3 Black Hands Gripping
With an the Cimmerian the a with the of his sword, and the marble and chipped. But the door did not give way, and told him that it had been on the other of the wall. Turning, he across the to one of the doors.
He his to the panels, but on a the door with his left hand. It open easily, and he into a long that away into under the light of to those in the shrine. A gold on the of the door, and he touched it with his tips. The of the metal have been only by a man were to those of a wolf. That had been touched—and therefore drawn—within the last seconds. The was taking on more and more of the of a trap. He might have Totrasmek would know when anyone entered the temple.
To enter the would be to walk into the had set for him. But Conan did not hesitate. Somewhere in that dim-lit Zabibi was a captive, and, from what he of the of Hanuman's priests, he was sure that she needed help badly. Conan into the with a tread, to right or left.
On his left, ivory, doors opened into the corridor, and he each in turn. All were locked. He had gone seventy-five when the to the left, the the girl had mentioned. A door opened into this curve, and it gave under his hand.
He was looking into a broad, square chamber, more than the corridor. Its were of white marble, the of ivory, the of silver. He saw of rich satin, gold-worked of ivory, a disk-shaped table of some massive, metal-like substance. On one of the a man was reclining, looking toward the door. He laughed as he met the Cimmerian's glare.
This man was for a loin-cloth and high-strapped sandals. He was brown-skinned, with close-cropped black and black that set off a broad, face. In and he was enormous, with on which the great and at each movement. His hands were the largest Conan had seen. The of physical his every action and inflection.
'Why not enter, barbarian?' he called mockingly, with an of invitation.
Conan's to ominously, but he into the chamber, his ready.
'Who the are you?' he growled.
'I am Baal-pteor,' the man answered. 'Once, long ago and in another land, I had another name. But this is a good name, and why Totrasmek gave it to me, any temple can tell you.'
'So you're his dog!' Conan. 'Well, your hide, Baal-pteor, where's the you through the wall?'
'My master her!' laughed Baal-pteor. 'Listen!'
From a door opposite the one by which Conan had entered there a woman's scream, and in the distance.
'Blast your soul!' Conan took a toward the door, then with his skin tingling. Baal-pteor was laughing at him, and that laugh was with that the on Conan's and sent a red of murder-lust across his vision.
He started toward Baal-pteor, the on his sword-hand white. With a motion the man something at him—a that in the light.
Conan instinctively, but, miraculously, the stopped in midair, a from his face. It did not to the floor. It suspended, as if by filaments, some five above the floor. And as he in amazement, it to with speed. And as it it grew, expanded, nebulous. It the chamber. It him. It out furniture, walls, the of Baal-pteor. He was in the of a of speed. Terrific past Conan, tugging, at him, to him from his feet, to him into the that him.
With a Conan backward, reeled, the solid against his back. At the the to be. The whirling, like a bubble. Conan in the silver-ceilinged room, with a about his feet, and saw Baal-pteor on the divan, with laughter.
'Son of a slut!' Conan at him. But the up from the floor, out that form. Groping in a cloud that him, Conan a of dislocation—and then room and and man were gone together. He was alone among the high of a fen, and a was at him, down. He from the scimitar-curved horns, and his in the foreleg, through and heart. And then it was not a there in the mud, but the brown-skinned Baal-pteor. With a Conan off his head; and the from the ground and beast-like into his throat. For all his he not tear it loose—he was choking—strangling; then there was a and through space, the of an impact, and he was in the with Baal-pteor, was once more set on his shoulders, and who laughed at him from the divan.
'Mesmerism!' Conan, and his hard against the marble.
His blazed. This dog was playing with him, making sport of him! But this mummery, this child's play of and of thought, it not him. He had but to and and the would be a under his heel. This time he would not be by of illusion—but he was.
A blood-curdling him, and he and in a at the to on him from the metal-colored table. Even as he struck, the and his on the surface. Instantly he something abnormal. The to the table! He at it savagely. It did not give. This was no trick. The table was a magnet. He the with hands, when a voice at his him about, to the man, who had at last from the divan.
Slightly than Conan, and much heavier, Baal-pteor him, a image of development. His arms were long, and his great hands opened and closed, convulsively. Conan the of his and silent, his enemy through lids.
'Your head, Cimmerian!' Baal-pteor. 'I shall take it with my hands, it from your as the of a is twisted! Thus the sons of Kosala offer to Yajur. Barbarian, you look upon a of Yota-pong. I was by the of Yajur in my infancy, and childhood, and I in the art of with the hands—for only thus are the enacted. Yajur loves blood, and we waste not a from the victim's veins. When I was a child they gave me to throttle; when I was a boy I girls; as a youth, women, old men and boys. Not until I my full was I a man to on the of Yota-pong.
'For years I offered the to Yajur. Hundreds of necks have these fingers—' he them the Cimmerian's angry eyes. 'Why I from Yota-pong to Totrasmek's is no of yours. In a moment you will be curiosity. The of Kosala, the of Yajur, are the of men. And I was than any. With my hands, barbarian, I shall your neck!'
And like the of cobras, the great hands closed on Conan's throat. The Cimmerian no attempt to or them away, but his own hands to the Kosalan's bull-neck. Baal-pteor's black as he the thick of that protected the barbarian's throat. With a he his strength, and and and of rose along his arms. And then a from him as Conan's locked on his throat. For an they there like statues, their of effort, to out on their temples. Conan's thin from his teeth in a snarl. Baal-pteor's were distended; in them an and the of fear. Both men as images, for the of their on arms and legs, but common was there—strength that might have trees and the of bullocks.
The wind from Baal-pteor's teeth. His was purple. Fear his eyes. His to from his arms and shoulders, yet the of the Cimmerian's thick did not give; they like of iron under his fingers. But his own was way under the iron of the Cimmerian which ground and into the throat-muscles, them in upon and windpipe.
The of the group gave way to sudden, motion, as the Kosalan to and heave, to himself backward. He let go of Conan's and his wrists, trying to tear away those fingers.
With a Conan him until the small of his against the table. And still over its Conan him, and back, until his was to snap.
Conan's low laugh was as the ring of steel.
'You fool!' he all but whispered. 'I think you saw a man from the West before. Did you strong, you were able to the off folk, with like string? Hell! Break the of a wild Cimmerian you call strong. I did that, I was a full-grown man—like this!'
And with a he Baal-pteor's around until the over the left shoulder, and the like a branch.
Conan the to the floor, to the again and the with hands, his against the floor. Blood his from the Baal-pteor's had in the skin of his neck. His black was damp, ran his face, and his heaved. For all his of Baal-pteor's strength, he had almost met his match in the Kosalan. But without to catch his breath, he all his in a that the from the where it clung.
Another and he had pushed open the door from which the had sounded, and was looking a long corridor, with doors. The other end was by a rich curtain, and from that came the of such music as Conan had heard, not in nightmares. It the on the of his neck. Mingled with it was the panting, of a woman. Grasping his firmly, he the corridor.
