Page:Weird Tales volume 31 number 02.djvu/65

Rh his fall, he placed his body between the prostrate figures of his friends and the assemblage now advancing over the sands.

He did not intend to be recaptured. His weapon was but a puny defense against the many blades and throwing-spears of the warrior-women, but he was determined to die cleanly, before weapons he understood, rather than suffer unnamable atrocities in some underground place of torture.

Behind him he heard a movement; Thwaine was on his knees and searching for his sword.

"You had better kill the girl," advised Rald. "It would be kinder."

"No!"

The ejaculation of dissent came from one of the members of the approaching group; none other than the queen could so pronounce a single syllable with such astonishing emphasis. It was she who had cried out. She was walking swiftly, keeping to the front of the group; though her bearing was calm enough, the bright spots on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath her mail betrayed an intense excitement. In one slender hand was a short throwing-spear and she carried it with the manner of one accustomed to its use.

group, led by Throal and Cene, halted just a few feet from the mercenaries.

This, thought Rald, was the last stand. Their death was assured; a single shaft thrown by one of the party might pierce the flesh of both Thwaine and himself. He clutched the hilt of his broken blade defiantly and wondered if he could slice Throal's throat before he died. He looked upon the flushed beauty of the queen and it occurred to him that since a man had to die it was well to see beauty with the last look at life.

"Do not kill Ating!" pleaded Cene as she came near enough to make herself heard. "I promise you–no harm will come to her. Nor to you, either. The reign of Hess is over and our land is free of a great evil that has preyed upon it these many years."

"Queen!" shrieked the wizard, his features twisted like those of a madman. "You do not know what you say! Many years ago devout grandfathers of yours, descendants of your own royal blood-line, had the honor to receive in person the visitation of the Goddess Bubaste–"

"Weak tools of yours, O wizard!" interrupted Cene. "Weak grandparents of mine! Fools deserving the slavery to which you eventually subjected them! How many of my blood-relatives, male members of royalty, are laboring with drugged and vacant minds in the pits, or serving your mistresses in your unholy dwelling-quarters? Does it amuse you, Throal, to demean your betters?"

"Queen Cene!" cried Throal. "There lie the ashes of my daughter–"

"Yes. And it is well! At last we are delivered from this demon that ruled only by fear and the craze of blood-hunger! It is well that I discovered it feared fire–you, yourself, gave the secret away to me when you protested so strongly about the torches overhanging the arena. If such a thing as this was your child, as you have so often claimed, then you cannot be entirely human or fit to direct the destiny of Ceipe! I will test your invulnerability?"

The queen of Ceipe suddenly cast her spear at Throal's chest.

In the stillness surrounding the motionless group the impact of the shaft and the sound of riven flesh was plainly