Almuric, Robert E. Howard [love books to read .txt] 📗

the city on the rock was built like one huge palace,

each part connected with the rest. Figures lounging on couches on the

flat roofs lifted themselves on elbow, and from scores of casements

the faces of women looked at us as we sank down on a broad flat roof

that was something like a landing-field. There many of the winged men

dispersed, leaving the captives guarded by three or four hundred

warriors, who herded them through a gigantic door. There were about

five hundred of these wretched girls, Altha among them. I was carried,

still bound, along with them. By this time my whole body was numb from

having circulation cut off so long, but my mind was intensely active.

 

We traversed a stairway down which half a dozen elephants could have

stalked abreast, and came into a corridor of corresponding vastness.

Walls, stair, ceiling and floor were all of the gleaming black stone,

which I decided had been cut out of the rock on which Yugga was built,

and highly polished. So far I had seen no carvings, tapestries, or any

attempt at ornamentation; yet it could not be denied that the effect

of those lofty walls and vaulted ceilings of polished ebony was

distinctly one of splendor. There was an awe-inspiring majesty about

the architecture which seemed incongruous, considering the beastliness

of the builders. Yet the tall black figures did not seem out of place,

moving somberly through those great ebony halls. The Black City—not

alone because its walls were dusky hued did humans give it that

sinister name.

 

As we passed through those lofty halls I saw many of the inhabitants

of Yugga. Besides the winged men, I saw, for the first time, the women

of the Yagas. Theirs was the same lithe build, the same glossy black

skin, the same faintly hawklike cast of countenance. But the women

were not winged. They were clad in short silken skirts held up with

jewel-crusted girdles, and in filmy sashes bound about their breasts.

But for the almost intangible cruelty of their faces, they were

beautiful. Their dusky features were straight and clear-cut, their

hair was not kinky.

 

I saw other women, hundreds of the black-haired, white-skinned

daughters of the Guras. But there were others: small, dainty,

yellow-skinned girls, and copper-colored women—all, apparently, slaves

to the black people. These women were something new and unexpected. All

the fantastic forms of life I had encountered so far had been

mentioned in tales or legends of the Kothans. The dog-heads, the giant

spider, the winged people with their black citadel and their

blue-skinned slaves—all these had been named in legendry, at least. But

no man or woman of Koth had ever spoken of women with yellow or copper

skins. Were these exotic prisoners from another planet, just as I was

from an alien world?

 

While meditating the matter I was carried through a great bronze

portal at which stood a score of winged warriors on guard, and found

myself with the captive girls in a vast chamber, octagonal in shape,

the walls hung with dusky tapestries. It was carpeted with some sort

of rich furlike stuff, and the air was heavy with perfumes and

incense.

 

Toward the back of the chamber, broad steps of beaten gold led up to

a fur-covered dais, on which lounged a young black woman. She alone,

of all the Yaga women, was winged. She was dressed like the rest,

wearing no ornaments except her gem-crusted girdle, from which jutted

a jeweled dagger hilt. Her beauty was marvelous and disquieting, like

the beauty of a soulless statue. I sensed that of all the inhuman

denizens of Yugga, she was least human. Her brooding eyes spoke of

dreams beyond the boundaries of human consciousness. Her face was the

face of a goddess, knowing neither fear nor mercy.

 

Ranged about her couch in attitudes of humility and servitude were

twenty naked girls, white-, yellow-and copper-skinned.

 

The leader of our captors advanced toward the royal dais, and bowing

low, at the same time extending his hands, palms down and fingers

spread wide, he said: “Oh, Yasmeena, Queen of the Night, we bring you

the fruits of conquest.”

 

She raised herself on her elbow, and as her terribly personal gaze

passed over her cringing captives, a shudder swept across their ranks

as a wind passes over rows of wheat. From earliest childhood Gura

girls were taught, by tales and tradition, that the worst fate that

could befall them was to be captured by the people of the Black City.

Yugga was a misty land of horror, ruled by the archfiend Yasmeena.

Now those trembling girls were face to face with the vampire herself.

What wonder that many of them fainted outright?

 

But her eyes passed over them and rested on me, where I stood

propped up between a couple of warriors. I saw interest grow in those

dark luminous eyes, and she spoke to the chief:

 

“Who is that barbarian, whose skin is white, yet almost as hairless

as ours, who is clad like a Gura, and yet unlike them?”

 

“We found him a captive among the Thugrans, oh mistress of Night,”

he answered. “Your majesty shall herself question him. And now, oh

dark beauty, be pleased to designate the miserable wenches who shall

serve your loveliness, that the rest may be apportioned among the

warriors who made the raid.”

 

Yasmeena nodded, her eyes still on me, and with a few waves of her

hand she indicated a dozen or so of the handsomest girls, among these

being Altha. They were drawn aside, and the rest were herded out.

 

Yasmeena eyed me a space without speaking, and then said to him who

appeared to be her major-domo: “Gotrah, this man is weary and stained

with travel and captivity, and there is an unhealed wound in his leg.

The sight of him, as he now is, offends me. Take him away, let him

bathe and eat and drink, and let his leg be bandaged. Then bring him

to me again.”

 

So my captors with a weary sigh, heaved me up again, and carried me

from the royal chamber, down a winding corridor, along a flight of

stairs, and halted finally in a chamber where a fountain bubbled in

the floor. There they fastened gold chains to my wrists and ankles and

then cut the cords that bound me. In the excruciating pain of the

returning circulation, I scarcely noticed when they splashed me in the

fountain, bathing the sweat, dirt and dried blood from my limbs and

body, and clad me in a new loincloth of scarlet silk. They likewise

dressed the wound in my calf, and then a copper-skinned slave-girl

entered with gold vessels of food. I would not touch the meat, what

with my grisly suspicions, but I ate ravenously of the fruits and

nuts, and drank deeply of a green wine, which I found most delicious

and refreshing.

 

After that I felt so drowsy that I sank down on a velvet couch and

passed instantly into deep slumber, from which I was roused by someone

shaking me. It was Gotrah bending over me with a short knife in his

hand; and, all my wild instincts aroused, I did my best to brain him

with my clenched fist, and failed only because of the chain on my

wrist. He recoiled, cursing.

 

“I have not come to cut your throat, barbarian,” he snapped, “though

nothing would please me better. The Kothan girl has told Yasmeena that

it is your habit to scrape the hair from your face, and it is the

Queen’s desire to see you thus. Here, take this knife and scrape

yourself. It has no point, and I will be careful to stay out of your

reach. Here is a mirror.”

 

Still half asleep—by which I believe the green wine was drugged,

though for what reason I cannot say—I propped the silver mirror up

against the wall, and went to work on my beard, which had reached no

mean proportions during my captivities. It was a dry shave, but my

skin is as durable as tanned leather, and the knife had an edge keener

than I ever found on an Earthly razor. When I had finished, Gotrah

grunted at my changed appearance and demanded the knife again. As

there was no point in retaining it, it being useless as a weapon, I

threw it at him, and immediately fell asleep again.

 

The next time I awoke naturally, and rising, took in my surroundings

more minutely. The chamber was unadorned, furnished only with the

couch, a small ebony table, and a fur-covered bench. There was a

single door, which was closed and doubtless bolted on the outside, and

one window. My chains were fastened to a gold ring in the wall behind

the couch, but the strand that linked me to it was long enough to

allow me to take a few steps to the fountain, and to the window. This

window was barred with gold, and I looked out over flat roofs, at

towers and minarets which limited my view.

 

So far the Yagas had treated me well enough; I wondered how Altha

was faring, and if the position of member of the Queen’s retinue

carried any special privileges or safety.

 

Then Gotrah entered again, with half a dozen warriors, and they

unlocked my chain from the wall and escorted me down the corridor, up

the winding stair. I was not taken back to the great throne chamber,

but to a smaller room high up in a tower. This room was so littered

with furs and cushions that it was almost stuffed. I was reminded of

the soft, padded nest of a spider, and the black spider was there—

lounging on a velvet couch and staring at me with avid curiosity. This

time she was not attended by slaves. The warriors chained me to the

wall—every wall in that accursed palace seemed to have rings for

captives—and left us alone.

 

I leaned back among the furs and pillows, finding their downy

contact irksome to my iron-hard frame, unaccustomed to soft living of

any kind, and for a wearisome time the Queen of Yugga surveyed me

without speaking. Her eyes had a hypnotic quality; I distinctly felt

their impact. But I felt too much like a chained beast on exhibition

to be aware of any feeling but one of rising resentment. I fought it

down. A burst of berserk fury might break the slender chains that held

me, and rid the world of Yasmeena, but Altha and I would still be

prisoners on that accursed rock from which legend said there was no

escape save through the air.

 

“Who are you?” Yasmeena demanded abruptly. “I have seen men with

skins smoother even than yours, but never a hairless white man

before.”

 

Before I could ask her where she had seen hairless men, if not among

her own people, she continued: “Nor have I seen eyes like yours. They

are like a deep cold lake, yet they blaze and smolder like the cold

blue flame that dances forever above Xathar. What is your name? Whence

come you? The girl Altha said you came out of the wilderness and dwelt

in her city, defeating its mighty men in single combat. But she does

not know from what land you came, she says. Speak, and do not lie.”

 

“I’ll speak but you’ll think I lie,” I grunted. “I am Esau Cairn,

whom the men of Koth call Ironhand. I come from another world in

another solar system. Chance, or the whim of a scientist whom you

would call a magician, cast me on this planet. Chance again threw me

among the Kothans. Chance carried me to Yugga. Now I have spoken.

Believe me or not, as you will.”