rh.conanthewarrior-第36节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


an　sagged　in　his　bonds　there；　naked　except　for　his　leathern　breeks；　whom　Balthus　recognized　as　one　of　Conan's　woodsmen。　Blood　trickled　from　his　mouth；　oozed　sluggishly　from　a　gash　in　his　side。　Lifting　his　head　as　he　licked　his　livid　lips；　he　muttered；　making　himself　heard　with　difficulty　above　the　fiendish　clamor　of　the　Picts：　〃So　they　got　you；　too！〃
　　〃Sneaked　up　in　the　water　and　cut　the　other　fellow's　throat；〃　groaned　Balthus。　〃We　never　heard　them　till　they　were　on　us。　Mitra；　how　can　anything　move　so　silently？〃
　　〃They're　devils；〃　mumbled　the　frontiersman。　〃They　must　have　been　watching　us　from　the　time　we　left　midstream。　We　walked　into　a　trap。　Arrows　from　all　sides　were　ripping　into　us　before　we　knew　it。　Most　of　us　dropped　at　the　first　fire。　Three　or　four　broke　through　the　bushes　and　came　to　hand…grips。　But　there　were　too　many。　Conan　might　have　gotten　away。　I　haven't　seen　his　head。　Been　better　for　you　and　me　if　they'd　killed　us　outright。　I　can't　blame　Conan。　Ordinarily　we'd　have　gotten　to　the　village　without　being　discovered。　They　don't　keep　spies　on　the　river　bank　as　far　down　as　we　landed。　We　must　have　stumbled　into　a　big　party　ing　up　the　river　from　the　south。　Some　devilment　is　up。　Too　many　Picts　here。　These　aren't　all　Gwaweli；　men　from　the　western　tribes　here　and　from　up　and　down　the　river。〃
　　Balthus　stared　at　the　ferocious　shapes。　Little　as　he　knew　of　Pictish　ways；　he　was　aware　that　the　number　of　men　clustered　about　them　was　out　of　proportion　to　the　size　of　the　village。　There　were　not　enough　huts　to　have　acmodated　them　all。　Then　he　noticed　that　there　was　a　difference　in　the　barbaric　tribal　designs　painted　on　their　faces　and　breasts。
　　〃Some　kind　of　devilment；〃　muttered　the　forest　runner。　〃They　might　have　gathered　here　to　watch　Zogar's　magic…making。　He'll　make　some　rare　magic　with　our　carcasses。　Well；　a　border…man　doesn't　expect　to　die　in　bed。　But　I　wish　we'd　gone　out　along　with　the　rest。〃
　　The　wolfish　howling　of　the　Picts　rose　in　volume　and　exultation；　and　from　a　movement　in　their　ranks；　an　eager　surging　and　crowding；　Balthus　deduced　that　someone　of　importance　was　ing。　Twisting　his　head　about；　he　saw　that　the　stakes　were　set　before　a　long　building；　larger　than　the　other　huts；　decorated　by　human　skulls　dangling　from　the　eaves。　Through　the　door　of　that　structure　now　danced　a　fantastic　figure。
　　〃Zogar！〃　muttered　the　woodsman；　his　bloody　countenance　set　in　wolfish　lines　as　he　unconsciously　strained　at　his　cords。　Balthus　saw　a　lean　figure　of　middle　height；　almost　hidden　in　ostrich　plumes　set　on　a　harness　of　leather　and　copper。　From　amidst　the　plumes　peered　a　hideous　and　malevolent　face。　The　plumes　puzzled　Balthus。　He　knew　their　source　lay　half　the　width　of　a　world　to　the　south。　They　fluttered　and　rustled　evilly　as　the　shaman　leaped　and　cavorted。
　　With　fantastic　bounds　and　prancings　he　entered　the　ring　and　whirled　before　his　bound　and　silent　captives。　With　another　man　it　would　have　seemed　ridiculous…a　foolish　savage　prancing　meaninglessly　in　a　whirl　of　feathers。　But　that　ferocious　face　glaring　out　from　the　billowing　mass　gave　the　scene　a　grim　significance。　No　man　with　a　face　like　that　could　seem　ridiculous　or　like　anything　except　the　devil　he　was。
　　Suddenly　he　froze　to　statuesque　stillness；　the　plumes　rippled　once　and　sank　about　him。　The　howling　warriors　fell　silent。　Zogar　Sag　stood　erect　and　motionless；　and　he　seemed　to　increase　in　height…to　grow　and　expand。　Balthus　experienced　the　illusion　that　the　Pict　was　towering　above　him；　staring　contemptuously　down　from　a　great　height；　though　he　knew　the　shaman　was　not　as　tall　as　himself。　He　shook　off　the　illusion　with　difficulty。
　　The　shaman　was　talking　now；　a　harsh；　guttural　intonation　that　yet　carried　the　hiss　of　a　cobra。　He　thrust　his　head　on　his　long　neck　toward　the　wounded　man　on　the　stake；　his　eyes　shone　red　as　blood　in　the　firelight。　The　frontiersman　spat　full　in　his　face。
　　With　a　fiendish　howl　Zogar　bounded　convulsively　into　the　air；　and　the　warriors　gave　tongue　to　a　yell　that　shuddered　up　to　the　stars。　They　rushed　toward　the　man　on　the　stake；　but　the　shaman　beat　them　back。　A　snarled　mand　sent　men　running　to　the　gate。　They　hurled　it　open；　turned　and　raced　back　to　the　circle。　The　ring　of　men　split；　divided　with　desperate　haste　to　right　and　left。　Balthus　saw　the　women　and　naked　children　scurrying　to　the　huts。　They　peeked　out　of　doors　and　windows。　A　broad　lane　was　left　to　the　open　gate；　beyond　which　loomed　the　black　forest；　crowding　sullenly　in　upon　the　clearing；　unlighted　by　the　fires。
　　A　tense　silence　reigned　as　Zogar　Sag　turned　toward　the　forest；　raised　on　his　tiptoes　and　sent　a　weird　inhuman　call　shuddering　out　into　the　night。　Somewhere；　far　out　in　the　black　forest；　a　deeper　cry　answered　him。　Balthus　shudedered。　From　the　timbre　of　that　cry　he　knew　it　never　came　from　a　human　throat。　He　remembered　what　Valannus　had　said…that　Zogar　boasted　that　he　could　summon　wild　beasts　to　do　his　bidding。　The　woodsman　was　livid　beneath　his　mask　of　blood。　He　licked　his　lips　spasmodically。
　　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