A tense silence passed between them. Dang-Ling whispered, “I have made all the arrangements. Come tonight, at the midnight hour. You will have your request.”
Klang watched the high priest with the corners of his eyes. “There’s no need now. I have decided not to fight him, simply execute him.”
Dang-Ling bowed obediently. “The decision is yours, of course, I would not presume to direct you…”He paused artfully.
“Yes?” demanded Klang.
With a troubled tremor, Dang-Ling whispered, “This demon is very unpredictable, my lord. Nothing with him turns out to be simple. If you will allow me to advise you,” he hesitated, “I would take every precaution, and use the strongest weapon available.”
A look of contempt came over Klang’s face. He pushed the priest aside and moved halfway down the staircase, his eyes fixed on the prisoner. The whipping post began to shudder. The dark helmet raised and the Barbarian’s sinewy mass of bunched muscles and hot nerves thrashed powerfully against the wood and chains. It ceased suddenly, momentarily spent and pacified, but still menacing and upraised. A red glow burned at Klang behind the eye slits of the helmet.
Klang involuntarily stepped back. Self-consciously he stiffened and rolled his shoulders, flexing proudly. Then he turned away and slowly returned to Dang-Ling.
The high priest said quietly, “You will have reactions like quicksilver, and the strength of the Master of Darkness himself.”
“The price, priest, the price?”
Dang-Ling smiled innocently. “A trifle. In exchange, the sorceress merely asks for the horned helmet.”
“She’ll have it.” He strode through the red arch, and his cape swirled behind him blending with the shadows.
Dang-Ling held his breath as the warlord’s booted feet tramped down the tunnel. With a sigh of relief, he started to leave but paused at the sounds of excited voices, running feet. The sound grew and a filthy, babbling, scratching group of scavengers surged through an entrance tunnel on the opposite side of the arena and clambered down the tiers of seats.
Dang-Ling clapped his hands sharply.
Skull soldiers trotted up both ramps and spread out in a line around the edges of the stage. One carried the Death Dealer’s axe and chained it to the front edge of the stage. Seeing it, a group of the scavengers howled raucously and surged forward to stroke its awesome steel. Others sat down chattering in the front rows. They wore rags, and crude decorations on their naked parts; arrows, bolts of lightning and numerals were the most popular. Several were stark naked and stained bright vermilion or yellow. They all had a drugged glint to their eyes. There were several women, ragged, bangled and unwashed. The mongrel trash of Bahaara. Among them were numerous forked sticks.
Dang-Ling covered his nose and mouth with his cape and hurried under the black arch almost colliding with Cobra. Her cloak was clutched tightly about her, the hood pulled low. Her face was fraught with fear.
“Snake finders,” she rasped.
“Are you surprised?” Dang-Ling asked indifferently. “They’re everywhere these days, but usually only a minor irritation. I told Klang the helmet would be removed tomorrow at the third hour, just before the execution begins.”
She looked at him vindictively, but spoke respectfully. “I will gladly remove the helmet, but not in the daylight. I will not expose myself to that crowd of vultures.”
Dang-Ling frowned. “Then you will do it tonight, when the city sleeps. Only my guards will be on duty at that time. They will see you are left quite alone with him.”
She nodded agreement, and looked down at the Death Dealer’s chained body. “Klang must understand that he has fed on the helmet’s powers for many days now. Even without it he will be dangerous.”
“Klang has been informed, and is ready to accept your assistance.”
“What did you tell him,” she asked warily.
“As little as possible. Just make certain the magic potion you prepare is more than sufficient.”
She smiled disdainfully. “Nothing can withstand the strength of our Master, but it will only last a day and drain most of his own resources. After tomorrow he will be only the shell of the man he is now.”
“That cannot concern us. All that matters is that the execution goes smoothly, and the helmet be returned.”
She turned sharply so his milky face was within inches, and snapped, “No! That is not all. I will be revenged.” Her eyes were as wavering as arrows in flight.
Dang-Ling blinked behind his wet lashes, then turned, and she followed him back down the tunnel.
At the opposite side of the arena, four more Snake Finders huddled against the back wall watching the Skull soldiers drive off scavengers trying for a closer look at the chained prisoner. One of them was a young boy with short reddish hair, dressed in shapeless rags. There were tears in his eyes.
Sixty-three
Baak conducted the striding warlord through the dimly lit corridors of the Temple of Dreams. Klang’s eyes were without light or warmth, as confident as tombstones. Reaching a heavy wooden door, Baak knocked, opened it, and Klang strode in.
Dang-Ling, waiting just inside, bowed in welcome. A single torch in a silver embrasure lit the room. The shadows on the far walls expanded and shrank at the touch of the orange light.
“Where is she?” Klang demanded.
Dang-Ling bowed again. “We are alone, my lord. The sorceress says that the potion works more effectively without the presence of a female.”
“Potion?” Klang asked abruptly. “If that is all there is to it, give it to me.”
Dang-Ling spoke coolly. “It is not simply a potion.”
“Then what?”
“It is a fresh venom, my lord.”
Klang went white. When he finally spoke, his voice was dry. “All right, priest, venom. Just so you are certain of what it will do!”
“Absolutely.”
Klang extended his hand, waited. Dang-Ling hesitated, looking at the empty palm, then up with professional candor into the warlord’s expectant eyes. “There is one more thing. It can not be swallowed. It must be… administered.”
Klang said nothing for a moment, then, “How?”
“Injected, my lord.”
Again the warlord paused, and again asked the same question. Dang-Ling indicated the pool. Klang peered over the edge and jumped back, drawing his sword.
The pool was drained but not empty. Lying on its bottom in a neat coil was a ten-foot, emerald-green cobra. Its head lifted, and the black balls at the centers of its yellow eyes stared at the warlord.
Klang turned on the priest, growling, “Fool! How can you let filth like that creep in here? The Goddess’ own temple?”
Dang-Ling replied calmly, “It is not an accident. The sorceress placed it there herself.”
Klang looked down at the green serpent, and his breath came in harsh gasps.
“The serpent’s fangs are the instruments which will inject the venom.”
“No!” growled Klang. He turned on the priest. “That is madness! I can not, I will not submit my flesh to such filth. What kind of foreign practice is this?”
“An extraordinary one,” said Dang-Ling quietly. “With the venom comes the strength of the Lord of Death himself. You cannot fail. With your people watching, you will destroy the Barbarian and regain their absolute confidence.”
Klang looked down at the menacing snake, “All right!” he said quietly. “I will let it bite me. Once.” He started down the steps into the stone bath.
“Wait,” Dang-Ling requested. He indicated the sword in Klang’s hand. “You must leave your sword behind, in case your natural instincts betray you and you attack as it strikes.”
Klang shuddered, but set his sword and sheath down on the stone rim of the pool.
“One more thing,” Dang-Ling said quietly. When Klang looked at him, he added, “The reptile is a very carefully cultured species, and while its venom is extraordinarily powerful, to obtain the best results, it should be injected as close as possible to the genitals.”
Klang turned white again. He swayed, then brought himself erect. Defiantly, he struggled out of his armor and clothing, and tossed them aside. With a deep breath, he advanced steadily into the tub, white from forehead to toenails.