rh.conanthewarrior-第33节

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ich　men　to　kill　and　which　to　let　alone。　No；　I　didn't　see　it。　I　only　saw　the　bushes　shake　as　it　left　the　trail。　But　if　you　want　further　proof；　look　here！〃
　　The　slayer　had　stepped　into　the　pool　of　blood　in　which　the　dead　man　sprawled。　Under　the　bushes　at　the　edge　of　the　path　there　was　a　footprint；　made　in　blood　on　the　hard　loam。
　　〃Did　a　man　make　that？〃　demanded　Conan。
　　Balthus　felt　his　scalp　prickle。　Neither　man　nor　any　beast　that　he　had　ever　seen　could　have　left　that　strange；　monstrous；　three…toed　print；　that　was　curiously　bined　of　the　bird　and　the　reptile；　yet　a　true　type　of　neither。　He　spread　his　fingers　above　the　print；　careful　not　to　touch　it；　and　grunted　explosively。　He　could　not　span　the　mark。
　　〃What　is　it？〃　he　whispered。　〃I　never　saw　a　beast　that　left　a　spoor　like　that。〃
　　〃Nor　any　other　sane　man；〃　answered　Conan　grimly。　〃It's　a　swamp　demon…they're　thick　as　bats　in　the　swamps　beyond　Black　River。　You　can　hear　them　howling　like　damned　souls　when　the　wind　blows　strong　from　the　south　on　hot　nights。〃
　　〃What　shall　we　do？〃　asked　the　Aquilonian；　peering　uneasily　into　the　deep　blue　shadows。　The　frozen　fear　on　the　dead　countenance　haunted　him。　He　wondered　what　hideous　head　the　wretch　had　seen　thrust　grinning　from　among　the　leaves　to　chill　his　blood　with　terror。
　　〃No　use　to　try　to　follow　a　demon；〃　grunted　Conan；　drawing　a　short　woodman's　ax　from　his　girdle。　〃I　tried　tracking　him　after　he　killed　Soractus。　I　lost　his　trail　within　a　dozen　steps。　He　might　have　grown　himself　wings　and　flown　away；　or　sunk　down　through　the　earth　to　Hell。　I　don't　know。　I'm　not　going　after　the　mule；　either。　It'll　either　wander　back　to　the　fort；　or　to　some　settler's　cabin。〃
　　As　he　spoke　Conan　was　busy　at　the　edge　of　the　trail　with　his　ax。　With　a　few　strokes　he　cut　a　pair　of　saplings　nine　or　ten　feet　long；　and　denuded　them　of　their　branches。　Then　he　cut　a　length　from　a　serpent…like　vine　that　crawled　among　the　bushes　near　by；　and　making　one　end　fast　to　one　of　the　poles；　a　couple　of　feet　from　the　end；　whipped　the　vine　over　the　other　sapling　and　interlaced　it　back　and　forth。　In　a　few　moments　he　had　a　crude　but　strong　litter。
　　〃The　demon　isn't　going　to　get　Tiberias'　head　if　I　can　help　it；〃　he　growled。　〃We'll　carry　the　body　into　the　fort。　It　isn't　more　than　three　miles。　I　never　liked　the　fat　fool；　but　we　can't　have　Pictish　devils　making　so　cursed　free　with　white　men's　heads。〃
　　The　Picts　were　a　white　race；　though　swarthy；　but　the　border　men　never　spoke　of　them　as　such。
　　Balthus　took　the　rear　end　of　the　litter；　onto　which　Conan　unceremoniously　dumped　the　unfortunate　merchant；　and　they　moved　on　down　the　trail　as　swiftly　as　possible。　Conan　made　no　more　noise　laden　with　their　grim　burden　than　he　had　made　when　unencumbered。　He　had　made　a　loop　with　the　merchant's　belt　at　the　end　of　the　poles；　and　was　carrying　his　share　of　the　load　with　one　hand；　while　the　other　gripped　his　naked　broadsword；　and　his　restless　gaze　roved　the　sinister　walls　about　them。　The　shadows　were　thickening。　A　darkening　blue　mist　blurred　the　outlines　of　the　foliage。　The　forest　deepened　in　the　twilight；　became　a　blue　haunt　of　mystery　sheltering　unguessed　things。
　　They　had　covered　more　than　a　mile；　and　the　muscles　in　Balthus'　sturdy　arms　were　beginning　to　ache　a　little；　when　a　cry　rang　shuddering　from　the　woods　whose　blue　shadows　were　deepening　into　purple。
　　Conan　started　convulsively；　and　Balthus　almost　let　go　the　poles。
　　〃A　woman！〃　cried　the　younger　man。　〃Great　Mitra；　a　woman　cried　out　then！〃
　　〃A　settler's　wife　straying　in　the　woods；〃　snarled　Conan；　setting　down　his　end　of　the　lifter。　〃Looking　for　a　cow；　probably；　and…stay　here！〃
　　He　dived　like　a　hunting　wolf　into　the　leafy　wall。　Balthus'　hair　bristled。
　　〃Stay　here　alone　with　this　corpse　and　a　devil　hiding　in　the　woods？〃　he　yelped。　〃I'm　ing　with　you！〃
　　And　suiting　action　to　words；　he　plunged　after　the　Cimmerian。　Conan　glanced　back　at　him；　but　made　no　objection；　though　he　did　not　moderate　his　pace　to　acmodate　the　shorter　legs　of　his　panion。　Balthus　wasted　his　wind　in　swearing　as　the　Cimmerian　drew　away　from　him　again；　like　a　phantom　between　the　trees；　and　then　Conan　burst　into　a　dim　glade　and　halted　crouching；　lips　snarling；　sword　lifted。
　　〃What　are　we　stopping　for？〃　panted　Balthus；　dashing　the　sweat　out　of　his　eyes　and　gripping　his　short　sword。
　　〃That　scream　came　from　this　glade；　or　near　by；〃　answered　Conan。　〃I　don't　mistake　the　location　of　sounds；　even　in　the　woods。　But　where…〃
　　Abruptly　the　sound　rang　out　again…behind　them；　in　the　direction　of　the　trail　they　had　just　quitted。　It　rose　piercingly　and　pitifully；　the　cry　of　a　woman　in　frantic　terror…and　then；　shockingly；　it　changed　to　a　yell　of　mocking　laughter　that　might　have　burst　from　the　lips　of　a　fiend　of　lower　Hell。
　　〃What　in　Mitra's　name…〃　Balthus'　face　was　a　pale　blur　in　the　gloom。
　　With　a　scorching　oath　Conan　wheeled　and　dashed　back　the　way　he　had　e；　and　the　Aquilonian　stumbled　bewilderedly　after　him。　He　blundered　into　the　Cimmerian　as　the　latter　stopped　dead；　and　rebounded　from　his　brawny　shoulders　as　though　from　an　iron　statue。　Gasping　from　the　impact；　he　heard　Conan's　breath　hiss　through　his　teeth。　The　Cimmerian　seemed　frozen　in　his　tracks。
　　Looking　over　his　shoulder；　Balthus　felt　his　hair　stand　up　stiffly。　Something　was　moving　through　the　deep　bushes　that　fringed　the　trail…something　that　neither　walked　nor　flew；　but　seemed　to　glide　like　a　serpent。　But　it　was　not　a　serpent。　Its　outlines　were　indistinct；　but　it　was　taller　than　a　man；　and　not　very　bulky。　It　gave　off　a　glimmer　of　weird　light；　like　a　faint　blue　flame。　Indeed；　the　eery　fire　was　the　only　tangible　thing　about　it。　It　might　have　been　an　embodied　flame　moving　with　reason　and　purpose　through　the　blackening　woods。
　　Conan　snarled　a　savage　curse　and　hurled　his　ax　with　ferocious　will。　But　the　thing　glided　on　without　altering　its　course。　Indeed　it　was　only　a　few　instants'　fleeting　glimpse　they　had　of　it…a　tall；　shadowy　thing　of　misty　flame　floating　through　the　thickets。　Then　it　was　gone；　and　the　forest　crouched　in　breathless　stillness。
　　With　a　snarl　Conan　plunged　through　the　intervening　foliage　and　into　the　trail。　His　profanity；　as　Balthus　floundered　after　him；　was　lurid　and　impassioned。　The　Cimmerian　was　standing　over　the　litter　on　which　lay　the　body　of　Tiberias。　And　that　body　no　longer　possessed　a　head。
　　〃Tricked　us　with　its　damnable　caterwauling！〃　raved　Conan；　swinging　his　great　sword　about　his　head　in　his　wrath。　〃I　might　have　known！　I　might　have　guessed　a　trick！　Now　there'll　be　five　heads　to　decorate　Zogar's　altar。〃
　　〃But　what　thing　is　it　that　can　cry　like　a　woman　and　laugh　like　a　devil；　and　shines　like　witch…fire　as　it　glides　through　the　trees？〃　gasped　Balthus；　mopping　the　sweat　from　his　pale　face。
　　〃A　swamp　devil；〃　responded　Conan　morosely。　〃Grab　those　poles。　We'll　take　in　the　body；　anyway。　At　least　our　load's　a　bit　lighter。〃
　　With　which　grim　philosophy　he　gripped　the　leathery　loop　and　stalked　down　the　trail。
　　
　　
　　　2。　　The　Wizard　of　Gwawela
　　
　　Fort　Tuscelan　stood　on　the　eastern　bank　of　Black　River；　the　tides　of　which　washed　the　foot　of　the　stockade。　The　latter　was　of　logs；　as　were　all　the　buildings　within；　including　the　donjon　（to　dignify　it　by　that　appellation）；　in　which　were　the　governor's　quarters；　overlooking　the　stockade　and　the　sullen　river。　Beyond　that　river　lay　a　huge　forest；　which　approached　jungle…like　density　along　the　spongy　shores。　Men　paced　the　runways　along　the　log　parapet　day　and　night；　watching　that　dense　green　wall。　Seldom　a　menacing　figure　appeared；　but　the　sentries　knew　that　they　too　were　watched；　fiercely；　hungrily；　with　the　mercilessness　of　ancient　hate。　The　forest　beyond　the　river　might　seem　desolate　and　vacant　of　life　to　the　ignorant　eye；　but　life　teemed　there；　not　alone　of　bird　and　beast　and　reptile；　but　also　of　men；　the　fiercest　of　all　the　hunting　beasts。
　　There；　at　the　fort；　civilization　ended。　Fort　Tuscelan　was　the　last　outpost　of　a　civilized　world；　it　represented　the　westernmost　thrust　of　the　dominant　Hyborian　races。　Beyond　the　river　the　primitive　still　reigned　in　shadowy　forests；　brush…thatched　huts　where　hung　the　grinning　skulls　of　men；　and　mud…walled　enclosures　where　fires　flickered　and　drums　rumbled；　and　spears　were　whetted　in　the　hands　of　dark；　silent　men　with　tangled　black　hair　and　the　eyes　of　serpents。　Those　eyes　often　glared　through　bushes　at　the　fort　across　the　river。　Once　dark…skinned　men　had　built　their　huts　where　that　fort　stood；　yes；　and　their　huts　had　risen　where　now　stood　the　fields　and　log　cabins　of　fair…haired　settlers；　back　beyond　Velitrium；　that　raw；　turbulent　frontier　town　on　the　banks　of　Thunder　River；　to　the　shores　of　that　other　river　that　bounds　the　Bossonian　marches。　Traders　had　e；　and　priests　of　Mitra　who　walked　with　bare　feet　and　empty　hands；　and　died　horribly；　most　of　them；　but　soldiers　had　followed；　men　with　axes　in　their　hands　and　women　and　children　in　ox…drawn　wains。　Back　to　Thunder　River；　and　still　back；　beyond　Black　River；　the　aborigines　had　been　pushed；　with　slaughter　and　massacre。　But　the　dark…skinned　people　did　not　forget　that　once　Conajohara　had　been　theirs。
　　The　guard　inside　the　eastern　gate　bawled　a　challenge。　Through　a　barred　aperture　tor