Conan started to swing his cutlass, but wiser counsel prevailed in his mind.
From the sound the creature made in moving, it was still composed of stone, even if living stone. Steel could do naught against it; a blow would merely shatter his blade and deliver him into its gaping maw.
Before the lipless mouth could engulf him, Conan whirled and bolted out into the clearing. No need for caution now; he roared:
"Back to the ship! And yard"
Cries of astonishment and fear burst from the men, huddled at the edge of the clearing, as the toad-thing issued from the temple, close on Conan's heels. No second command was needed. With a swish of palm fronds and a crackle of shrubs, the buccaneer shore party took to its heels. And after them came the monster of living stone, ambling as fast as a man could run. Conan paused long enough to be sure that its attention was fixed upon himself and then set off in a different direction, to draw it after him.
"What's this? A wench, here? By the breasts of Ishtar and the belly of Dagon, this cursed isle has more surprises than ever I dreamed!"
The voice —human, albeit rough and speaking Argossean with an uncouth accent— roused Chabela and at the same time reassured her. Catching her breath, she accepted the hand that the tall figure, which had appeared so suddenly before her, thrust out to help her to rise. The man continued to speak:
"Here, lass, did I be startling you? Fry my guts, I meant no harm. How came ye to this gods-forsaken place at the world's edge?"
Her first panic allayed, Chabela saw that the man who had startled her was a burly, blond young giant in tattered seaman's garb. He was not one of Zarono's ruffians, but an honest-looking fellow with a fair skin reddened by sunburn, frank blue eyes, and unshorn locks and beard of fiery red-gold. A northman from his coloring, she thought.
"Zarono," she panted, breasts still heaving from exhaustion and startlement. She swayed and might have fallen had not the red-haired seaman seized her arm in a call oused grip to steady her.
"That black swine, eh? Stealing young girls is he, now? Well, broil me for a lubber, I'd as soon spit the dog as look at him; but by Heimdal's horn and Mitra's sword, you're safe now. My crew will give you sanctuary, fear not… but what's toward?"
The northerner turned, one red-knuckled hand grasping the hilt of the huge cutlass that swung from his girdle as a crashing and thrashing in the brush sounded nearer and nearer. Then a tall figure burst from the cover of the foliage and paused at the sight of them. To her astonishment, Chabela knew the man.
"Captain Conan!" she cried.
Conan's eyes narrowed, taking in the blond stalwart with the half-drawn cutlass and the black-haired girl behind him, whose tattered gown scarcely hid her voluptuous form. The girl looked vaguely familiar to him, but he had no time to explore the matter.
"Run, you two!" he bellowed. "The temple monster's after me! Come along; well talk later!"
A heavier crashing in the woods, from the direction whence Conan had come, lent force to his commands. "Look alive!" he yelled, snatching Chabela's wrist into his great paw and dragging her after him helter-skelter along the trail. The northerner ran after them. For a moment they seemed to have outdistanced their pursuer. When they stopped to pant, Conan said to die northman:
"Is there no hill or cliff on this accursed isle? The stone toad-thing could not climb."
"By Woden's league-long spear, mate, nary a hill," said the other, red-faced and gasping. "Naught higher than this, save for a spit at the northeast, where the land rises to a cliff o'erhanging the main. But that's no good; the land rises slow like, and the idol could climb… Here it comes again!"
"Show us the way to this headland," said Conan. "I have a plan."
The northerner shrugged and led them off through the jungle. When Chabela faltered, Conan scooped her up into his arms. The buxom girl was no lightweight, but the giant Cimmerian carried her without visible effort. Behind them, the crashing of the monster through the woods came clearly.
An hour later, as the sun sank towards the blue horizon, the three of them, scratched, tattered, and bone weary, reached the rise of land. The spit was triangular, tapering to an angle as it rose, like the bow of a ship. Conan remembered seeing this feature from the Wastrel as his ship rounded the north end of the island on its way to its present anchorage.
The northman had relieved his Cimmerian comrade of the girl's weight. Side by side the pair staggered out of the jungle and up the slope. Halfway to the apex of the point, the northman set Chabela down, and the two adventurers paused to see if the stone devil still pursued them.
It did, as a waxing noise of crashing and a motion of the vegetation testified.
"Well, Crom and Mitra, what's your plan?" gasped the red-haired man.
"Up to the point," growled Conan, leading the way thither. At the very top, he leaned over the edge and looked down. A hundred feet below, the sea foamed back and forth over a broad reef of tumbled black rocks, whose sharp angles thrust up through the surf and whose surfaces gleamed wetly as the swells came and went among them. Amid the fangs of the reef lay a few tidal pools, some as much as a fathom square.
Chabela, looking back, gave a little shriek as the hulking shape appeared at the edge of the jungle. With a snapping of ferns and brush, it lumbered out into the open. Its seven eyes sighted the three fugitives at once, and it began advancing rapidly up the slope, with a gait like that of a man crawling as fast as he could on hands and knees.
"It has us cornered," said the northman. Is it abandon ship for poor sailors at last?"
"Not yet," said Conan. In a few terse phrases he explained his plan.
Meanwhile, the toad-thing continued its advance, its seven eyes blazing in the light of the setting sun. As it neared its prey, it changed its gait from a rapid crawl to a series of toad-like leaps. The ground shook beneath it as its vast stone weight came down at the end of each hop. Closer and closer it came, its lip-less mouth opening in anticipation.
Conan stooped and picked up several loose stones. "Now!" he shouted.
At his word, Chabela ran along the edge of the cliff, away from him. The red-haired man ran along the brink in the opposite direction, leaving Conan, on the very lip of the cliff, to face the monster alone.
As the two fugitives raced away in opposite directions, the toad-thing paused between hops, its green eyes swiveling, as if pondering which course to take.
"Come on!" roared Conan, hurling a stone. The missile struck with a sharp crack and bounced off the toad-thing's nose. A second followed, striking one of the eyes with a clank. The stone flew high, but the green flame in the eye faded, as if the stone had cracked the substance of which the orb was composed.
Before Conan had time to cast a third stone, the thing was upon him. It gathered its massive hind-limbs for a final hop that would bring it down right at the point of the cliff. Its wide mouth gaped in anticipation.
As the toad-thing left the ground, and while it was still in the air, Conan turned and leaped from the cliff. He flipped over in mid-air and, straight as an arrow, dove headfirst into the largest of the tidal pools below. He struck the water with his outstretched hands, angled to bring him instantly back to the surface.
Up on the cliff, the monster came down from is final leap on the very spot where Conan had stood. Its forefeet struck the edge, which crumbled under the impact with a shower of loosened stones and dirt. The forefeet slipped over the edge, and the momentum of the monster sent its body sliding after. For a second it hung poised on the crumbling lip of the cliff. Then it overbalanced and, with a roar of shattered stone, slid all the way over. It seemed to hang for an instant in mid-air, turning slowly over and over. Then it came down with an ever-speeding rush, to strike the rocks at the foot of the cliff with a mighty crash.