　lull；　and　then　a　hundred　throats　bayed　ferocious　answer　and　warriors　came　leaping　to　repel　the　attack　presaged　by　the　warning。
　　Conan　leaped　high；　caught；　not　Balthus'　han