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  SHADOWS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  By Robert E. Howard

  [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published in Weird Tales April 1934. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  1

  A swift crashing of horses through the tall reeds; a heavy fall, adespairing cry. From the dying steed there staggered up its rider, aslender girl in sandals and girdled tunic. Her dark hair fell over herwhite shoulders, her eyes were those of a trapped animal. She did notlook at the jungle of reeds that hemmed in the little clearing, nor atthe blue waters that lapped the low shore behind her. Her wide-eyed gazewas fixed in agonized intensity on the horseman who pushed through thereedy screen and dismounted before her.

  He was a tall man, slender, but hard as steel. From head to heel he wasclad in light silvered mesh-mail that fitted his supple form like aglove. From under the dome-shaped, gold-chased helmet his brown eyesregarded her mockingly.

  'Stand back!' her voice shrilled with terror. 'Touch me not, ShahAmurath, or I will throw myself into the water and drown!'

  He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword sliding from asilken sheath.

  'No, you will not drown, Olivia, daughter of confusion, for the marge istoo shallow, and I can catch you before you can reach the deeps. Yougave me a merry chase, by the gods, and all my men are far behind us.But there is no horse west of Vilayet that can distance Irem for long.'He nodded at the tall, slender-legged desert stallion behind him.

  'Let me go!' begged the girl, tears of despair staining her face. 'HaveI not suffered enough? Is there any humiliation, pain or degradation youhave not heaped on me? How long must my torment last?'

  'As long as I find pleasure in your whimperings, your pleas, tears andwrithings,' he answered with a smile that would have seemed gentle to astranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall everweary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are everfresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a newdelight.

  'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting theconqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engagedin recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!'

  'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among thereeds.

  'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. Witha quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist,twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to herknees.

  'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will bemerciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shallhumbly thank me, while--'

  He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashingout, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding aninarticulate cry of hate.

  Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either asavage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadlymenace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth,which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black manewas matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried bloodon his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword hegripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshoteyes glared like coals of blue fire.

  'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this apparition in a barbarous accent. 'Thedevils of vengeance have brought you here!'

  '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog ofyou escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by IlbarsRiver.'

  'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such ameeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, orlay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mireup to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh,gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!'

  The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champedspasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips.

  'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly.

  'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the greatLord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed mycomrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded andmaimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voicerose to a maddened scream, and he charged.

  In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see himfall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what couldhe do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif?

  There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barelyto touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past thesaber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Oliviacried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rendingmail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanianreeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of hishauberk; his saber slipped from his nerveless fingers.

  'Quarter!' he gasped.

  'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice.'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!'

  Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery,frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in whichculminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden,thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that ShahAmurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet sheclosed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out thesight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of abutcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased.

  She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gorytravesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breastheaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; hisright hand was splashed with blood.

  He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stridethrough the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug atsomething. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks.Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action.

  'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do notleave me! Take me with you!'

  He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. Hisbloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed hadquenched the fire of his frenzy.

  'Who are you?' he demanded.

  'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me.That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are notfar behind him. They will find his corpse--they will find me nearit--oh!' She moaned in her terror and wrung her white hands.

  He stared at her in perplexity.

  'Would you be better off with me?' he demanded. 'I am a barbarian, and Iknow from your looks that you fear me.'

  'Yes, I fear you,' she replied, too distracted to dissemble. 'My fleshcrawls at the horror of your aspect. But I fear the Hyrkanians more. Oh,let me go with you! They will put me to the torture if they find mebeside their dead lord.'

  'Come, then.' He drew aside, and she stepped quickly into the boat,shrinking from contact with him. She seated herself in the bow, and hestepped into the boat, pushed off with an oar, and using it as a paddle,worked his way tortuously among the tall stalks until they glided outinto open water. Then he set to work with both oars, rowing with great,smooth, even strokes, the heavy muscles of arms and shoulders and backrippling in rhythm to his exertions.

&nb
sp; There was silence for some time, the girl crouching in the bows, the mantugging at the oars. She watched him with timorous fascination. It wasevident that he was not an Hyrkanian, and he did not resemble theHyborian races. There was a wolfish hardness about him that marked thebarbarian. His features, allowing for the strains and stains of battleand his hiding in the marshes, reflected that same untamed wildness, butthey were neither evil nor degenerate.

  'Who are you?' she asked. 'Shah Amurath called you a _kozak_; were youof that band?'

  'I am Conan, of Cimmeria,' he grunted. 'I was with the _kozaki_, as theHyrkanian dogs called us.'

  She knew vaguely that the land he named lay far to the northwest, beyondthe farthest boundaries of the different kingdoms of her race.

  'I am a