The Mythos Tales Read Free Page B

swiftly, gazing closely in Kull’s face, he said, barely above a whisper:
    “Ka nama kaa lajerama!”
    Kull started. “Ha! What mean you?”
    “Know you not?”
    “Nay, the words are unfamiliar; they are of no language I ever heard–and yet, by Valka!–somewhere–I have heard–”
    “Aye,” was the Pict’s only comment. His eyes swept the room, the study room of the palace. Except for a few tables, a divan or two and great shelves of books of parchment, the room was barren compared to the grandeur of the rest of the palace.
    “Tell me, king, who guards the door?”
    “Eighteen of the Red Slayers. But how come you, stealing through the gardens by night and scaling the walls of the palace?”
    Brule sneered. “The guards of Valusia are blind buffaloes. I could steal their girls from under their noses. I stole amid them and they saw me not nor heard me. And the walls–I could scale them without the aid of vines. I have hunted tigers on the foggy beaches when the sharp east breezes blew the mist in from seaward and I have climbed the steeps of the western sea mountain. But come–nay, touch this armlet.”
    He held out his arm and, as Kull complied wonderingly, gave an apparent sigh of relief.
    “So. Now throw off those kingly robes; for there are ahead of you this night such deeds as no Atlantean ever dreamed of.”
    Brule himself was clad only in a scanty loin-cloth through which was thrust a short, curved sword.
    “And who are you to give me orders?” asked Kull, slightly resentful.
    “Did not Ka-nu bid you follow me in all things?” asked the Pict irritably, his eyes flashing momentarily. “I have no love for you, lord, but for the moment I have put the thought of feuds from my mind. Do you likewise. But come.”
    Walking noiselessly, he led the way across the room to the door. A slide in the door allowed a view of the outer corridor, unseen from without, and the Pict bade Kull look.
    “What see you?”
    “Naught but the eighteen guardsmen.”
    The Pict nodded, motioned Kull to follow him across the room. At a panel in the opposite wall Brule stopped and fumbled there a moment. Then with a light movement he stepped back, drawing his sword as he did so. Kull gave an exclamation as the panel swung silently open, revealing a dimly lighted passageway.
     “A secret passage!” swore Kull softly. “And I knew nothing of it! By Valka, someone shall dance for this!”
    “Silence!” hissed the Pict.
    Brule was standing like a bronze statue as if straining every nerve for the slightest sound; something about his attitude made Kull’s hair prickle slightly, not from fear but from some eery anticipation. Then beckoning, Brule stepped through the secret doorway which stood open behind them. The passage was bare, but not dust-covered as should have been the case with an unused secret corridor. A vague, gray light filtered through somewhere, but the source of it was not apparent. Every few feet Kull saw doors, invisible, as he knew, from the outside, but easily apparent from within.
    “The palace is a very honeycomb,” he muttered.
    “Aye. Night and day you are watched, king, by many eyes.”
    The king was impressed by Brule’s manner. The Pict went forward slowly, warily, half crouching, blade held low and thrust forward. When he spoke it was in a whisper and he continually flung glances from side to side.
    The corridor turned sharply and Brule warily gazed past the turn.
    “Look!” he whispered. “But remember! No word! No sound–on your life!”
    Kull cautiously gazed past him. The corridor changed just at the bend to a flight of steps. And then Kull recoiled. At the foot of those stairs lay the eighteen Red Slayers who were that night stationed to watch the king’s study room. Brule’s grip upon his mighty arm and Brule’s fierce whisper at his shoulder alone kept Kull from leaping down those stairs.
    “Silent, Kull! Silent, in Valka’s name!” hissed the Pict. “These corridors are empty now,