The Best of Robert E. Howard: Crimson Shadows (Volume 1) Page 10

  A great beaked prow loomed above us, a weird, unfamiliar shape against the stars, and as I caught my breath, sheered sharply and swept by us, with a curious swishing I never heard any other craft make. Joe screamed and backed oars frantically, and the boat walled out of the way just in time; for though the prow had missed us, still otherwise we had died. For from the sides of the ship stood long oars, bank upon bank which swept her along. Though I had never seen such a craft, I knew her for a galley. But what was she doing upon our coasts? They said, the far-farers, that such ships were still in use among the heathens of Barbary; but it was many along, heaving mile to Barbary, and even so she did not resemble the ships described by those who had sailed far.

  We started in pursuit, and this was strange, for though the waters broke about her prow, and she seemed fairly to fly through the waves, yet she was making little speed, and it was no time before we caught up with her. Making our painter fast to a chain far back beyond the reach of the swishing oars, we hailed those on deck. But there came no answer, and at last, conquering our fears, we clambered up the chain and found ourselves upon the strangest deck man has trod for many a long, roaring century.

  “This is no Barbary rover!” muttered Joe fearsomely. “Look, how old it seems! Almost ready to fall to pieces. Why, ’tis fairly rotten!”

  There was no one on deck, no one at the long sweep with which the craft was steered. We stole to the hold and looked down the stair. Then and there, if ever men were on the verge of insanity, it was we. For there were rowers there, it is true; they sat upon the rowers’ benches and drove the creaking oars through the gray waters. And they that rowed were skeletons!

  Shrieking, we plunged across the deck, to fling ourselves into the sea. But at the rail I tripped upon something and fell headlong, and as I lay, I saw a thing which vanquished my fear of the horrors below for an instant. The thing upon which I had tripped was a human body, and in the dim gray light that was beginning to steal across the eastern waves I saw a dagger hilt standing up between his shoulders. Joe was at the rail, urging me to haste, and together we slid down the chain and cut the painter.

  Then we stood off into the bay. Straight on kept the grim galley, and we followed, slowly, wondering. She seemed to be heading straight for the beach beside the wharfs, and as we approached, we saw the wharfs thronged with people. They had missed us, no doubt, and now they stood, there in the early dawn light, struck dumb by the apparition which had come up out of the night and the grim ocean.

  Straight on swept the galley, her oars a-swish; then ere she reached the shallow water — crash! — a terrific reverberation shook the bay. Before our eyes the grim craft seemed to melt away; then she vanished, and the green waters seethed where she had ridden, but there floated no driftwood there, nor did there ever float any ashore. Aye, something floated ashore, but it was grim driftwood!

  We made the landing amid a hum of excited conversation that stopped suddenly. Moll Farrell stood before her hut, limned gauntly against the ghostly dawn, her lean hand pointing seaward. And across the sighing wet sands, borne by the grey tide, something came floating; something that the waves dropped at Moll Farrell’s feet. And there looked up at us, as we crowded about, a pair of unseeing eyes set in a still, white face. John Kulrek had come home.

  Still and grim he lay, rocked by the tide, and as he lurched sideways, all saw the dagger hilt that stood from his back — the dagger all of us had seen a thousand times at the belt of Lie-lip Canool.

  “Aye, I killed him!” came Canool’s shriek, as he writhed and groveled before our gaze. “At sea on a still night in a drunken brawl I slew him and hurled him overboard! And from the far seas he has followed me” — his voice sank to a hideous whisper — “because — of — the — curse — the — sea — would — not — keep — his — body!”

  And the wretch sank down, trembling, the shadow of the gallows already in his eyes.

  “Aye!” Strong, deep and exultant was Moll Farrell’s voice. “From the hell of lost craft Satan sent a ship of bygone ages! A ship red with gore and stained with the memory of horrid crimes! None other would bear such a vile carcass! The sea has taken vengeance and has given me mine. See now, how I spit upon the face of John Kulrek.”

  And with a ghastly laugh, she pitched forward, the blood starting to her lips. And the sun came up across the restless sea.

  THE GATES OF NINEVEH

  Weird Tales, July 1928

  These are the gates of Nineveh; here

  Sargon came when his wars were won,

  Gazed at the turrets looming clear,

  Boldly etched in the morning sun.

  Down from his chariot Sargon came,

  Tossed his helmet upon the sand,

  Dropped his sword with its blade like flame,

  Stroked his beard with his empty hand.

  “Towers are flaunting their banners red,

  The people greet me with song and mirth,

  But a weird is on me,” Sargon said,

  “And I see the end of the tribes of earth.

  “Cities crumble, and chariots rust —

  I see through a fog that is strange and gray —

  All kingly things fade back to the dust,

  Even the gates of Nineveh.”

  RED SHADOWS

  Weird Tales, August 1928

  1. The Coming of Solomon

  The moonlight shimmered hazily, making silvery mists of illusion among the shadowy trees. A faint breeze whispered down the valley, bearing a shadow that was not of the moon-mist. A faint scent of smoke was apparent.

  The man whose long, swinging strides, unhurried yet unswerving, had carried him for many a mile since sunrise, stopped suddenly. A movement in the trees had caught his attention, and he moved silently toward the shadows, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his long, slim rapier.

  Warily he advanced, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness that brooded under the trees. This was a wild and menacing country; death might be lurking under those trees. Then his hand fell away from the hilt and he leaned forward. Death indeed was there, but not in such shape as might cause him fear.

  “The fires of Hades!” he murmured. “A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.”

  The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.

  “You — who are — you?” her words came in gasps.

  “Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.” The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.

  The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet.

  “Tell me.” His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.

  “Le Loup,” she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. “He and his men — descended upon our village — a mile up the valley. They robbed — slew — burned —”

  “That, then, was the smoke I scented,” muttered the man. “Go on, child.”

  “I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me — and — caught me —” The words died away in a shuddering silence.

  “I understand, child. Then —?”

  “Then — he — he — stabbed me — with his dagger — oh, blessed saints! — mercy —”

  Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.

  “Dead!” he muttered.

  Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oath by saints or devils.

  “Men shall die for this,” he said coldly.

  2. The Lair of the Wolf

  “You are a fool!” The words came in a cold snarl that curdled the hearer’s blood.

  He who had just been named a fool lowered his eyes sullenly without answer.

  “You and all the others I lead!” The speaker leaned forward, h
is fist pounding emphasis on the rude table between them. He was a tall, rangy-built man, supple as a leopard and with a lean, cruel, predatory face. His eyes danced and glittered with a kind of reckless mockery.

  The fellow spoken to replied sullenly, “This Solomon Kane is a demon from Hell, I tell you.”

  “Faugh! Dolt! He is a man — who will die from a pistol ball or a sword thrust.”

  “So thought Jean, Juan and La Costa,” answered the other grimly. “Where are they? Ask the mountain wolves that tore the flesh from their dead bones. Where does this Kane hide? We have searched the mountains and the valleys for leagues, and we have found no trace. I tell you, Le Loup, he comes up from Hell. I knew no good would come from hanging that friar a moon ago.”

  The Wolf strummed impatiently upon the table. His keen face, despite lines of wild living and dissipation, was the face of a thinker. The superstitions of his followers affected him not at all.

  “Faugh! I say again. The fellow has found some cavern or secret vale of which we do not know where he hides in the day.”

  “And at night he sallies forth and slays us,” gloomily commented the other. “He hunts us down as a wolf hunts deer — by God, Le Loup, you name yourself Wolf but I think you have met at last a fiercer and more crafty wolf than yourself! The first we know of this man is when we find Jean, the most desperate bandit unhung, nailed to a tree with his own dagger through his breast, and the letters S.L.K. carved upon his dead cheeks. Then the Spaniard Juan is struck down, and after we find him he lives long enough to tell us that the slayer is an Englishman, Solomon Kane, who has sworn to destroy our entire band! What then? La Costa, a swordsman second only to yourself, goes forth swearing to meet this Kane. By the demons of perdition, it seems he met him! For we found his sword-pierced corpse upon a cliff. What now? Are we all to fall before this English fiend?”

  “True, our best men have been done to death by him,” mused the bandit chief. “Soon the rest return from that little trip to the hermit’s; then we shall see. Kane can not hide forever. Then — ha, what was that?”

  The two turned swiftly as a shadow fell across the table. Into the entrance of the cave that formed the bandit lair, a man staggered. His eyes were wide and staring; he reeled on buckling legs, and a dark red stain dyed his tunic. He came a few tottering steps forward, then pitched across the table, sliding off onto the floor.

  “Hell’s devils!” cursed the Wolf, hauling him upright and propping him in a chair. “Where are the rest, curse you?”

  “Dead! All dead!”

  “How? Satan’s curses on you, speak!” The Wolf shook the man savagely, the other bandit gazing on in wide-eyed horror.

  “We reached the hermit’s hut just as the moon rose,” the man muttered. “I stayed outside — to watch — the others went in — to torture the hermit — to make him reveal — the hiding-place — of his gold.”

  “Yes, yes! Then what?” The Wolf was raging with impatience.

  “Then the world turned red — the hut went up in a roar and a red rain flooded the valley — through it I saw — the hermit and a tall man clad all in black — coming from the trees —”

  “Solomon Kane!” gasped the bandit. “I knew it! I —”

  “Silence, fool!” snarled the chief. “Go on!”

  “I fled — Kane pursued — wounded me — but I outran — him — got — here — first —”

  The man slumped forward on the table.

  “Saints and devils!” raged the Wolf. “What does he look like, this Kane?”

  “Like — Satan —”

  The voice trailed off in silence. The dead man slid from the table to lie in a red heap upon the floor.

  “Like Satan!” babbled the other bandit. “I told you! ’Tis the Horned One himself! I tell you —”

  He ceased as a frightened face peered in at the cave entrance.

  “Kane?”

  “Aye.” The Wolf was too much at sea to lie. “Keep close watch, La Mon; in a moment the Rat and I will join you.”

  The face withdrew and Le Loup turned to the other.

  “This ends the band,” said he. “You, I, and that thief La Mon are all that are left. What would you suggest?”

  The Rat’s pallid lips barely formed the word: “Flight!”

  “You are right. Let us take the gems and gold from the chests and flee, using the secret passageway.”

  “And La Mon?”

  “He can watch until we are ready to flee. Then — why divide the treasure three ways?”

  A faint smile touched the Rat’s malevolent features. Then a sudden thought smote him.

  “He,” indicating the corpse on the floor, “said, ‘I got here first.’ Does that mean Kane was pursuing him here?” And as the Wolf nodded impatiently the other turned to the chests with chattering haste.

  The flickering candle on the rough table lighted up a strange and wild scene. The light, uncertain and dancing, gleamed redly in the slowly widening lake of blood in which the dead man lay; it danced upon the heaps of gems and coins emptied hastily upon the floor from the brass-bound chests that ranged the walls; and it glittered in the eyes of the Wolf with the same gleam which sparkled from his sheathed dagger.

  The chests were empty, their treasure lying in a shimmering mass upon the bloodstained floor. The Wolf stopped and listened. Outside was silence. There was no moon, and Le Loup’s keen imagination pictured the dark slayer, Solomon Kane, gliding through the blackness, a shadow among shadows. He grinned crookedly; this time the Englishman would be foiled.

  “There is a chest yet unopened,” said he, pointing.

  The Rat, with a muttered exclamation of surprize, bent over the chest indicated. With a single, catlike motion, the Wolf sprang upon him, sheathing his dagger to the hilt in the Rat’s back, between the shoulders. The Rat sagged to the floor without a sound.

  “Why divide the treasure two ways?” murmured Le Loup, wiping his blade upon the dead man’s doublet. “Now for La Mon.”

  He stepped toward the door; then stopped and shrank back.

  At first he thought that it was the shadow of a man who stood in the entrance; then he saw that it was a man himself, though so dark and still he stood that a fantastic semblance of shadow was lent him by the guttering candle.

  A tall man, as tall as Le Loup he was, clad in black from head to foot, in plain, close-fitting garments that somehow suited the somber face. Long arms and broad shoulders betokened the swordsman, as plainly as the long rapier in his hand. The features of the man were saturnine and gloomy. A kind of dark pallor lent him a ghostly appearance in the uncertain light, an effect heightened by the satanic darkness of his lowering brows. Eyes, large, deep-set and unblinking, fixed their gaze upon the bandit, and looking into them, Le Loup was unable to decide what color they were. Strangely, the mephistophelean trend of the lower features was offset by a high, broad forehead, though this was partly hidden by a featherless hat.

  That forehead marked the dreamer, the idealist, the introvert, just as the eyes and the thin, straight nose betrayed the fanatic. An observer would have been struck by the eyes of the two men who stood there, facing each other. Eyes of both betokened untold deeps of power, but there the resemblance ceased.

  The eyes of the bandit were hard, almost opaque, with a curious scintillant shallowness that reflected a thousand changing lights and gleams, like some strange gem; there was mockery in those eyes, cruelty and recklessness.

  The eyes of the man in black, on the other hand, deep-set and staring from under prominent brows, were cold but deep; gazing into them, one had the impression of looking into countless fathoms of ice.

  Now the eyes clashed, and the Wolf, who was used to being feared, felt a strange coolness on his spine. The sensation was new to him — a new thrill to one who lived for thrills, and he laughed suddenly.

  “You are Solomon Kane, I suppose?” he asked, managing to make his question sound politely incurious.

  “I am Solomon Kane.” The voice
was resonant and powerful. “Are you prepared to meet your God?”

  “Why, Monsieur,” Le Loup answered, bowing, “I assure you I am as ready as I ever will be. I might ask Monsieur the same question.”

  “No doubt I stated my inquiry wrongly,” Kane said grimly. “I will change it: Are you prepared to meet your master, the Devil?”

  “As to that, Monsieur” — Le Loup examined his finger nails with elaborate unconcern — ”I must say that I can at present render a most satisfactory account to his Horned Excellency, though really I have no intention of so doing — for a while at least.”

  Le Loup did not wonder as to the fate of La Mon; Kane’s presence in the cave was sufficient answer that did not need the trace of blood on his rapier to verify it.

  “What I wish to know, Monsieur,” said the bandit, “is why in the Devil’s name have you harassed my band as you have, and how did you destroy that last set of fools?”

  “Your last question is easily answered, sir,” Kane replied. “I myself had the tale spread that the hermit possessed a store of gold, knowing that would draw your scum as carrion draws vultures. For days and nights I have watched the hut, and tonight, when I saw your villains coming, I warned the hermit, and together we went among the trees back of the hut. Then, when the rogues were inside, I struck flint and steel to the train I had laid, and flame ran through the trees like a red snake until it reached the powder I had placed beneath the hut floor. Then the hut and thirteen sinners went to Hell in a great roar of flame and smoke. True, one escaped, but him I had slain in the forest had not I stumbled and fallen upon a broken root, which gave him time to elude me.”