Classic Audiobook Collection - Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard ~ Full Audiobook [fantasy]

Episode Date: April 18, 2023

Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard audiobook. Genre: fantasy For a genuine Conan tale, full of barbarian craftiness, magic, fierce fighting and his berserker strength, this meets every criteria and is one of the best. Conan was raiding with the Free Companions when they were trapped and slaughtered by the merciless Shah Amurath the great Lord of Akif. Conan is one of the very few who escape by hiding in the mud of the marshes like a beast living on raw snake and muskrat. Luck, which seems to have deserted him, smiles again and allows him the chance for revenge and he eagerly seizes it, destroying his enemy with fierce strokes. Barely escaping his soldiers with the slave girl Olivia, once a princess of Koth, they reach a deserted island that holds many enchantments and strange dangers. Then the pirates arrive and things become even bloodier. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:39:12) Chapter 2 (01:06:06) Chapter 3 (01:24:36) Chapter 4 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard, Chapter 1. A swift crashing of horses through the tall reeds, a heavy fall, a despairing cry. From the dying steed there staggered up its rider, a slender girl in sandals and girdled tunic. Her dark hair fell over her white shoulders. Her eyes were those of a trapped animal. She did not look at the jungle of reeds that hemmed in the little clearing, nor at the blue waters that lapped the low shore behind her. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed in agonized intensity on the horseman who pushed through the reedy screen and dismounted before her. He was a tall man, slender, but hard as steel.

From head to heel, he was clad in light-silvered mesh-mail that fitted his supple form like a glove. From under the dome-shaped gold-chaste helmet, his brown eyes regarded her mockingly. "'Stand back,' her voice shrilled with terror. "'Touch me not, Shaw Amaroth, or I will throw myself into the water and drown.' He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword, sliding from a silken sheath. No, you will not drown, Olivia, daughter of confusion, for the marge is too shallow,

and I can catch you before you can reach the deeps. You gave me a merry chase by the gods, and all my men are far behind us. But there is no horse west of Villayette that can distinctions. I've since Irim for long. He nodded at the tall, slender-legged desert stallion behind him. "'Let me go!' begged the girl, dears of despair, staining her face. "'Have I not suffered enough? Is there any humiliation, pain, or degradation you have not heaped on me?

How long must my torment last?' As long as I find pleasure in your whimperings, your pleas, tears, and writhings, he answered with a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. But come, let us return to Akif, where the people are still fetting the conqueror of the miserable Kozaki,

while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway. No! she recoiled, turning toward the waters, lapping bluely among the reeds. Yes! His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flannel. with a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate he caught her wrist twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees slut i should drag you back to a keef at my horse's tail but i will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow for which favor you shall humbly thank me while Well, he released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle, sounding an inarticulate cry of hate.

Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw which she took to be either a savage or a madman, advancing on Shah Amurath, in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood encrusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood. There were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, blood-shot eyes glared like coals of blue fire.

You her Canian dog, mouthed this apparition in a barbarous accent. The devil's of vengeance have brought you here. Cossack! ejaculated Shah Amaroth, recalling, I did not know what dog of you escaped. I thought you all lay stiff on the step by Ilbar's river. All but me, damn you, cried the other. oh i have dreamed of such a meeting as this while i crawled on my belly through the brambles or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh or crouched in the mire up to my mouth

i dreamed but never hoped it would come to pass oh gods of hell how i have yearned for this the stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold His jaws champed spasmodically. Froth appeared on his blackened lips. Keep back, ordered Shah Amaroth, watching him narrowly. Ha! It was like the bark of a timber wolf. Shah Amaroth, the great lord of Akif. Oh, damn you!

How I love the sight of you! You! Who fed my comrades to the vultuous! who tore them between wild horses blinded and maimed and mutilated them ah you dog you filthy dog his voice rose to a maddened scream and he charged in spite of the terror of his wild appearance olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades madman or savage what could he do naked against the mailed chief of a Keefe. There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart.

Then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amoros's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending male she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Harkhanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his halbert. His saber slipped from his nerveless fingers. Quater! He gasped.

Quater? There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. Quater, such as you gave us, you swine! Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle but butchery. frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst, madden, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amaroth deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature,

yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with a scyenne. sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion. His brow was beaten with sweat. His right hand was splashed with blood.

He did not speak to her or even glanced toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention and was galvanized into action. Oh, wait! She wailed, staggering up and running toward him. Do not leave me. Take me with you.

He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood-blood. he had just shed, had quenched the fire of his frenzy. Who were you? he demanded. I am called Olivia. I was his captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here. His warriors are not far behind him. They will find his corpse.

They will find me near it. Oh! she moaned in her terror and wrung her white hands. He stared at her in perplexity. Would you be better off with me? he demanded. I am a barbarian, and I know from your looks that you fear me. Yes, I fear you. She replied, too distracted to dissemble. My flesh crawls at the horror of your aspect. But I fear the Harkhanians more. Oh, let me go with you.

They would put me to the torture if they find me beside their dead lord. Come, then. He drew aside, and she stepped quickly into the boat, shrinking from contact with him. She seated herself in the bow when he stepped into the boat, pushed off with an oar, and, using it as a paddle, worked his way tartuously among the tall stalks, until they glided out into open water. Then he set to work with both oars, rowing with great, smooth, even strokes, the heavy muscles of arms and shoulders in back,

rippling in rhythm to his exertions. There was silence for some time, the girl crouching in the bows, the man tugging at the oars. She watched him with timorous fascination. It was evident that he was not an Harkhanian, and he did not resemble the Hiborian races. There was a wolfish hardness about him

that marked the barbarian. His features, allowing for the strains and stains of battle and his hiding in the marshes, reflected the same untamed wildness, but they were neither evil nor degenerate. Who are you? she asked. Shah Amoroth called you a Kozak. Were you of that band? I am Conan of Samaria, he grunted. I was with the Kozaki, as the Ukrainian dogs called us.

she knew vaguely that the land he named lay far to the northwest beyond the farthest boundaries of the different kingdoms of her race i am a daughter of the king of ophir she said my father sold me to a shemite chief because i would not marry a prince of koth the cimmerian grunted in surprise her lips twisted in a bitter smile ay civilized men sell their children to slaves to savages sometimes they call your race barbaric conan of samaria we do not sell our children he growled his chin jutting truculently well i was sold but the desert man did not misuse me he wished to buy the good-will of shah amurath and i was among the gifts he brought to a keef of the purple gardens then she shuddered and hid her face in her hands i should be lost to all shame she said presently yet each memory stings me like a slaver's whip i abode in shah amarath's palace until some weeks ago he rode out with his hosts to do battle with a band of invaders who were ravaging the borders of turan yesterday he returned in triumph and the great fte was made to honor him in the drunkenness and rejoicing i found an opportunity to steal out of the city of the city on a stolen horse. I had thought to escape, but he followed and about midday came up with me. I outran his vassals, but him I could not escape. Then you came.

I was lying hid in the reeds, grunted the barbarian. I was one of those dissolute rogues, the free companions, who burned and looted along the borders. There were five thousand of us from a score of races and tribes. We had been serving as mercenaries for a rebel prince in Eastern Koth, most of us, and when he made peace with his cursed sovereign, we were out of employment, so we took to plundering the outlying dominions

of Koth, Samora, and Turan impartially. A week ago, Shah Amarath trapped us near the banks of Elbarz, with fifteen thousand men. Mithra, the skies were born, black with vultures. When the lines broke after a whole day of fighting, some tried to break through to the north, some to the west. I doubt if any escaped. The steps were covered with horsemen riding down the fugitives. I broke for the east and finally reached the edge

of the marshes that border this part of Villayette. I've been hiding in the morasses ever since. Only the day before yesterday, the riders ceased beating up the reed breaks, searching for just such fugitives as I. I've squirmed and burrowed and hidden like a snake. Feasting on musk-rats I caught and ate raw, for lack of fire, to cook them. This dawn I have found this boat hidden among the reeds. I hadn't intended going out on the sea until night, but after I killed Shah Amaroth I knew his mailed dogs would be close at hand. And what now? We shall doubtless be pursued. If they fail to see the marks left by the boat, which I covered as well as I could, they'll guess anyway that we took to see, after they failed to find us among the marshes.

But we have a start, and I'm going to haul at these oars until we reach a safe place. Where shall we find that?' she asked hopelessly. Viliat is a Hercanian pond. Some folks don't think so, grinned Conan grimly. notably the slaves that have escaped from galleys and became pirates. But what are your plans? The southwestern shore is held by the Hurcanians for hundreds of miles. We shall have a long way to go before we pass beyond their northern boundaries.

I intend to go northward until I think we have passed them. Then we'll turn westward and try to land on the shore bordered by the uninhabited steps. "'Suppose we meet pirates or a storm?' she asked, "'and we shall starve on the steps.' "'Well,' he reminded her, "'I didn't ask you to come with me. "'I am sorry,' she bowed her shapely, dark head. "'Pirates, storms, starvation,

"'they are all kinder than the people of Turan.' "'I—' "'His dark face grew somber. "'I haven't done with them yet. Be at ease, girl. Storms are rare on Vileya at this time of year. If we make the steps we shall not starve. I was reared in a naked land.

It was those cursed marshes with their stench and stinging flies that nigh unmanned me. I am at home in the highlands. As for pirates, he grinned enigmatically and bent to the oars. The sun sank like a dull, glowing copper ball into a lake of fire. The blue of the sea merged with the blue of the sky, and both turned to soft dark velvet, clustered with stars and the mirrors of stars. Olivia reclined in the bows of the gently rocking boat in a state dreamy and unreal. She experienced an illusion that she was floating in mid-air, stars beneath her as well as above,

Her silent companion was etched vaguely against the softer darkness. There was no break or falter in the rhythm of his oars. He might have been a phantasmal oarsman, rowing her across the dark lake of death. But the edge of her fear was dulled, and lulled by the monotony of motion, she passed into a quiet slumber. Dawn was in her eyes when she awakened, aware of a rattle. heavenous hunger. It was a change in the motion of the boat that had roused her. Conan was resting on his oars, gazing beyond her. She realized that he had rode all night without pause, and marveled at his iron endurance. She twisted about to follow his stair, and saw a green

wall of trees and shrubbery rising from the water's edge, and sweeping away in a wide curve, enclosing a small bay whose waters lay still as blue glass. This is one of the many islands that dot this inland sea, said Conan. They are supposed to be uninhabited. I've heard the hercaneans seldom visit them. Besides, they generally hug the shores in their galleys, and we have come a long way. Before sunset we were out of sight of the mainland. With a few strokes he brought the boat into shore, and made, made the painter fast to the arching root of a tree which rose from the water's edge.

Stepping ashore, he reached out a hand to help Olivia. She took it, wincing slightly at the blood-stains upon it, feeling a hint of the dynamic strength that lurked in the barbarian's thews. A dreamy, quiet lay over the woods that boarded the Blue Bay. Then, somewhere far back among the trees, a bird lifted its morning song. A breeze whispered through the trees and set them to murmuring. Olivia found herself listening intently for something.

She knew not what. What might be lurking amid those nameless woodlands? As she peered timidly into the shadows between the trees, something swept into the sunlight with a swift whirl-wings, a great parrot which dropped onto a leafy branch and stayed there, a gleaming image of jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sideways, and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. Crom, muttered the Samarian.

Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old. Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, wise devil? Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly, Yagulaniokhah, exhala, and with the wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine.

What did it say? she whispered. Human words, I'll swear, answered Conan. But in what tongue I can't say. Nor I, returned the girl. Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human are—she gazed into the leafy fastness, and shuddered slightly without knowing why. Kramm, I'm hungry, grunted the Samarian. I could eat a whole buffalo.

We'll look for fruit, but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business. So saying he laid aside his sword, and, wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone. His streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unguled, quenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshed. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and

the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Straping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a shart, green, sward, which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees, they caught glimpses of fairy-like vistas. Presently Conan grunted in pleasure at the sight of golden and russet globes, hanging in clusters among the leaves, indicating that the girl should seat herself on a fallen tree, he filled her lap with the exotic delicacies, and then himself fell to with unconcealed gusto. "'Eastar,' said he, between mouthfuls, "'s, since I've bar as I have lived on rats

and roots I dug out of the stinking mud. This is sweet to the palate, though not very filling. Still, it will serve if we eat enough. Olivia was too busy to reply. The sharp edge of the Samarion's hunger blunted. He began to gaze at his fair companion with more interest than previously, noting the lustrous clusters of her dark hair, the peach-bloomed tints of her dainty skin, and the rounded contours of her lithe figure which the scanty silk tunic displayed to full advantage. Finishing her meal, the object of his scrutiny, looked up, and meeting his burning, slit-eyed gaze, she changed color, and the remnants of the fruit slipped from her fingers. Without comment he indicated with a gesture that they should continue their explorations,

and rising she followed him out of the tree. and into a glade, the farther end of which was bounded by a dense thicket. As they stepped into the open, there was a ripping crash in this thicket, and Conan bounding aside and carrying the girl with him narrowly saved them from something that rushed through the air and struck a tree-truck with a thunderous impact. Whipping out his sword, Conan bounded across the glade and plunged into the thicket. Silence ensued, while Olivia crouched on the sword, terrified, and bewildered. Presently Conan emerged, a puzzled scowl on his face. Nothing in that thicket, he growled. But there was something. He studied the missile that had

so narrowly missed them, and grunted incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge block of greenish stone, which lay on the sword at the foot of the tree whose wood its impact had splintered a strange stone to find on an uninhabited island growled conan olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder the stone was a symmetrical block indisputably cut and shaped by human hands and it was astonishingly massive the samarian grasped it with both hands and-and-apeutably cut and shaped by human hands and it was astonishingly massive the cimmerian grasped it with both hands and with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him, exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of him. Conan swore.

No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for siege engines, yet there are no manganelles or ballistas. perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from before she suggested he shook his head it didn't fall from above it came from yonder thicket see how the twigs are broken it was thrown as a man might throw a pebble but who what come she hesitantly followed him into the thicket inside the outer ring of leafy brush the undergrowth was less dense utter silence brooded over all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint, yet from this mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder swift and deadly. Conan bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof above their

heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves, and interwoven arches. And he froze suddenly. Then rising, sword in hand, he began to back away, thrusting Olivia behind him. Out of here, quick! He urged in a whisper that congealed the girl's blood. What is it? What do you see? Nothing, he answered, guardedly, not halting his wary retreat. But what is it, then? What lurks in this thicket? Death, he answered, his gaze still fixed on the brooding jade arches that shut out the sky. Once out of the thicket he took her hand and led her swiftly through the thinning trees, until they mounted a grassy slope, sparsely treed, and emerged upon a low plateau,

where the grass grew taller and the trees were few and scattered. And in the midst of that plateau rose a long, broad structure of the wood of the wood. crumbling greenish stone. They gazed in wonder. No legends named such a building on any island of Villayette. They approached it warily, seeing that moss and lichen crawled over the stones, and the broken roof gaped to the sky. On all sides lay bits and shards of masonry, half hidden in the waving grass, giving the impression that once many buildings rose there, perhaps a whole town, but now only the long hall-like structure rose against the sky, and its walls leaned drunkenly among the crawling vines.

Whatever doors that once guarded its portals had long rotted away. Conan and his companion stood in the broad entrance and stared inside. Sunlight streamed in through gaps in the walls and roof, making the interior a dim weave of light and shadow. Grasping his sword firmly, Conan entered with the slouching gate of a hunting panther, sunken head and noiseless feet. Olivia tiptoed after him.

Once within Conan grunted in surprise, and Olivia stifled a scream, Look, oh, look! I see, he answered, nothing to fear. They are statues. But how lifelike! and how evil, she whispered, drawing close to him. They stood in a great hall, whose floors were of polished stone,

littered with dust and broken stones, which had fallen from the ceiling. Vines growing between the stones masked the apertures. The lofty roof, flat and undombed, was upheld by thick columns, marching and rows down the sides of the walls, and in each space between these columns stood a strange figure. They were statues, apparently of iron, black and shining, as if constantly polished. They were life-sized, depicting tall, lithely, powerful men, with cruel hawk-like faces. They were naked, and every swell, depression, and contour of joint and sinew was represented

with incredible realism. life-like feature was their proud, intolerant faces. These features were not cast in the same mold. Each face possessed its own individual characteristics, though there was a tribal likeness between them all. There was none of the monotonous uniformity of decorative art, in the faces at least. They seemed to be listening and waiting, whispered the girl uneasily. Conan rang his hilt against one of the images. Aron, he pronounced, but crom, in what molds were they cast?

He shook his head and shrugged his massive shoulders in puzzlement. Olivia glanced timidly about the great silent hall. Only the ivy-grown stones, the tendril-clasped pillars with the dark figures brooding between them, met her gaze. She shifted uneasily and wished to be gone, but the images held a strange fascination for her companion. He examined them in detail, and, barbarian-like, tried to break off their limbs, but their material resisted his best efforts. He could neither disfigure nor dislodge from its niche a single image. At last he desisted, swearing in his wonder.

What manner of men were these copied from? He inquired the world at large. These figures are black, yet they are not like negroes. I have never seen their like. Let us go into the sunlight, urged Olivia, and he nodded with a baffled glance at the brooding shapes along the walls. So they passed out of the dusky hall into the clear blaze of the summer sun. She was surprised to no disposition in the sky.

Chapter 2 of Conan and Shadows in the moonlight by Robert E. Howard. This Labor Vox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 2. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystallized in the into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of Cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns, marching and even rows along the massive walls.

Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not Negroes. Neither they, nor their garments, nor weapons, resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar, a slender, white-skinned youth, with a cluster of golden curls about his alabaster brow.

His beauty was not altogether human, like the dream of a god chiseled out of living marble. The black warriors laughed at him, jeered and taunted in a strange tongue. The lithe naked form writhed beneath their cruel hands. Blood trickled down the ivory thighs to splatter on the polished floor. The screams of the victims echoed through the hall, then lifting his head toward the ceiling of the skies beyond. He cried out a name in an awful voice, a dagger in a dagger in the sky's beyond. in an ebbin hand cut short his cry, and the golden head rolled on the ivory breast.

As if in answer to that desperate cry there was a rolling thunder as of celestial chariot wheels, and a figure stood before the slayers as if materialized out of empty air. The form was of a man, but no mortal man ever wore such an aspect of inhuman beauty. There was an unmistakable resemblance between him and the youth who dropped lifeless in his chains, but the alloy of humanity that softened the godliness of the youth was lacking in the features of the stranger, awful and immobile in their beauty. The blacks shrank back before him, their eyes slits of fire, lifting a hand he spoke, and his tones echoed through the silent halls in deep, rich waves of sound.

Like men in a trance, the black warriors fell back until they were ranged along the walls in regular lines. Then from the stranger's chiseled lips rang a terrible invocation and command. Yag Kulan Yachtha, Suthala. At the blast of that awful cry, the black figures stiffened and froze. Over their limbs crept a curious rigidity and unnatural petrification. The stranger touched the limp body of the youth, and the chains fell away from it. He lifted the corpse in his arms. Then, ere he turned away, his tranquil gaze swept again over the silent rows of ebbed figures,

and he pointed to the moon, which gleamed on through the casements. And they understood those tense-waiting statues that had been men. Olivia awoke, starting up on her couch of branches, a cold sweat beating her skin. Her heart pounded loud in the silence. She glanced wildly about. Conan slept against his pillar, his head fallen upon his massive breast. The silvery radiance of the late moon crept through the gaping roof, throwing long white lines along the dusty floor.

She could see the images dimly, black, tense, waiting. Fighting down a rising hysteria, she saw the moonbeams rest lightly on the pillars and the shapes between. What was that? A tremor among the shadows where the moonlight fell. A paralysis of horror gripped her, for where there should have been the immobility of death. There was movement. A slow, twitching, a flexing and writhing of ebb and limbs.

An awful scream burst from her lips as she broke the bonds that held her mute and motionless. At her shriek, Conan shot erect, teeth gleaming sword lifted. The statues! The statues! Oh, my God! The statues are coming to life. And with the cry, she sprang through a crevice in the wall,

burst madly through the hindering vines, and ran, ran, ran, blind, screaming witless, until a grasp on her arm brought her up short, and she shrieked and fought against the arms that caught her, until a familiar voice penetrated the mist of her terror, and she saw Conan's face, a mask of bewilderment in the moonlight. What in Grom's name, girl?

Did you have a nightmare? His voice sounded strange and far away, with a sobbing gasp. She threw her arms about his thick neck and clung to him convulsively, crying in panting catches. Where are they? Did they follow us? Nobody followed us, he answered. She sat up, still clinging to him,

and looked fearfully about. Her blind flight had carried her to the southern edge of the plateau. Just below them was the slope, its foot masked in the thick shadows of the woods. Behind them she saw the ruins looming in the high-swinging moon. Did you not see them? The statues, moving, lifting their hands, their eyes glaring in the shadows.

I saw nothing, answered the barbarian on each. easily. I slept more soundly than usual, because it has been so long since I have slumbered the night through, yet I don't think anything could have entered the hall without waking me. Nothing entered. A laugh of hysteria escaped her. It was something there already. Ah, Mithra, we lay down to sleep among them, like sheep making their bed in the shambles. What are you talking about? He demanded. I woke at your cry, but before I had time to look about me, I saw you rush out through the crack in the wall. I pursued you lest you come to harm.

I thought you had a nightmare. So I did, she shivered, but the reality was more grisly than the dream. Listen. And she narrated all that she had dreamed and thought to see. Conan listened attentively. The natural skepticism of the sophisticated man was not a very much. his. His mythology contained ghouls, goblins, and necromancers. After she had finished, he sat silent, absently toying with his sword. The youth they tortured was like the tall man who came,

he asked at last. As like his son to father, she answered, and hesitatingly, if the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity and humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us. What gods? He muttered. The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes.

The quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs between the stars. Gods are no more stable than men. But if these shapes were men blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life? "'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. "'He pointed at the moon. "'While the moon shines on them, they live. "'So I believe.'

"'But we were not pursued,' murmured Conan, "'glancing toward the brooding ruins. "'You might have dreamed they moved. "'I am of a mind to return and see.' "'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back. They will rend you limb from limb.

Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island. Surely the Hercanian ship has passed us now. Let us go. So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the image was balanced by his superstition. Fos of flesh and blood he did not fear. ever great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand, and they went down the slope

and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered and nameless nightbirds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swirred to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to side, and often flitted into the branches above them. He went quickly, yet warily, his arm girdling the girl's waist so strongly that she felt as if she were being carried rather than guided. Neither spoke. The only sound was the girl's quick, nervous panting, the rustle of her small feet in the grass. So they came through the trees to the edge of the wall.

shimmering like molten silver in the moonlight. We should have brought fruit for food, muttered Conan, but doubtless we'll find other islands. As well leave now as later, it's but a few hours till dawn. His voice trailed away. The painter was still made fast to the looping route, but on the other end was only a smashed and shattered ruin, half submerged in the shallow water.

A stifled cry escaped a low. Olivia, Conan wheeled and faced the dense shadows, a crouching image of menace. The noise of the night birds was suddenly silent. A brooding stillness reigned over the woods. No breeze moved the branches, yet somewhere the leaves stirred faintly. Quick as a great cat, Conan caught up Olivia and ran. Through the shadows he raced like a phantom, while somewhere above and behind them sounded a curious rushing among the leaves that implacably drew closer and closer.

Then the moonlight burst full upon their faces, and they were speeding up the slope of the plateau. At the crest, Conan laid Olivia down and turned to glare back at the Gulf of shadows they had just quitted. The leaves shook in a sudden breeze. That was all. He shook his mane with an angry growl. Olivia crept to his feet like a frightened child. Her eyes looked up at him, dark wells of horror. What are we to do, Conan? She whispered.

He looked at the ruins, stared again into the woods below. We'll go to the cliffs, he declared, lifting her to her feet. Tomorrow I'll make a raft and we'll trust our luck to the sea again. It was not they that destroyed our boat. It was half-questioned. half-assertion. He shook his head, grimly taciturn. Every step of the way across that moon-haunted plateau was a sweating terror for Olivia, but no black shapes stole subtly from the looming ruins, and at last they reached the foot of

the crags, which rose stark and gloomily majestic above them. There Conan halted in some uncertainty, at last selecting a place sheltered by a broad ledge nowhere near any trees. Lie down and sleep if you can, Olivia, he said, I'll keep watch. But no sleep came to Olivia, and she lay watching the distant ruins and the wooded rim until the stars paled, the east whitened, and dawned in rose and gold struck fire from the dew of the grass blades. Stiffly, her mind reverting to all the happenings of the night. In the morning light some of its terrors seemed like figments of an overwrought imagination. Conan strode over to her, and his words electrified her.

Just before dawn I heard the creek of timbers and the rasp and clack of cordage and oras. A ship has put in and anchored at the beach not far away. Probably the ship whose sail we saw yesterday. We'll go up the cliffs and spy on her. Up they went, and lying on their bellies among the boulders, saw a painted mast jutting up beyond the trees to the west. And her Kenyan craft from the cut of her rigging, muttered Conan, I wonder if the crew, a distant medley of voices, reached their ears,

and creeping to the southern edge of the cliffs, they saw a motley horde emerged from the fringe of trees, along the western rim of the plateau, and stand there a space in debate. There was much flourishing of arms, brandishing of swords, and loud, rough argument. Then the whole band started across the plateau toward the ruins, at a slant that would take them close by the foot of the cliffs. Pirates, whispered Conan, a grim smile on his thin lips. It's anharcanian galley they've captured.

Here, crawl among these rocks. "'Don't show yourself unless I call to you,' he instructed, having secreted her to his satisfaction among the tangle of boulders along the crest of the cliffs. "'I'm going to meet these dogs. If I succeed in my plan, all will be well, and we'll sail away with them. If I don't succeed, well, hide yourself in the rocks until they've gone, for no devils on this island are as cruel as these sea wolves.' and tearing himself from her reluctant grasp,

he swung quickly down the cliffs. Looking fearfully from her airy, Olivia saw the band had neared the foot of the cliffs. Even as she looked, Conan stepped out from among the boulders and faced them soared in hand. They gave back with yells of menace and surprise, then halted uncertainly to glare at this figure

which had appeared so suddenly from the rocks. There were some seventy of them. A wild horde made up of men from many nations. Cothians, Zemoreans, Baruthynians, Corinthians, Shemites. Their features reflected the wildness of their natures. Many bore the scars of the lash or the branding iron. There were cropped ears, slit noses, gaping eye sockets, stumps of wrists, marks of the hangman as well as scars of battle.

Most of them were half naked, but the garments they wore were fine. Gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chaste armor, jewels glittered in nose-rings and earrings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Samarian in strong contrast with his hard brink, bronzed limbs, and clean-cut vital features. Who are you? they roared. Conan the Samarian. His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion,

one of the free companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief? I, by Easter, bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward, a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp lock.

His moustaches drooped over a rat-trap mouth. Green shemiteish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. Sirgeus of Carusra by Crom. I, by Eastar, boomed the giant, his small black eyes, glittering with hate. Do you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy.

Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads. I, send your dogs at me. big belly, sneered Conan with bitter scorn. You were always a coward, you Cothic cur. Coward? To me? The broad face turned black with passion. On guard, you northern dog, I'll cut out your heart. In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth and bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags, Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement.

Without formality, the combatants engaged. Sergius coming in with a rush quick on his feet as a giant cat for all his bulk. Curses hissed between his clenched teeth, as he lustily swung and parried. Conan fought in silence. His eyes slits of blue bale fire. The Cothian ceased his oats to save his breath. The only sounds were the quick scuff of his feet on the sward, the panting of the pirate, the ring and clash of steel.

The swords flashed like white fire in the early sun, wheeling and circling. They seemed to recall from each other's contact, then leaped together again instantly. Sergius was giving back. Only his superlative skill had saved him thus far from the blinding speed of the Samarian's onslaught. A louder clash of steel, a sliding rasp, a choking cry.

From the pirate horde a fierce yell split the morning, as Conan's sword plunged through their captain's massive body. The point quivered an instant from between Sergius's shoulders, a hand's breath of white fire in the sunlight, then the Samarian wrenched back his seat. steel, and the pirate chief fell heavily, face down, and lay in a widening pool of blood, his broad hands twitching for an instant. Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs.

"'Well, you dogs,' he roared, "'I've sent your chief to hell. What says the law of the Red Brotherhood?' Before any could answer, a rat-faced Baruthian standing behind his fellows, whirled a sling swiftly and deadly, straight as an arrow sped the stone to its mark, and Conan reeled and fell as a tall tree falls to the woodman's axe. Up on the cliff, Olivia caught at the boulders for support.

The scene swam dizzily before her eyes. All she could see was the Sumerian lying limply on the sward, blood oozing from his head. The rat-faced one yelped in triumph and ran to stab the prostrate man, but a lean Corinthian thrust him back. What, Orontas, would you break the law of the brotherhood, you dog? No law is broken, snarled the Baruthian. No law? Why, you dog?

The man you have just struck down is by just rights our captain. Nay, shouted Arontas, he was not of our band, but an outsider. He had not been admitted to fellowship. Slaying Sergius does not make him captain, as would have been the case, had one of us killed him. But he wished to join us, retorted the Corinthian. He said so. At that a great clamor arose, some siding with Arathus, some with the Corinthian, whom they called Ivanus. Oaths flew thick, challenges were passed, hands fumbled at sword-hilt. At last a Shemite spoke up above the clamor. Why do you argue over a dead man?

He's not dead, answered the Corinthian, rising from beside the prostrate Samarian. It was a glancing blow he's only stunned. At that the clamor rose anew. Aratus trying to get at the senseless man and Ivanos finally bestriding him, sword in hand and defying all and sundry. Olivia sensed that it was not so much in defense of Conan that the Corinthian took his stand, but in opposition to Aratus. Evidently these men had been Sergius's lieutenants, and there was no love lost between them.

After more arguments, it was decided to bind Conan and take him along with him his fate to be voted on later. The Samarian, who was beginning to regain consciousness, was bound with leather girdle. and then four pirates lifted him, and with many complaints and curses, carried him along with the band, which took up its journey across the plateau once more. The body of Sergius was left where it had fallen, a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action,

and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris and clambering about the walls. After a while a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire.

Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, burying casks of liquor and leather and sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this, Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Samarian had meant to her. There intruded, vaguely, a wonderment at the mad pranks of fate that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian.

With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father and Shah Amarath, they were civilized men, and from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had shielded her, protected her, and, so far, demanded nothing in return. Laying her head in her rounded arms, she wept, until distant shouts of rival revelry roused her to her own danger. She glanced from the dark ruins about which the fantastic figures, small in the distance,

weaved and staggered to the dusky depths of the green forest. even in her terrors in the ruins. The night before had been only dreams. The menace that lurked in those green, leafy depths below was no figment of nightmare. Were Conan slain or carried away captive, her only chance would lie between giving herself up to the human wolves of the sea or remaining alone on that devil-haunted island.

As the full horror of her situation swept over her, her. She fell forward in a swoon. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 3. The sun was hanging low when Olivia regained her senses. A faint wind wafted to her ears, distant shouts, and snatches of ribald song. Rising cautiously, she looked out across the plateau. She saw the pirates clustered about a great fire outside the ruins,

and her heart leaped as a group emerged from the interior dragging some object she knew was Conan. They propped him against the wall, still evidently bound fast, and there ensued a long discussion with much brandishing of weapons. At last they dragged him back into the wall, the hall and took up anew the business of ale-guzzling. Olivia sighed. At least she knew that the Samarian still lived. Fresh determinations steeled her.

As soon as night fell, she would steal to those grim ruins and free him or be taken herself in the attempt, and she knew it was not selfish interest alone, which prompted her decision. With this in mind, she ventured to creep from her refuge to pluck and eat nuts which grew sparsely near at hand. She had not eaten since the day before. It was while so occupied that she was troubled by a sensation of being watched. She scanned the rocks nervously, then with a shuddering suspicion, crept to the north edge of the cliff, and gazed down into the wavering green mass below,

already dusky with the sunset. She saw nothing. It was impossible that she could be seen, when not on the cliff's edge, by anything lurking in those woods, yet she distinctly felt the glare of hidden eyes and felt that something animate and sentient was aware of her presence and her hiding place.

Stealing back to her rocky airy, she lay watching the distant ruins until the dusk of night masked them, and she marked their position by the flickering flames about which black figures leaped and cavorted grogily. Then she rose. It was time to make her attempt. But first she stole back to the northern edge of the cliffs, and looked down into the woods that bordered the beach, and as she strained her eyes, in the dim starlight. She stiffened, and an icy hand touched her heart.

Far below her, something moved. It was as if a black shadow detached itself from the Gulf of shadows below her. It moved slowly up the sheer face of the cliff, a vague bulk, shapeless in the semi-darkness. Panic caught Olivia by the throat, and she struggled with a scream that tugged at her lips. Turning, she fled down the southern slope. The flight down the shadowed cliffs was a nightmare in which she slid and scrambled, catching at jagged rocks with cold fingers. As she tore her tender skin and bruised her soft limbs on the rugged boulders,

over which Conan had so lightly lifted her, she realized again her dependence on the iron-thewed barbarian. but this thought was but one in a fluttering maelstrom of dizzy fright. The descent seemed endless, but at last her feet struck the grassy levels, and in a very frenzy of eagerness she sped away toward the fire that burned like the red heart of night. Behind her as she fled, she heard a shower of stones rattle down the steep slope, and the sound lent wings to her heels. What grisly climber disliked those stones she dared not try to think.

Stringuous physical action dissipated her blind terror somewhat, and before she had reached the ruin, her mind was clear. Her reasoning faculties alert, though her limbs trembled with her efforts. She dropped to the sward and wriggled along on her belly, until from behind a small tree that had escaped the axes of the pirates, she watched her enemies. They had completed their supper, but were still drinking, dipping pewter mugs or jeweled goblets into the broken heads of the wine casks.

Some were already snoring drunkenly on the grass, while others had staggered into the ruins. Of Conan, she saw nothing. She lay there while the dew formed on the grass about her, and the leaves overhead and the men about the fire cursed, gambled, and argued. There were only a few about the fire. Most of them had gone into the ruins to sleep. She lay watching them, her nerves taut with the strain of waiting,

the flesh crawling between her shoulders at the thought of what might be watching her in turn, of what might be stealing up behind her. Time dragged on leaden feet. One by one, the revelers sank down in drunken slumber until all were stretched senseless beside the dying fire. Olivia hesitated. Then was galvanized by a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising.

With a gasp, she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed almost. the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more. They shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Samarian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar,

his eyes gleaming in the fate reflections of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her, had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped.

The sleepers snored on. Vending quickly she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords thick and heavy and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figure,

between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps. Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls, waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep.

The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. The cords fell from Conan's arms, and, taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figure with fire, so that they glimmered readily in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons nearby,

he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms, he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sword. Her arms about his iron neck, the Orifian closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her.

In spite of his burden, the Samarian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. Something climbed the cliffs, she whispered. I heard it scramble behind me as I came down. We'll have to chance it, he grunted. I'm not afraid, now.

She sighed. You were not afraid when you came to free me, either, he answered. Grum, what a day it has been. Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Arathus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused to spite Arathus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another,

and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way. He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture, he tossed the girl lightly to one side and behind him, rising to her knees on the soft sward, she screamed at what she saw. Out of the shadows of the cliffs moved a monstrous, shambling bulk, an anthropomorphic horror, a grotesque travesty of creation. In general outline, it was not unlike a man, but its face, limed in the bright moonlight, was bestial, with close-set ears, flaring nostrils, and a great flabby-lipped mouth, in which gleamed

white tusk-like fangs. It was covered with shaggy, grayish hair, shot with silver which shone in the moonlight, and its great misshapen paws hung nearly to the earth. Its bulk was tremendous, as it stood on its short, bowed legs, its bullethead rose above that of the man who faced it. The sweep of the hairy breast and giant shoulders was breathtaking. The huge arms were like knotted trees. The moonlight scene swam to Olivia's sight.

This then was the end of the trail. For what human being could withstand the fury of that hairy, mountain of fuse and ferocity. Yet as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the bronzed figure facing the monster, she sensed a kinship in the antagonists that was almost appalling. This was less a struggle between man and beast than a conflict between two creatures of the wild, equally merciless and ferocious. With a flash of white tusks, the monster charged.

The mighty arms spread wide as the beast plunged, stupefyingly quick for all his vast bulk and stunted legs. Conan's action was a blur of speed Olivia's eye could not follow. She only saw that he evaded that deadly grasp, and his sword, flashing like a jet of white lightning, sheared through one of those massive arms between shoulder and elbow. A great spout of blood deluged the sword as the severed member fell. twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck bustles of the Samarian saved him from a broken neck that instant.

His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat. His left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Samarian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron,

while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence. apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexirably, Conan's arm bent under the strain,

nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Samaria's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half-fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping man-like the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still.

Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Samarian breathed heavily and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted almost to their limit of endurance. He felt his bloody scalp and swore at the sight of the long black red-stained strands still grasped in the monster's shaggy hand. "'Krom,' he panted. "'I feel as if I've been wrecked. "'I'd rather fight a dozen men.

"'Another instant than he'd have bitten off my head. "'Blast him. "'He's torn a handful of my hair out by the roots.' "'Gripping his hilt with both hands, "'he tugged and worked it free. "'Olivia stole close to clasp his arm "'and stare down wide-eyed at the sprawling monster. "'What? What is it?'

She whispered. A grave man-ape, he grunted. Dumb and man-eating. They dwell in the hills that board of the eastern shore of the sea. How one got to this island, I can't say. Maybe he floated here on Driftwood, blown out from the mainland in a storm. And it was he that threw the stone? Yes.

I suspected what it was when we stood in the thicket, and I saw the boughs bending over our heads. These creatures always lurked in the deepest woods they can find and seldom emerge. What brought him into the open, I can't say, but it was lucky for us. I'd have had no chance with him among the trees. It followed me, she shivered. I saw it climbing the cliffs. And, following his instinct, he lurked in the shadow of the cliff instead of following you out across the plateau.

His kind are creatures of darkness and the silent places. haters of sun and moon. Do you suppose there are others? No, else the pirates had been attacked when they went through the woods. The great ape is wary for all his strength, as shown by his hesitancy in falling upon us in the thicket. His lust for you must have been great to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What?

He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful thing. scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks, and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Samarian turned, and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau with its fringe of moon-lined trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk, so he carried her,

and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the riffs of silver discovered no grisly shape. Nightbirds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere, a parrot called like an eerie echo, Yaculam yorkla, exlala.

So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sails shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 4. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn, A handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out onto the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley when a stern challenge brought them upstanding. Etched against the whitening sky, they saw Conan the Samarian, standing in the bows, sword in hand, his black mane tossing in the dawn wind.

Stand, he ordered, come no nearer. What would you have, dogs? Let us come aboard, croaked a hairy rogue, fingering a bloody stump of ear. We'd be gone from this devil's island. The first man who tries to climb over the side I'll split his skull, promised Conan. They were 44 to one, but he held the whip hand. The fight had been hammered out of them. "'Let us come aboard, good Conan,' wind a red-sashed Zammorian, glancing fearfully over

his shoulder at the silent woods. "'We have been so mauled, bitten, scratched, and rendered, and are so weary from fighting and running that not one of us can lift a sword.' "'Where is that dog, Arathus?' demanded Comanche. Donan. Dead with the others. It was devils fell upon us. They were rending us to pieces before we could awake.

A dozen good rovers died in their sleep. The ruins were full of flame-eyed shadows with tearing fangs and sharp talons. Aye, put in another corsair. They were the demons of the Isle, which took the forms of molten images to be foolish. Ishtar, we lay down to sleep among the, them, we're no cowards. We fought them as long as mortal man may strive against the powers of

darkness. Then we broke away and left them tearing at the corpses like jackals. But surely they'll pursue us. Aye, let us come aboard, clambered Eileen, she might. Let us come in peace. Or we must come sword in hand, and though we may be so weary you will doubtless slay many of us, yet you could not prevail against us many. Then I'll knock a hole in the planks and sinker, answered Conan grimly. A frantic chorus of expostulation rose, which Conan silenced with a lion-like roar. Dogs! Must I aid my enemies?

Shall I let you come aboard and cut out my heart? Nay, nay, they cried eagerly. Friends! Friends, Conan! We are like comrades. We be all lusty rogues together. We hate the king of Tauran, not each other. Their gaze hung on his brown, frowning face. Then if I am one of the brotherhood, he grunted, the laws of the trade apply to me. And since I killed your chief and fair fight, then I am your captain. There was no dissent. The pirates were too cowed and battered to have any thought except a desire to get away from that island of fear. Conan's gaze sought out the blood-stained figure of the Corinthian. How, Ivanos, he challenged. You took my part once?

Will you uphold my claims again? Aye, by Mitra, the pirate sensing the trend of feeling, was eager to ingratiate himself with the Samarian. He is right, lads. He is our lawful captain. A medley of acquiescence rose, lacking enthusiasm, perhaps, but with sincerity accentuated by the feel of the silent woods behind them, which might mask creeping ebendevils with red eyes and dripping talons. Swear by the hilt, Conan demanded. Forty-four sword-helts were lifted toward him,

and forty-four voices blended in the corsair, oath of allegiance. Conan grinned and sheathed his sword. Come aboard, my bowl, swashbucklers, and take the oars. He turned and lifted Olivia to her feet, from where she had crouched shielded by the gunwales. And what of me, sir, she asked. What would you? he countered, watching her narrowly. To go with you, wherever your path may lie, she cried, throwing her white arms around his, bronzed neck. The pirates clambering over the rail gasped in amazement.

To sail a road of blood and slaughter, he questioned, this keel will stain the blue weighs crimson wherever it plows. I, to sail with you on blue seas or red, she answered passionately. You are a barbarian, and I am an outcast denied by my people. We are both paris. Wanderers of Earth. Oh, take me with you. With a gusty laugh, he lifted her to his fierce lips. I'll make you queen of the Blue Sea. Cast off their dogs.

We'll scorch King Yildiz's pantaloons yet by crumb. End of Chapter 4. End of Conan and Shadows in the Moonlight by Robert E. Howard.