The Snout in the Dark

FIVE: The Lash of Tananda

The next day, Shubba led Diana of Nemedia to Tuth­mes' chariot, hoisted her into the car, and took the reins. It was a different Diana, scrubbed and perfumed, with her beauty enhanced by a discreet touch of cosmetics. She wore a robe of silk so thin that every contour could be seen through it. A diadem of silver sparkled on her golden hair.

She was, however, still terrified. Life had been a night­mare ever since the slavers had kidnapped her. She had tried to comfort herself, during the long months that fol­lowed, with the thought that nothing lasts forever and that things were so bad that they were bound to improve. Instead, they had only worsened.

Now, she was about to be proffered as a gift to a cruel and irascible queen. If she survived, she would be caught between the dangers of Tuthmes' monster on one hand and the suspicions of the queen on the other. If she did not spy for Tuthmes, the demon would get her; if she did, the queen would probably catch her at it and have her done to death in some even more gruesome fashion.

Overhead, the sky had a steely look. In the west, clouds were piling up, tier upon tier; for the end of Kush's dry season was at hand.

The chariot rumbled toward the main square in front of the royal palace. The wheels crunched softly over drifted sand, now and then rattling loudly as they encountered a stretch of bare pavement. Few upper-caste Meroites were abroad, for the heat of the afternoon was at its height. Most of the ruling class slumbered in their houses. A few of their black servants slouched through the streets, turn­ing blank faces, shining with sweat, toward the chariot as it passed.

At the palace, Shubba handed Diana down from the chariot and led her in through the gilded bronze gates. A fat majordomo conducted them through corridors and into a large chamber, fitted out with the ornate opulence of the room of a Stygian princess - which in a way it was. On a couch of ivory and ebony, inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, sat Tananda, clad only in a brief skirt of crimson silk.

The queen's eyes insolently examined the trembling blond slave before her. The girl was obviously a fine piece of human property. But Tananda's heart, steeped in treach­ery itself, was swift to suspect treachery in others. The queen spoke suddenly, in a voice heavy with veiled men­ace:

“Speak, wench! Why did Tuthmes send you to the palace?”

“I-I do not know-where am I?-Who are you?” Diana had a small, high voice, like that of a child.

“I am Queen Tananda, fool! Now answer my question.”

“I know not the answer, my lady. All I know is that Lord Tuthmes sent me as a gift—”

“You lie! Tuthmes is eaten up with ambition. Since he hates me, he would not make me a gift without an ulterior reason. He must have some plot in mind. Speak up, or it will be the worse for you!”

“I -I do not know! I do not know!” wailed Diana, burst­ing into tears. Frightened almost to insanity by Mum's demon, she could not have spoken even if she had wished. Her tongue would have refused to obey her brain.

“Strip her!” commanded Tananda. The flimsy robe was torn from Diana's body.

“String her up!” said Tananda. Diana's wrists were bound, the rope was thrown over a beam, and the end was pulled taut, so that the girl's arms were extended straight over her head, Tananda rose, a whip in her hand. “Now,” she said with a cruel smile, “we shall see what you know about our dear friend Tuthmes' little schemes. Once more: will you speak?”

Her voice choked with sobs, Diana could only shake her head. The whip whistled and cracked across the Nemedian girl's skin, leaving a red welt diagonally across her back. Diana uttered a piercing shriek.

“What's all this?” said a deep voice. Conan, wearing his coat of mail over his jubbah and girt with his sword, stood in the doorway. Having become intimate with Tananda, he was accustomed to entering her palace unannounced. Tananda had taken lovers before - the murdered Amboola among them - but never one in whose embraces she found such ecstasy, nor one whose relationship with her she flaunted so brazenly. She could not have enough of the giant northerner.

Now, however, she spun about, “Just a northern slut, whom Tuthmes was sending me as a gift - no doubt to slip a dagger into my ribs or a potion into my wine,” she snap­ped. “I am trying to learn the truth from her. If you want to love me, come back later.”

“That is not my only reason for coming,” he replied, grinning wolfishly. “There is also a little matter of state. What is this folly, to let the blacks into the Inner City to watch Aahmes burn?”

“What folly, Conan? It will show the black dogs I am not to be trifled with. The scoundrel will be tortured in a way that will be remembered for years. Thus perish all foes of our divine dynasty! What objection have you, pray?”

“Just this: if you let a few thousand Kushites into the Inner City and then work up their blood lust by the sight of the torture, it won't take much to set off another rising, Your divine dynasty has not given them much cause to love it.”

“I do not fear those black scum!”

“Maybe not. But I have saved your pretty neck from them twice, and the third time my luck might run out. I tried to tell your minister Afari this just now, in his palace, but he said it was your command and he could do naught. I thought you might listen to sense from me, since your people fear you too much to say anything that might dis­please you.”

“I'll do naught of the kind. Now get out of here and leave me to my work - unless you would care to wield the whip yourself.”

Conan approached Diana. “Tuthmes has taste,” he said. “But the lass has been frightened out of her wits. No tale you got out of her would be worth the hearing. Give her to me, and I'll show you what a little kindness can do.”

“You, kind? Ha! Mind your own affairs, Conan, and I will mind mine. You should be posting your guardsmen against tonight's gathering.” Tananda spoke sharply to Diana: “Now speak, hussy, damn your soul!” The whip hissed as she drew back her arm for another lash.

Moving with the effortless speed of a lion, Conan caught Tananda's wrist and twisted the whip out of her hand.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “You dare to use force on me? I'll have you-I'll-I'll—”

“You'll what?” said Conan calmly. He tossed the whip into a corner, drew his dagger, and cut the rope that bound Diana's wrists. Tananda's servants exchanged uneasy glances.

“Mind your royal dignity, Highness!” grinned Conan, gathering Diana into his arms. “Remember that, with me in command of the guard, you have at least a chance. With­out me ... well, you know the answer to that. I shall see you at the torture.”

He strode toward the door, carrying the Nemedian girl. Screaming with rage, Tananda picked up the discarded whip and hurled it after him. The handle struck his broad back, and the whip fell to the floor.

“Just because she has a fish-belly skin like yours, you prefer her to me!” shrieked Tananda. “You shall rue your insolence!”

With a rumbling laugh, Conan walked out. Tananda sank to the floor, beating the marble with her fists and weeping with frustration.

Moments later, Shubba, driving Tuthmes' chariot back toward his master's house, passed Conan's dwelling. He was astonished to see Conan, carrying a naked girl in his arms, entering his front door. Shubba shook the reins and hastened on his way.