Gath shifted and lifted the helmet another two inches. As he did, Brown John leaned down, uncertain if he had seen a trace of smile pass across Gath’s now white eyes. Then he laughed and said, “I admit it, I am partial to lips myself. At least in my more sentimental moments. But lips are, you must admit it, only the beginning of a whole set of extraordinary delights.” He paused remembering her more soberly. “There is such a natural loveliness to her, her joy in simple things, her love of just being alive. And her kindness, even to lizards and lecherous old men.”
Gath muttered unintelligibly, but more agreeably, the old man thought.
“By Day bog!” Brown John exclaimed, then he laughed again. “This is truly astounding. The fate of the greatest army ever to plague our land, and the fate of the Master of Darkness himself, all that lies in the balance, on whether you live or die.” He mused. “And that balance is now tipped by the weightless memory of a pair of soft red lips.” He clasped his hands together and wrung them in wonderment.
Late that night Bone returned to the campfire at the center of the square where Dirken and the Barbarian chiefs waited and made his report. He said, “They’re still talking about girls.”
Fifty-eight
A wagon carrying five wooden barrels rolled quietly through the shadows cast by the torches lighting Bahaara’s Street of Cats. The shops were shuttered and abandoned. Refuse cluttered the ground. The panting and whine of caged animals somewhere within were punctuated by an occasional screech. The wagon wound up through the mesa forming the body of the city toward the back of the Temple of Dreams.
It carried the serpent priest, Schraak, and his assistants disguised as nomad traders. They had left the Land of Smoking Skies shortly after Cobra, but their passage had been impeded. The flickering light illuminated the white-eyed panic on their faces.
The reason was the small crowd of ragged, filthy beggars trailing them. Their eyes were distended by cheap stimulants, and they carried torches, poked long, forked sticks at the wagon. They were Snake Finders, and they were gaining on the wagon.
The priests knew that the Cult of the Butterfly Goddess outlawed all reptiles, and that fanatic Snake Finders were licensed to carry out the low, repugnant and dangerous work of destroying reptiles. They were abundant in Bahaara, particularly in times of unrest. So the priests had taken great pains to scent themselves with camel dung. But just as the light revealed their features, their rising fear brought forth the fetid scent of the reptile.
They shuddered as the fanatics broke into a run, wailing and chanting incantations.
Schraak hissed at the other two. “The barrels must be delivered. Give them your bodies! Now!”
His assistants sickened as they looked back at the ragged pack swarming towards them. But when Schraak slowed the wagon, they obediently jumped off. Schraak whipped the horses smartly, and the wagon lurched into the shadows ahead as the two serpent men drew their swords and faced their plunging tormentors.
Seeing the priests’ metal, the Snake Finders pulled up short. Their forked sticks trembled as if alive, then pulled them forward, magnetizing their drug mad eyes. Their victims took one step back, then panicked and fled. The Snake Finders, howling, scampered after them, leaping walls, and easily cornering them. They threw them to the ground and stripped their flailing bodies. At the first sight of scales, they squealed with triumph and crushed their skulls with rocks. Then they skinned them.
With their scaly prizes spread on poles, several of the fanatics paraded through the mostly deserted city while the rest resumed the chase, hunting the wagon. They found it parked in a dark secluded alcove behind the Temple of Dreams. It was empty. The driver was gone and so were the barrels.
Deep under the ground, just slightly east of where the empty wagon was parked, the five barrels were lined up on a stone balcony. They were open, and the dark fluids within them bubbled and steamed, with a strong fishy odor that clung to the walls of Dang-Ling’s laboratory. Schraak and Baak were shoveling red-hot rocks from a huge fire and dropping them into the bubbling concoction of snake venom, snake blood, and the entrails of tiny mollusks.
Fifty-nine
Robin and the five maidens abducted from Weaver were strapped naked to inclined benches lined up below the row of barrels. Thin glass tubes had been inserted in their necks and attached to spigots at the base of a wide trough positioned under the barrels. Similar tubes descended from their ankles to a gutter hole in the floor. The girls were drugged, only semiconscious.
Cobra moved along the line of girls tracing the signs and marks drawn on their foreheads and murmuring incantations. Reaching Dang-Ling, who stood diligently beside Robin, she bestowed a condescending smile on him. “I commend you. The addition of the five maidens will increase our chances of success greatly. It is fortunate I brought enough blood.”
“Your highness has demonstrated again her foresight and leadership.” Dang-Ling bowed low. “I am honored to assist the Queen of Serpents.”
“If you enjoy watching as much as you appear to,” she winked, “you are quite welcome to continue.” Ignoring the high priest’s reaction, she appraised Robin’s sleeping body, and her eyes hardened. “She sleeps very deeply.”
“A mild drug,” Dang-Ling purred, petting Robin possessively. “Her little body has been overtaxed these last few days. I thought she should look as fresh as possible when he sees her.” His lips were prim, but his eyes glimmered.
Cobra addressed his eyes. “You are a weak fool, priest. We must revive her!” Her arm and hand uncoiled, and she struck Robin hard across the face, bringing a moan. “Wake the others! Screaming is absolutely essential!”
Dang-Ling paled, and his eyes narrowed. “First I must inquire about the necessity of screaming in this particular experiment. Is it essential to the process or to you?”
Cobra glared at him, her fury rising. “To both, you simpering lecher.”
The high priest’s smile returned with the slightest trace of mockery. His eyes met Cobra’s, and held them with surprising ease. Cobra glanced warily about the laboratory, then hissed sarcastically, “If you have anymore professional comments, ask them now, priest. Once we begin there will be no interruptions.”
“Actually, I do have one question,” Dang-Ling said flatly. “Would it not be easier to simply enslave each of them with the bite of the Pawder snake?”
“An excellent suggestion.” With regal grace Cobra reached inside her emerald robe, and brought forth a small rose-pink snake. Dang-Ling flushed.
Bestowing a tender kiss on the snake’s head, she said, “The Pawder’s bite is an essential part of the procedure. But merely to enslave their wills would not suffice. Their nature itself must be transformed, and the transfusion and signs will accomplish that. Not completely. Just enough to allow them to develop a very strong venom which no human can withstand, not even the Dark One.”
“Of course,” Dang-Ling said hurriedly. “But if you will excuse my impertinence, I think we must consider the possibility that this particular girl,” he stroked Robin’s thigh, “might serve our Master more effectively without alteration.”
Cobra’s high cheeks turned crimson. Her fist unclenched and the Pawder snake wound its way up her arm. She said archly, “Your interruptions tire me, priest. Pay attention, and you will understand. All the Barbarian has to do is see this girl. That alone will relax his guard and allow her, or one of the others, to strike. And only one bite will leave him helpless. Now do you understand?”
“Perfectly.” Dang-Ling’s inflection was so florid it would have humbled an orchid. “Your jealousy and arrogance have blinded you! And it is apparent, if the Master is to be served as he deserves to be, that I must conduct this procedure myself.”