Almuric by Robert E. Howard (dark academia books to read .txt) đź“–
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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.”
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