Then Daura shrieked so loudly as to drown out Askia's incantation. In the flickering firelight, with the weird glow from the tripod blurring the sight, Amalric could not be quite sure of what he saw. Something seemed to be happening to Daura, who struggled and screamed.
Around the base of the stake to which the wizard was tied, a pool of blood grew and widened. Ghastly wounds appeared all over the man, although nothing could be seen to deal such injuries. His screams sank to a faint sob and ceased, although his body continued to move in its bindings, as if some invisible presence were tugging at it. A faint gleam of white, appeared amidst the dark mass that had been Daura; then another and another. Amalric realized with a start of horror that these white things were bones…
The moon returned to its normal silvery radiance; the stars shone out again like jewels; the fires in the hollow square blazed up. The waxing light showed a skeleton, still bound to the stake and slumped in a pool of blood. King Sakumbe spoke in his high, musical voice:
"So much for that scoundrel Daura. Now, as for Zehbeh … By Ajujo's nose, where is the villain?"
Zehbeh had disappeared while all other eyes had been focused on the drama at the stake.
"Conan," said Sakumbe, "you had better call up the regiments; for I do not think my brother king will let this night's work pass without taking a hand in it."
Conan dragged Amalric forward. "King Sakumbe, this is Amalric the Aquilonian, a sometime comrade in arms of mine. I need him for an adjutant. Amalric, you and your girl had better stay with the king, since you don't know your way around the city and would only get yourselves killed if you tried to mix in the fight that's coming.''
"I am pleased to meet a friend of the mighty Amra.'' said Sakumbe. "Put him on the payroll, Conan, and muster the warriors … Derketo, the rascal has not lost any time! Look yonder!"
An uproar arose at the far side of the plaza. Conan sprang from the dais in a flying leap and began shouting orders to the commanders of the black regiments.
Messengers dashed off. Somewhere, deep-voiced drums, beaten with the light-brown palms of black hands, began to mutter and mumble.
At the far side of the plaza, a troop of white-clad horsemen burst into view, thrusting with lances and smiting with scimitars at the black masses in front of them. Before their onslaught, the lines of black spearmen crumbled into shapeless masses. Man after man went down before their flashing steel. King Sakumbe's bodyguard closed up around the dais with the two thrones, one empty and the other occupied by the ponderous bulk of Sakumbe.
Lissa, trembling, clung to Amalric's arm. "Who fights whom?" she whispered.
''That would be Zehbeh's Aphaki," replied Amalric, "trying to slay the black king, here, to make Zehbeh sole ruler."
"Will they break through to the throne?" she said, pointing to the struggling mass of dark figures across the plaza.
Amalric shrugged and glanced at Sakumbe. The Kushite king lolled in his throne, apparently unconcerned. He raised a golden cup to his lips and took a swig of wine. Then he handed a similar cup to Amalric.
"You must be thirsty, white man, after coming in from a long patrol without time to wash or rest," he said. "Have a drink!"
Amalric shared his drink with Lissa. Across the plaza, the trampling and neighing of horses, the clash of arms, the screams of wounded men merged in an unholy din. Raising his voice to be heard, Amalric said:
"Your Majesty must be very brave, to show so little concern; or else very…"
Amalric bit off the end of the sentence.
''Or else very stupid, you mean?" The long laughed musically. "No; I am only realistic. I am much too fat to outrun an active man on foot, let alone a mounted man. So, if I run, my people will cry that all is lost and flee, leaving me to be caught by the pursuers. Whereas, if I stay here, there is a good chance that … ah, there they come!''
More black warriors were pouring into the square and adding their weight to the battle. And now the Aphaki mounted force began to give way. Horses, speared, reared and fell on their riders; riders were pulled from their horses by strong black arms or struck from the saddle by javelins. Soon a trumpet sounded harshly; the remaining Aphaki wheeled their mounts and galloped out of the square. The din diminished.
Silence fell, save for the moans of the wounded who uttered the paving of the plaza. Black women came out of the side streets to look for their men among the fallen, to tend them if alive and to wail for them if dead.
Sakumbe sat placidly on his throne, drinking, until Conan, bloody sword in hand and followed by a knot of befeathered black officers, strode across the plaza.
"Zehbeh and most of his Aphaki got away'' he said. "I had to dent a few of your boys' skulls to stop them from massacring the Aphaki women and children. We may need them for hostages."
"It is well," said Sakumbe. "Have a drink."
"A good idea," said Conan, quaffing deeply. Then he glanced at the empty throne beside that of Sakumbe. The black king followed his glance and grinned.
"Well?" said Conan. "How about it? Do I get it?"
Sakumbe gave a giggle. "Trust you to strike while the iron is hot, Conan! You have not changed."
Then the king spoke in a language that Amalric did not know. Conan grunted a reply, and there was an exchange in this unknown tongue. Askia climbed the stairs of the dais and joined the talk. He spoke vehemently, shooting suspicious, scowling glances at Conan and at Amalric.
At last, Sakumbe silenced the wizard with one sharp word and heaved his huge bulk up out of his throne. "People of Tombalku!" he cried.
All over the plaza, eyes turned towards the dais. Sakumbe continued: "Since the false traitor Zehbeh has fled the city, one of the two thrones of Tombalku is empty. You have seen what a mighty warrior Conan is. Will you have him for your other king?"
After a moment of silence, a few shouts of approval were heard. Amalric noted that the men shouting seemed to be Tibu riders, whom Conan had led in person.
The shouts swelled to a roar of approval. Sakumbe pushed Conan into the vacant throne. A mighty yell went up. In the plaza, which had now been cleared of corpses and wounded, the fires were rekindled. Drums began to beat again, this time not for war but for a wild all-night celebration.
Hours later, dizzy with drink and weariness, Amalric dragged himself and Lissa along the streets of Tombalku, under Conan's guidance, to the modest house he had found for them. Before they parted, Amalric asked Conan:
"What was that speech with Sakumbe, in some tongue I do not know, just before you were enthroned?"
A laugh rumbled deep in Conan's throat. "We spoke a coastal dialect, which these people don't understand. Sakumbe was telling me that we should get along fine as co-kings, provided I remembered the color of my skin''
"What did he mean by that?"
"That it would do me no good to scheme to steal his power, because the pure blacks are now in the overwhelming majority here, and they would never obey a white king."
"Why not?"
"Because they have been too often massacred and plundered and enslaved by marauding bands of white men from Stygia and Shem, I suppose."
"What about the wizard, Askia? What was he haranguing Sakumbe about?"
"He was warning the king against us. He claimed his spooks have told him that we shall be the cause of woe and destruction to Tombalku. But Sakumbe shut him up, saying he knew me better than that; that he trusted me farther than he trusted any medicine man." Conan yawned like a sleeppy lion. "Get your little girl to bed before she falls asleep on her feet"
"How about you?"
"Me? I'm going back. The party has hardly started!"
Chapter Four
A month later, Amalric, covered with sweat and dust, reined in his horse as his squadrons thundered past in a last, grand charge. All morning, and for many earlier mornings, he had drilled them over and over in the elements of civilized cavalry tactics: "Forward, walk!"