Title: The Tower of the Elephant

Author: Robert E. Howard

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Title: The Tower of the Elephant

Author: Robert E. Howard









Contents







I

II

III









I



Torches flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of

the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and

roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and

watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their

sport. Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse

and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel

glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the

darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of

scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight licked luridly from broken

windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of

wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists

hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a

blow in the face.



This man halted in his description of an intended victim's charms, and

thrust his muzzle into a huge tankard of frothing ale. Then blowing-

the foam from his fat lips, he said, "By Bel, god of all thieves, I'll

show them how to steal wenches: I'll have her over the Zamorian border

before dawn, and there'll be a caravan waiting to receive her. Three

hundred pieces of silver, a count of Ophir promised me for a sleek

young Brythunian of the better class. It took me weeks, wandering

among the border cities as a beggar, to find one I knew would suit.

And is she a pretty baggage!"



He blew a slobbery kiss in the air.



"I know lords in Shem who would trade the secret of the Elephant Tower

for her," he said, returning to his ale.







A touch on his tunic sleeve made him turn his head, scowling at the

interruption. He saw a tall, strongly made youth standing beside him.

This person was as much out of place in that den as a gray wolf among

mangy rats of the gutters. His cheap tunic could not conceal the hard,

rangy lines of his powerful frame, the broad heavy shoulders, the

massive chest, lean waist, and heavy arms. His skin was brown from

outland suns, his eyes blue and smoldering; a shock of tousled black

hair crowned his broad forehead. From his girdle hung a sword in a

worn leather scabbard.



"You spoke of the Elephant Tower," said the stranger, speaking

Zamorian with an alien accent. "I've heard much of this tower; what is

its secret?"



The fellow's attitude did not seem threatening, and the Kothian's

courage was bolstered up by the ale, and the evident approval of his

audience. He swelled with self-importance.



"The secret of the Elephant Tower?" he exclaimed. "Why, any fool knows

that Yara the priest dwells there with the great jewel men call the

Elephant's Heart, that is the secret of his magic."



The barbarian digested this for a space.



"I have seen this tower," he said. "It is set in a great garden above

the level of the city, surrounded by high walls. I have seen no

guards. The walls would be easy to climb. Why has not somebody stolen

this secret gem?"



The Kothian stared wide-mouthed at the other's simplicity, then burst

into a roar of derisive mirth, in which the others joined.



"Harken to this heathen!" he bellowed. "He would steal the jewel of

Yara! ­ Harken, fellow," he said, turning portentously to the other,

"I suppose you are some sort of a northern barbarian -"



"I am a Cimmerian," the outlander answered, in no friendly tone. The

reply and the manner of it meant little to the Kothian; of a kingdom

that lay far to the south, on the borders of Shem, he knew only

vaguely of the northern races.



"Then give ear and learn wisdom, fellow," said he, pointing his

drinking-jack at the discomfited youth. "Know that in Zamora, and more

especially in this city, there are more bold thieves than anywhere

else in the world, even Koth. If mortal man could have stolen the gem,

be sure it would have been filched long ago. You speak of climbing the

walls, but once having climbed, you would quickly wish yourself back

again. There are no guards in the gardens at night for a very good

reason--that is, no human guards. But in the watch-chamber, in the

lower part of the tower, are armed men, and even if you passed those

who roam the gardens by night, you must still pass through the

soldiers, for the gem is kept somewhere in the tower above."



"But if a man could pass through the gardens," argued the Cimmerian,

"why could he not come at the gem through the upper part of the tower

and thus avoid the soldiers?"



Again the Kothian gaped at him.



"Listen to him!" he shouted jeeringly. "The barbarian is an eagle who

would fly to the jeweled rim of the tower, which is only a hundred and

fifty feet above the earth, with rounded sides slicker than polished

glass!"



The Cimmerian glared about, embarrassed at the roar of mocking

laughter that greeted this remark. He saw no particular humor in it,

and was too new to civilization to understand its discourtesies.

Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know

they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general

thing. He was bewildered and chagrined, and doubtless would have slunk

away, abashed, but the Kothian chose to goad him further.



"Come, come!" he shouted. "Tell these poor fellows, who have only been

thieves since before you were spawned, tell them how you would steal

the gem!"



"There is always a way, if the desire be coupled with courage,"

answered the Cimmerian shortly, nettled.



The Kothian chose to take this as a personal slur. His face grew

purple with anger.



"What!" he roared. "You dare tell us our business, and intimate that

we are cowards? Get along; get out of my sight!" And he pushed the

Cimmerian violently.



"Will you mock me and then lay hands on me?" grated the barbarian, his

quick rage leaping up; and he returned the push with an open-handed

blow that knocked his tormenter back against the rude-hewn table. Ale

splashed over the jack's lip, and the Kothian roared in fury, dragging

at his sword.



"Heathen dog!" he bellowed. "I'll have your heart for that!"



Steel flashed and the throng surged wildly back out of the way. In

their flight they knocked over the single candle and the den was

plunged in darkness, broken by the crash of upset benches, drum of

flying feet, shouts, oaths of people tumbling over one another, and a

single strident yell of agony that cut the din like a knife. When a

candle was relighted, most of the guests had gone out by doors and

broken windows, and the rest huddled behind stacks of wine-kegs and

under tables. The barbarian was gone; the center of the room was

deserted except for the gashed body of the Kothian. The Cimmerian,

with the unerring instinct of the barbarian, had killed his man in the

darkness and confusion.







II



The lurid lights and drunken revelry fell away behind the Cimmerian.

He had discarded his torn tunic, and walked through the night naked

except for a loin-cloth and his high-strapped sandals. He moved with

the supple ease of a great tiger, his steely muscles rippling under

his brown skin.



His gods were simple and understandable; Crom was their chief, and he

lived on a great mountain, whence he sent forth dooms and death. It

was useless to call on Crom, because he was a gloomy, savage god, and

he hated weaklings. But he gave a man courage at birth, and the will

and might to kill his enemies, which, in the Cimmerian's mind, was all

any god should be expected to do.



His sandalled feet made no sound on the gleaming pave. No watchmen

passed, for even the thieves of the Maul shunned the temples, where

strange dooms had been known to fall on violators. Ahead of him he

saw, looming against the sky, the Tower of the Elephant. He mused,

wondering why it was so named. No one seemed to know. He had never

seen an elephant, but he vaguely understood that it was a monstrous

animal, with a tail in front as well as behind. This a wandering

Shemite had told him, swearing that he had seen such beasts by the

thousands in the country of the Hyrkanians; but all men knew what

liars were the men of Shem. At any rate, there were no elephants in

Zamora.



The shimmering shaft of the tower rose frostily in the stars. In the

sunlight it shone so dazzlingly that few could bear its glare, and men

said it was built of silver. It was round, a slim perfect cylinder, a

hundred and fifty feet in height, and its rim glittered in the

starlight with the great jewels which crusted it. The tower stood

among the waving exotic trees of a garden raised high above the

general level of the city. A high wall enclosed this garden, and

outside the wall was a lower level, likewise enclosed by a wall. No

lights shone forth; there seemed to be no windows in the tower--at

least not above the level of the inner wall. Only the gems high above

sparkled frostily in the starlight.



Shrubbery grew thick outside the lower, or outer wall. The Cimmerian

crept close and stood beside the barrier, measuring it with his eye.

It was high, but he could leap and catch the coping with his fingers.

Then it would be child's play to swing himself up and over, and he did

not doubt that he could pass the inner wall in the same manner. But he

hesitated at the thought of the strange perils which were said to

await within. These people were strange and mysterious to him; they

were not of his kind--not even of the same blood as the more westerly

Brythunians, Nemedians, Kothians and Aquilonians, whose civilized

mysteries had awed him in times past. The people of Zamora were very

ancient, and, from what he had seen of them, very evil.



He thought of Yara, the high priest, who worked strange dooms from

this jeweled tower, and the Cimmerian's hair prickled as he remembered

a tale told by a drunken page of the court--how Yara had laughed in

the face of a hostile prince, and held up a glowing, evil gem before

him, and how rays shot blindingly from that unholy jewel, to envelop

the prince, who screamed and fell down, and shrank to a withered

blackened lump that changed to a black spider which scampered wildly

about the chamber until Yara set his heel upon it.



Yara came not often from his tower of magic, and always to work evil

on some man or some nation. The king of Zamora feared him more than he

feared death, and kept himself drunk all the time because that fear

was more than he could endure sober. Yara was very old--centuries old,

men said, and added that he would live for ever because of the magic

of his gem, which men called the Heart of the Elephant, for no better

reason than they named his hold the Elephant's Tower.



The Cimmerian, engrossed in these thoughts, shrank quickly against the

wall. Within the garden some one was passing, who walked with a

measured stride. The listener heard the clink of steel. So after all a

guard did pace those gardens. The Cimmerian waited, expected to hear

him pass again, on the next round, but silence rested over the

mysterious gardens.



At last curiosity overcame him. Leaping lightly he grasped the wall

and swung himself up to the top with one arm. Lying flat on the broad

coping, he looked down into the wide space between the walls. No

shrubbery grew near him, though he saw some carefully trimmed bushes

near the inner wall. The starlight fell on the even sward and

somewhere a fountain tinkled.



The Cimmerian cautiously lowered himself down on the inside and drew

his sword, staring about him. He was shaken by the nervousness of the

wild at standing thus unprotected in the naked starlight, and he moved

lightly around the curve of the wall, hugging its shadow, until he was

even with the shrubbery he had noticed. Then he ran quickly toward it,

crouching low, and almost tripped over a form that lay crumpled near

the edges of the bushes.



A quick look to right and left showed him no enemy in sight at least,

and he bent close to investigate. His keen eyes, even in the dim

starlight, showed him a strongly built man in the silvered armor and

crested helmet of the Zamorian royal guard. A shield and a spear lay

near him, and it took but an instant's examination to show that he had

been strangled. The barbarian glanced about uneasily. He knew that

this man must be the guard he had heard pass his hiding-place by the

wall. Only a short time had passed, yet in that interval nameless

hands had reached out of the dark and choked out the soldier's life.



Straining his eyes in the gloom, he saw a hint of motion through the

shrubs near the wall. Thither he glided, gripping his sword. He made

no more noise than a panther stealing through the night, yet the man

he was stalking heard. The Cimmerian had a dim glimpse of a huge bulk

close to the wall, felt relief that it was at least human; then the

fellow wheeled quickly with a gasp that sounded like panic, made the

first motion of a forward plunge, hands clutching, then recoiled as

the Cimmerian's blade caught the starlight. For a tense instant

neither spoke, standing ready for anything.



"You are no soldier," hissed the stranger at last. "You are a thief

like myself"



"And who are you?" asked the Cimmerian in a suspicious whisper.



"Taurus of Nemedia."



The Cimmerian lowered his sword.



"I've heard of you. Men call you a prince of thieves."



A low laugh answered him. Taurus was tall as the Cimmerian, and

heavier; he was big-bellied and fat, but his every movement betokened

a subtle dynamic magnetism, which was reflected in the keen eyes that

glinted vitally, even in the starlight. He was barefooted and carried

a coil of what looked like a thin, strong rope, knotted at regular

intervals.



"Who are you?" he whispered.



"Conan, a Cimmerian," answered the other. "I came seeking a way to

steal Yara's jewel, that men call the Elephant's Heart."



Conan sensed the man's great belly shaking in laughter, but it was not

derisive. "By Bel, god of thieves!" hissed Taurus. "I had thought only

myself had courage to attempt that poaching. These Zamorians call

themselves thieves--bah! Conan, I like your grit. I never shared an

adventure with anyone, but by Bel, we'll attempt this together if

you're willing."



"Then you are after the gem, too?"



"What else? I've had my plans laid for months, but you, I think, have

acted on sudden impulse, my friend."



"You killed the soldier?"



"Of course. I slid over the wall when he was on the other side of the

garden. I hid in the bushes; he heard me, or thought he heard

something. When he came blundering over, it was no trick at all to get

behind him and suddenly grip his neck and choke out his fool's life.

He was like most men, half blind in the dark. A good thief should have

eyes like a cat."



"You made one mistake," said Conan.



Taurus' eyes flashed angrily.



"I? I, a mistake? Impossible!"



"You should have dragged the body into the bushes."



"Said the novice to the master of the art. They will not change the

guard until past midnight. Should any come searching for him now, and

find his body, they would flee at once to Yara, bellowing the news,

and give us time to escape. Were they not to find it, they'd go

beating up the bushes and catch us like rats in a trap."



"You are right," agreed Conan.



"So. Now attend. We waste time in this cursed discussion. There are no

guards in the inner garden--human guards, I mean, though there are

sentinels even more deadly. It was their presence which baffied me for

so long, but I finally discovered a way to circumvent them."



"What of the soldiers in the lower part of the tower?"



"Old Yara dwells in the chambers above. By that route we will come--

and go, I hope. Never mind asking me how. I have arranged a way. We'll

steal down through the top of the tower and strangle old Yara before

he can cast any of his accursed spells on us. At least we'll try; it's

the chance of being turned into a spider or a toad, against the wealth

and power of the world. All good thieves must know how to take risks."



"I'll go as far as any man," said Conan, slipping off his sandals.



"Then follow me."  And turning, Taurus leaped up, caught the wall and

drew himself up. The man's suppleness was amazing, considering his

bulk; he seemed almost to glide up over the edge of the coping. Conan

followed him, and lying flat on the broad top, they spoke in wary

whispers.



"I see no light," Conan muttered. The lower part of the tower seemed

much like that portion visible from outside the garden--a perfect,

gleaming cylinder, with no apparent openings.



"There are cleverly constructed doors and windows," answered Taurus,

"but they are closed. The soldiers breathe air that comes from above."



The garden was a vague pool of shadows, where feathery bushes and low

spreading trees waved darkly in the starlight. Conan's wary soul felt

the aura of waiting menace that brooded over it. He felt the burning

glare of unseen eyes, and he caught a subtle scent that made the short

hairs on his neck instinctively bristle as a hunting dog bristles at

the scent of an ancient enemy.



"Follow me," whispered Taurus, "keep behind me, as you value your

life."







"Aye. By day they are kept in subterranean caverns below the tower.

That's why there are no guards in this garden."



Conan counted the eyes rapidly.



"Five in sight; maybe more back in the bushes. They'll charge in a

moment-"



"Be silent!" hissed Taurus, and he moved out from the wall, cautiously

as if treading on razors, lifting the slender tube. Low rumblings rose

from the shadows and the blazing eyes moved forward. Conan could sense

the great slavering jaws, the tufted tails lashing tawny sides. The

air grew tense--the Cimmerian gripped his sword, expecting the charge

and the irresistible hurtling of giant bodies. Then Taurus brought the

mouth of the tube to his lips and blew powerfully. A long jet of

yellowish powder shot from the other end of the tube and billowed out

instantly in a thick green-yellow cloud that settled over the

shrubbery, blotting out the glaring eyes.



Taurus ran back hastily to the wall. Conan glared without

understanding. The thick cloud hid the shrubbery, and from it no sound

came.



"What is that mist?" the Cimmerian asked uneasily.



"Death!" hissed the Nemedian. "If a wind springs up and blows it back

upon us, we must flee over the wall. But no, the wind is still, and

now it is dissipating. Wait until it vanishes entirely. To breathe it

is death."



Presently only yellowish shreds hung ghostlily in the air; then they

were gone, and Taurus motioned his companion forward. They stole

toward the bushes, and Conan gasped. Stretched out in the shadows lay

five great tawny shapes, the fire of their grim eyes dimmed for ever.

A sweetish cloying scent lingered in the atmosphere.



"They died without a sound!" muttered the Cimmerian. "Taurus, what was

that powder?"



"It was made from the black lotus, whose blossoms wave in the lost

jungles of Khitai, where only the yellow-skulled priests of Yun dwell.

Those blossoms strike dead any who smell of them."



Conan knelt beside the great forms, assuring himself that they were

indeed beyond power of harm. He shook his head; the magic of the

exotic lands was mysterious and terrible to the barbarians of the

north.



"Why can you not slay the soldiers in the tower in the same way?" he

asked.



"Because that was all the powder I possessed. The obtaining of it was

a feat which in itself was enough to make me famous among the thieves

of the world. I stole it out of a caravan bound for Stygia, and I

lifted it, in its cloth-of-gold bag, out of the coils of the great

serpent which guarded it, without awaking him. But come, in Bel's

name! Are we to waste the night in discussion?"



They glided through the shrubbery to the gleaming foot of the tower,

and there, with a motion enjoining silence, Taurus unwound his knotted

cord, on one end of which was a strong steel hook. Conan saw his plan,

and asked no questions as the Nemedian gripped the line a short

distance below the hook, and began to swing it about his head. Conan

laid his ear to the smooth wall and listened, but could hear nothing.

Evidently the soldiers within did not suspect the presence of

intruders, who had made no more sound than the night wind blowing

through the trees. But a strange nervousness was on the barbarian;

perhaps it was the lion-smell which was over everything.







It was Conan's savage instinct which made him wheel suddenly; for the

death that was upon them made no sound. A fleeting glimpse showed the

Cimmerian the giant tawny shape, rearing upright against the stars,

towering over him for the death-stroke. No civilized man could have

moved half so quickly as the barbarian moved. His sword flashed

frostily in the starlight with every ounce of desperate nerve and thew

behind it, and man and beast went down together.



Cursing incoherently beneath his breath, Taurus bent above the mass,

and saw his companion's limbs move as he strove to drag himself from

under the great weight that lay limply upon him. A glance showed the

startled Nemedian that the lion was dead, its slanting skull split in

half. He laid hold of the carcass, and by his aid, Conan thrust it

aside and clambered up, still gripping his dripping sword.



"Are you hurt, man?" gasped Taurus, still bewildered by the stunning

swiftness of that touch-and-go episode.



"No, by Crom!" answered the barbarian. "But that was as close a call

as I've had in a life noways tame. Why did not the cursed beast roar

as he charged?"



"All things are strange in this garden," said Taurus. "The lions

strike silently--and so do other deaths. But come--little sound was

made in that slaying, but the soldiers might have heard, if they are

not asleep or drunk. That beast was in some other part of the garden

and escaped the death of the flowers, but surely there are no more. We

must climb this cord--little need to ask a Cimmerian if he can."



"If it will bear my weight," grunted Conan, cleansing his sword on the

grass. "It will bear thrice my own," answered Taurus. "It was woven

from the tresses of dead women, which I took from their tombs at

midnight, and steeped in the deadly wine of the upas tree, to give it

strength. I will go first--then follow me closely."



The Nemedian gripped the rope and crooking a knee about it, began the

ascent; he went up like a cat, belying the apparent clumsiness of his

bulk. The Cimmerian followed. The cord swayed and turned on itself,

but the climbers were not hindered; both had made more difficult

climbs before. The jeweled rim glittered high above them, jutting out

from the perpendicular of the wall, so that the cord hung perhaps a

foot from the side of the tower--a fact which added greatly to the

ease of the ascent.



Up and up they went, silently, the lights of the city spreading out

further and further to their sight as they climbed, the stars above

them more and more dimmed by the glitter of the jewels along the rim.

Now Taurus reached up a hand and gripped the rim itself, pulling

himself up and over. Conan paused a moment on the very edge,

fascinated by the great frosty jewels whose gleams dazzled his

eyes­diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, turquoises, moonstones,

set thick as stars in the shimmering silver. At a distance their

different gleams had seemed to merge into a pulsing white glare; but

now, at close range, they shimmered with a million rainbow tints and

lights, hypnotizing him with their scintillations.



"There is a fabulous fortune here, Taurus," he whispered; but the

Nemedian answered impatiently, "Come on! If we secure the Heart, these

and all other things shall be ours."



Conan climbed over the sparkling rim. The level of the tower's top was

some feet below the gemmed ledge. It was flat, composed of some dark

blue substance, set with gold that caught the starlight, so that the

whole looked like a wide sapphire flecked with shining gold-dust.

Across from the point where they had entered there seemed to be a sort

of chamber, built upon the roof. It was of the same silvery material

as the walls of the tower, adorned with designs worked in smaller

gems; its single door was of gold, its surface cut in scales, and

crusted with jewels that gleamed like ice.



Conan cast a glance at the pulsing ocean of lights which spread far

below them, then glanced at Taurus. The Nemedian was drawing up his

cord and coiling it. He showed Conan where the hook had caught--a

fraction of an inch of the point had sunk under a great blazing jewel

on the inner side of the rim.



"Luck was with us again," he muttered. "One would think that our

combined weight would have torn that stone out. Follow me; the real

risks of the venture begin now. We are in the serpent's lair, and we

know not where he lies hidden."







Conan saw scant reason in this, and a faint suspicion of his companion

touched his wary soul, but he did as Taurus requested. As he turned

away, the Nemedian slipt inside the door and drew it shut behind him.

Conan crept about the rim of the tower, returning to his starting-

point without having seen any suspicious movement in the vaguely

waving sea of leaves below. He turned toward the door-suddenly from

within the chamber there sounded a strangled cry.



The Cimmerian leaped forward, electrified--the gleaming door swung

open and Taurus stood framed in the cold blaze behind him. He swayed

and his lips parted, but only a dry rattle burst from his throat.

Catching at the golden door for the support, he lurched out upon the

roof, then fell headlong, clutching at his throat. The door swung to

behind him.



Conan, crouching like a panther at bay, saw nothing in the room behind

the stricken Nemedian, in the brief instant the door was partly open--

unless it was not a trick of the light which made it seem as if a

shadow darted across the gleaming floor. Nothing followed Taurus out

on the roof, and Conan bent above the man.



The Nemedian stared up with dilated, glazing eyes, that somehow held a

terrible bewilderment. His hands clawed at his throat, his lips

slobbered and gurgled; then suddenly he stiffened, and the astounded

Cimmerian knew that he was dead. And he felt that Taurus had died

without knowing what manner of death had stricken him. Conan glared

bewilderedly at the cryptic golden door. In that empty room, with its

glittering jeweled walls, death had come to the prince of thieves as

swiftly and mysteriously as he had dealt doom to the lions in the

gardens below.



Gingerly the barbarian ran his hands over the man's half-naked body,

seeking a wound. But the only marks of violence were between his

shoulders, high up near the base of his bull-neck--three small wounds,

which looked as if three nails had been driven deep in the flesh and

withdrawn. The edges of these wounds were black, and a faint smell as

of putrefaction was evident. Poisoned darts? thought Conan--but in

that case the missiles should be still in the wounds.



Cautiously he stole toward the golden door, pushed it open, and looked

inside. The chamber lay empty, bathed in the cold, pulsing glow of the

myriad jewels. In the very center of the ceiling he idly noted a

curious design--a black eight-sided pattern, in the center of which

four gems glittered with a red flame unlike the white blaze of the

other jewels. Across the room there was another door, like the one in

which he stood, except that it was not carved in the scale pattern.

Was it from that door that death had come?--and having struck down its

victim, had it retreated by the same way?







It was as large as a pig, and its eight thick hairy legs drove its

ogreish body over the floor at headlong pace; its four evilly gleaming

eyes shone with a horrible intelligence, and its fangs dripped venom

that Conan knew, from the burning of his shoulder where only a few

drops had splashed as the thing struck and missed, was laden with

swift death. This was the killer that had dropped from its perch in

the middle of the ceiling on a strand of its web, on the neck of the

Nemedian. Fools that they were not to have suspected that the upper

chambers would be guarded as well as the lower!



These thoughts flashed briefly through Conan's mind as the monster

rushed. He leaped high, and it passed beneath him, wheeled and charged

back. This time he evaded its rush with a sidewise leap, and struck

back like a cat. His sword severed one of the hairy legs, and again he

barely saved himself as the monstrosity swerved at him, fangs clicking

fiendishly. But the creature did not press the pursuit; turning, it

scuttled across the crystal floor and ran up the wall to the ceiling,

where it crouched for an instant, glaring down at him with its

fiendish red eyes. Then without warning it launched itself through

space, trailing a strand of slimy grayish stuff.



Conan stepped back to avoid the hurtling body--then ducked

frantically, just in time to escape being snared by the flying web-

rope. He saw the monster's intent and sprang toward the door, but it

was quicker, and a sticky strand cast across the door made him a

prisoner. He dared not try to cut it with his sword; he knew the stuff

would cling to the blade, and before he could shake it loose, the

fiend would be sinking its fangs in to his back. Then began a

desperate game, the wits and quickness of the man matched against the

fiendish craft and speed of the giant spider. It no longer scuttled

across the floor in a direct charge, or swung its body through the air

at him. It raced about the ceiling and the walls, seeking to snare him

in the long loops of sticky gray web­strands, which it flung with a

devilish accuracy. These strands were thick as ropes, and Conan knew

that once they were coiled about him, his desperate strength would not

be enough to tear him free before the monster struck.



All over the chamber went on that devil's dance, in utter silence

except for the quick breathing of the man, the low scuff of his bare

feet on the shining floor, the castanet rattle of the monstrosity's

fangs. The gray strands lay in coils on the floor; they were looped

along the walls; they overlaid the jewel-chests and silken couches,

and hung in dusky festoons from the jeweled ceiling. Conan's steel-

trap quickness of eye and muscle had kept him untouched, though the

sticky loops had passed him so close they rasped his naked hide. He

knew he could not always avoid them; he not only had to watch the

strands swinging from the ceiling, but to keep his eye on the floor,

lest he trip in the coils that lay there. Sooner or later a gummy loop

would writhe about him, python-like, and then, wrapped like a cocoon,

he would lie at the monster's mercy.



The spider raced across the chamber floor, the gray rope waving out

behind it. Conan leaped high, clearing a couch--with a quick wheel the

fiend ran up the wall, and the strand, leaping off the floor like a

live thing, whipped about the Cimmerian's ankle. He caught himself on

his hands as he fell, jerking frantically at the web which held him

like a pliant vise, or the coil of a python. The hairy devil was

racing down the wall to complete its capture. Stung to frenzy, Conan

caught up a jewel chest and hurled it with all his strength. It was a

move the monster was not expecting. Full in the midst of the branching

black legs the massive missile struck, smashing against the wall with

a muffled sickening crunch. Blood and greenish slime spattered, and

the shattered mass fell with the burst gem-chest to the floor. The

crushed black body lay among the flaming riot of jewels that spilled

over it; the hairy legs moved aimlessly, the dying eyes glittered

redly among the twinkling gems.



Conan glared about, but no other horror appeared, and he set himself

to working free of the web. The substance clung tenaciously to his

ankle and his hands, but at last he was free, and taking up his sword,

he picked his way among the gray coils and loops to the inner door.

What horrors lay within he did not know. The Cimmerian's blood was up,

and since he had come so far, and overcome so much peril, he was

determined to go through to the grim finish of the adventure, whatever

that might be. And he felt that the jewel he sought was not among the

many so carelessly strewn about the gleaming chamber.



Stripping off the loops that fouled the inner door, he found that it,

like the other, was not locked. He wondered if the soldiers below were

still unaware of his presence. Well, he was high above their heads,

and if tales were to be believed, they were used to strange noises in

the tower above them--sinister sounds, and screams of agony and

horror.



Yara was on his mind, and he was not altogether comfortable as he

opened the golden door. But he saw only a flight of silver steps

leading down, dimly lighted by what means he could not ascertain. Down

these he went silently, gripping his sword. He heard no sound, and

came presently to an ivory door, set with blood stones. He listened,

but no sound came from within; only thin wisps of smoke drifted lazily

from beneath the door, bearing a curious exotic odor unfamiliar to the

Cimmerian. Below him the silver stair wound down to vanish in the

dimness, and up that shadowy well no sound floated; he had an eery

feeling that he was alone in a tower occupied only by ghosts and

phantoms.











III



Cautiously he pressed against the ivory door and it swung silently

inward. On the shimmering threshold Conan stared like a wolf in

strange surroundings, ready to fight or flee on the instant. He was

looking into a large chamber with a domed golden ceiling; the walls

were of green jade, the floor of ivory, partly covered by thick rugs.

Smoke and exotic scent of incense floated up from a brazier on a

golden tripod, and behind it sat an idol on a sort of marble couch.

Conan stared aghast; the image had the body of a man, naked, and green

in color; but the head was one of nightmare and madness. Too large for

the human body, it had no attributes of humanity. Conan stared at the

wide flaring ears, the curling proboscis, on either side of which

stood white tusks tipped with round golden balls. The eyes were

closed, as if in sleep.



As Conan came forward, his eyes fixed on the motionless idol, the eyes

of the thing opened suddenly! The Cimmerian froze in his tracks. It

was no image--it was a living thing, and he was trapped in its

chamber!



That he did not instantly explode in a burst of murderous frenzy is a

fact that measures his horror, which paralyzed him where he stood. A

civilized man in his position would have sought doubtful refuge in the

conclusion that he was insane; it did not occur to the Cimmerian to

doubt his senses. He knew he was face to face with a demon of the

Elder World, and the realization robbed him of all his faculties

except sight.



The trunk of the horror was lifted and quested about, the topaz eyes

stared unseeingly, and Conan knew the monster was blind. With the

thought came a thawing of his frozen nerves, and he began to back

silently toward the door. But the creature heard. The sensitive trunk

stretched toward him, and Conan's horror froze him again when the

being spoke, in a strange, stammering voice that never changed its key

or timbre. The Cimmerian knew that those jaws were never built or

intended for human speech.



"Who is here? Have you come to torture me again, Yara? will you never

be done? Oh, Yag-kosha, is there no end to agony?"



Tears rolled from the sightless eyes, and Conan's gaze strayed to the

limbs stretched on the marble couch. And he knew the monster would not

rise to attack him. He knew the marks of the rack, and the searing

brand of the flame, and tough­souled as he was, he stood aghast at

the ruined deformities which his reason told him had once been limbs

as comely as his own. And suddenly all fear and repulsion went from

him, to be replaced by a great pity. What this monster was, Conan

could not know, but the evidences of its sufferings were so terrible

and pathetic that a strange aching sadness came over the Cimmerian, he

knew not why. He only felt that he was looking upon a cosmic tragedy,

and he shrank with shame, as if the guilt of a whole race were laid

upon him.



"I am not Yara," he said. "I am only a thief. I will not harm you."



"Come near that I may touch you," the creature faltered, and Conan

came near unfearingly, his sword hanging forgotten in his hand. The

sensitive trunk came out and groped over his face and shoulders, as a

blind man gropes, and its touch was light as a girl's hand.



"You are not of Yara's race of devils," sighed the creature. "The

clean, lean fierceness of the wastelands marks you. I know your people

from of old, whom I knew by another name in the long, long ago when

another world lifted its jeweled spires to the stars. There is blood

on your fingers."



"A spider in the chamber above and a lion in the garden," muttered

Conan. "You have slain a man too, this night," answered the other.

"And there is death in the tower above. I feel; I know."



"Aye," muttered Conan. "The prince of all thieves lies there dead from

the bite of a vermin."



"So--and so!" the strange inhuman voice rose in a sort of low chant.

"A slaying in the tavern and a slaying on the roof--I know; I feel.

And the third will make the magic of which not even Yara dreams--oh,

magic of deliverance, green gods of Yag!"



Again tears fell as the tortured body was rocked to and fro in the

grip of varied emotions. Conan looked on, bewildered.



Then the convulsions ceased; the soft, sightless eyes were turned

toward the Cimmerian, the trunk beckoned.



"Oh man, listen," said the strange being. "I am foul and monstrous to

you, am I not? Nay, do not answer; I know. But you would seem as

strange to me, could I see you. There are many worlds besides this

earth, and life takes many shapes. I am neither god nor demon, but

flesh and blood like yourself, though the substance differ in part,

and the form be cast in different mold.



"I am very old, oh man of the waste countries; long and long ago I

came to this planet with others of my world, from the green planet

Yag, which circles for ever in the outer fringe of this universe. We

swept through space on mighty wings that drove us through the cosmos

quicker than light, because we had warred with the kings of Yag and

were defeated and outcast. But we could never return, for on earth our

wings withered from our shoulders. Here we abode apart from earthly

life. We fought the strange and terrible forms of life which then

walked the earth, so that we became feared, and were not molested in

the dim jungles of the east, where we had our abode.



"We saw men grow from the ape and build the shining cities of Valusia,

Kamelia, Commoria, and their sisters. We saw them reel before the

thrusts of the heathen Atlanteans and Picts and Lemurians. We saw the

oceans rise and engulf Atlantis and Lemuria, and the isles of the

Picts, and the shining cities of civilization. We saw the survivors of

Pictdom and Atlantis build their stone age empires, and go down to

ruin, locked in bloody wars. We saw the Picts sink into abysmal

savagery, the Atlanteans into apedom again. We saw new savages drift

southward in conquering waves from the arctic circle to build a new

civilization, with new kingdoms called Nemedia, and Koth, and

Aquilonia and their sisters. We saw your people rise under a new name

from the jungles of the apes that had been Atlanteans. We saw the

descendants of the Lemurians who had survived the cataclysm, rise

again through savagery and ride westward, as Hyrkanians. And we saw

this race of devils, survivors of the ancient civilization that was

before Atlantis sank, come once more into culture and power--this

accursed kingdom of Zamora.



"All this we saw, neither aiding nor hindering the immutable cosmic

law, and one by one we died; for we of Yag are not immortal, though

our lives are as the lives of planets and constellations. At last I

alone was left, dreaming of old times among the ruined temples of

jungle-lost Khitai, worshipped as a god by an ancient yellow­skinned

race. Then came Yara, versed in dark knowledge handed down through the

days of barbarism, since before Atlantis sank.



"First he sat at my feet and learned wisdom. But he was not satisfied

with what I taught him, for it was white magic, and he wished evil

lore, to enslave kings and glut a fiendish ambition. I would teach him

none of the black secrets I had gained, through no wish of mine,

through the eons. "But his wisdom was deeper than I had guessed; with

guile gotten among the dusky tombs of dark Stygia, he trapped me into

divulging a secret I had not intended to bare; and turning my own

power upon me, he enslaved me. Ah, gods of Yag, my cup has been bitter

since that hour!



"He brought me up from the lost jungles of Khitai where the gray apes

danced to the pipes of the yellow priests, and offerings of fruit and

wine heaped my broken altars. No more was I a god to kindly jungle-

folk--I was slave to a devil in human form."



Again tears stole from the unseeing eyes.



"He pent me in this tower which at his command I built for him in a

single night. By fire and rack he mastered me, and by strange

unearthly tortures you would not understand. In agony I would long ago

have taken my own life, if I could. But he kept me alive--mangled,

blinded, and broken--to do his foul bidding. And for three hundred

years I have done his bidding, from this marble couch, blackening my

soul with cosmic sins, and staining my wisdom with crimes, because I

had no other choice. Yet not all my ancient secrets has he wrested

from me, and my last gift shall be the sorcery of the Blood and the

Jewel.



"For I feel the end of time draw near. You are the hand of Fate. I beg

of you, take the gem you will find on yonder altar."



Conan turned to the gold and ivory altar indicated, and took up a

great round jewel, clear as crimson crystal; and he knew that this was

the Heart of the Elephant.



"Now for the great magic, the mighty magic, such as earth has not seen

before, and shall not see again, through a million million of

millenniums. By my life-blood I conjure it, by blood born on the green

breast of Yag, dreaming far-poised in the great blue vastness of

Space.



"Take your sword, man, and cut out my heart; then squeeze it so that

the blood will flow over the red stone. Then go you down these stairs

and enter the ebony chamber where Yara sits wrapped in lotus-dreams of

evil. Speak his name and he will awaken. Then lay this gem before him,

and say, 'Yag-kosha gives you a last gift and a last enchantment.'

Then get you from the tower quickly; fear not, your way shall be made

clear. The life of man is not the life of Yag, nor is human death the

death of Yag. Let me be free of this cage of broken blind flesh, and I

will once more be Yogah of Yag, morning-crowned and shining, with

wings to fly, and feet to dance, and eyes to see, and hands to break."



Uncertainly Conan approached, and Yag-kosha, or Yogah, as if sensing

his uncertainty, indicated where he should strike. Conan set his teeth

and drove the sword deep. Blood streamed over the blade and his hand,

and the monster started convulsively, then lay back quite still. Sure

that life had fled, at least life as he understood it, Conan set to

work on his grisly task and quickly brought forth something that he

felt must be the strange being's heart, though it differed curiously

from any he had ever seen. Holding the still pulsing organ over the

blazing jewel, he pressed it with both hands, and a rain of blood fell

on the stone. To his surprize, it did not run off, but soaked into the

gem, as water is absorbed by a sponge.



Holding the jewel gingerly, he went out of the fantastic chamber and

came upon the silver steps. He did not look back; he instinctively

felt that some sort of transmutation was taking place in the body on

the marble couch, and he further felt that it was of a sort not to be

witnessed by human eyes.







The eyes cleared instantly and became cold and cruel as a vulture's.

The tall silken-clad form lifted erect, and towered gauntly above the

Cimmerian.



"Dog!" His hiss was like the voice of a cobra. "What do you here?"



Conan laid the jewel on the great ebony table.



"He who sent this gem bade me say, 'Yag-kosha gives a last gift and a

last enchantment.'"



Yara recoiled, his dark face ashy. The jewel was no longer crystal-

clear; its murky depths pulsed and throbbed, and curious smoky waves

of changing color passed over its smooth surface. As if drawn

hypnotically, Yara bent over the table and gripped the gem in his

hands, staring into its shadowed depths, as if it were a magnet to

draw the shuddering soul from his body. And as Conan looked, he

thought that his eyes must be playing him tricks. For when Yara had

risen up from his couch, the priest had seemed gigantically tall; yet

now he saw that Yara's head would scarcely come to his shoulder. He

blinked, puzzled, and for the first time that night, doubted his own

senses. Then with a shock he realized that the priest was shrinking in

stature--was growing smaller before his very gaze.



With a detached feeling he watched, as a man might watch a play;

immersed in a feeling of overpowering unreality, the Cimmerian was no

longer sure of his own identity; he only knew that he was looking upon

the external evidences of the unseen play of vast Outer forces, beyond

his understanding.



Now Yara was no bigger than a child; now like an infant he sprawled on

the table, still grasping the jewel. And now the sorcerer suddenly

realized his fate, and he sprang up, releasing the gem. But still he

dwindled, and Conan saw a tiny, pigmy figure rushing wildly about the

ebony table-top, waving tiny arms and shrieking in a voice that was

like the squeak of an insect.



Now he had shrunk until the great jewel towered above him like a hill,

and Conan saw him cover his eyes with his hands, as if to shield them

from the glare, as he staggered about like a madman. Conan sensed that

some unseen magnetic force was pulling Yara to the gem. Thrice he

raced wildly about it in a narrowing circle, thrice he strove to turn

and run out across the table; then with a scream that echoed faintly

in the ears of the watcher, the priest threw up his arms and ran

straight toward the blazing globe.



Bending close, Conan saw Yara clamber up the smooth, curving surface,

impossibly, like a man climbing a glass mountain. Now the priest stood

on the top, still with tossing arms, invoking what grisly names only

the gods know. And suddenly he sank into the very heart of the jewel,

as a man sinks into a sea, and Conan saw the smoky waves close over

his head. Now he saw him in the crimson heart of the jewel, once more

crystal-clear, as a man sees a scene far away, tiny with great

distance. And into the heart came a green, shining winged figure with

the body of a man and the head of an elephant--no longer blind or

crippled. Yara threw up his arms and fled as a madman flees, and on

his heels came the avenger. Then, like the bursting of a bubble, the

great jewel vanished in a rainbow burst of iridescent gleams, and the

ebony table-top lay bare and deserted--as bare, Conan somehow knew, as

the marble couch in the chamber above, where the body of that strange

transcosmic being called Yag-kosha and Yogah had lain.



The Cimmerian turned and fled from the chamber, down the silver

stairs. So mazed was he that it did not occur to him to escape from

the tower by the way he had entered it. Down that winding, shadowy

silver well he ran, and came into a large chamber at the foot of the

gleaming stairs. There he halted for an instant; he had come into the

room of the soldiers. He saw the glitter of their silver corselets,

the sheen of their jeweled sword-hilts. They sat slumped at the

banquet board, their dusky plumes waving somberly above their drooping

helmeted heads; they lay among their dice and fallen goblets on the

wine-stained lapis-lazuli floor. And he knew that they were dead. The

promise had been made, the word kept; whether sorcery or magic or the

falling shadow of great green wings had stilled the revelry, Conan

could not know, but his way had been made clear. And a silver door

stood open, framed in the whiteness of dawn.



Into the waving green gardens came the Cimmerian, and as the dawn wind

blew upon him with the cool fragrance of luxuriant growths, he started

like a man waking from a dream. He turned back uncertainly, to stare

at the cryptic tower he had just left. Was he bewitched and enchanted?

Had he dreamed all that had seemed to have passed? As he looked he saw

the gleaming tower sway against the crimson dawn, its jewel-crusted

rim sparkling in the growing light, and crash into shining shards.







THE END

