 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Paul Siegel of Maynard, Massachusetts. Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard. Chapter 1 The Coming of Solomon The moonlight shimmered hazily, making silvery mists of illusion among the shadowy trees. A faint breeze whispered down the valley, bearing a shadow that was not of the moon mist. A faint scent of smoke was apparent. The man whose long-swinging strides, unhurried yet unswerving, had carried him for many a mile since sunrise stopped suddenly. A movement in the trees had caught his attention, and he moved silently towards the shadows, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his long, slim rapier. Where early he advanced, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness that brooded under the trees. This was a wild and menacing country. Death might be lurking under those trees. Then his hand fell away from the hilt and he leaned forward. Death indeed was there, but not in such shape as might cause him fear. The fire of Hades, he murmured. A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me. The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark. You, who are you? Her words came in gasps. Not but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need. The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man. The girl sought to prop herself up on the elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast, and came away red and wet. Tell me, his voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe. The loop, she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. He and his men descended upon our village. A mile up the valley they robbed, slew, burned. That then was the smoke I scented, muttered the man. Go on, child. I ran. He, the wolf, pursued me and caught me. The words died away in a shuddering silence. I understand, child. Then? Then he, he stabbed me with his dagger. O blessed saints, mercy. Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly. Dead, he muttered. Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow. Swore no oath by saints or devils. Men shall die for this, he said coldly. End of chapter. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Paul Siegel of Maynard, Massachusetts. Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard. Chapter 2. The Layer of the Wolf. You I fool! The words came in a cold snarl that curdled the hearer's blood. He who had just been named a fool lowered his eyes sullenly without answer. You and all the others I lead. The speaker leaned forward, his fist pounding emphasis on the rude table between them. He was a tall, rangy, built man, supple as a leopard and with a lean, cruel, predatory face. His eyes danced and glittered with a kind of reckless mockery. The fellow spoken to replied sullenly, This Solomon Cain is a demon from hell, I tell you. Faw, dolt, he's a man who will die from a pistol ball or a sword thrust. So thought John, Juan, and Lacosta, answered the other grimly. Where are they? Ask the mountain wolves that tore the flesh from their dead bones. Where does this Cain hide? We have searched the mountains and the valleys for leagues, and we have found no trace. I tell you, Leloupe, he comes up from hell. I knew no good would come from hanging that fryer a moon ago. The wolf strummed impatiently upon the table. His keen face, despite lines of wild living and dissipation, was the face of a thinker. The superstitions of his followers affected him not at all. Faw, I say again. The fellow has found some cavern or secret veil of which we do not know where he hides in the day. And at night, he sallies forth and slays us, gloomily commented the other. He hunts us down as a wolf hunts dear. By God, Leloupe, you name yourself wolf, but I think you have met at least a fiercer and more crafty wolf than yourself. The first we know of this man is when we find John, the most desperate bandit unhung, nailed to a tree with his own dagger through his breast, and the letters SLK carved upon his dead cheek. Then the Spaniard wand is struck down, and after we find him, he lives long enough to tell us that the slayer is an Englishman, Solomon Cain, who has sworn to destroy our entire band. What then, La Costa, a swordsman second only to yourself, goes forth swearing to meet this Cain. By the demons of perdition, it seems he met him, for we found his sword pierced corpse upon a cliff. What now, are we all to fall before this English fiend? True, our best men have been done to death by him, mused the bandit chief. Soon the rest return from that little trip to the Hermits, then we shall see. Cain cannot hide forever. Then, ha, what was that? The two turn swiftly as a shadow fell across the table. Into the entrance of the cave that formed the bandit lair, a man staggered. His eyes were wide and staring. He reeled on buckling legs, and a dark red stain died his tunic. He came a few tottering steps forward, then pitched across the table, sliding off onto the floor. El's devils cursed the wolf, hauling him upright and propping him in a chair. Where the rest cursed you? Dead, all dead. How? Satan's curse on you, speak. The wolf shook the man savagely, the other bandit gazing on in wide-eyed horror. We reached the Hermits hut just as the moon rose, the man muttered. I stayed outside to watch. The others went in to torture the Hermit to make him reveal the hiding place of his gold. Yes, yes? Then what? The wolf was raging with impatience. Then the world turned red. The hut went up in a roar, and a red rain flooded the valley. Through it I saw the Hermit and a tall man, glad all in black, coming from the trees. Solomon Cain gasped the bandit. I knew it. I— It's fool, snarled the chief. Go on. I fled. Cain pursued, wounded me, but I outran him, God, here, first. The man slumped forward on the table. Satan devils, raged the wolf. What does he look like this Cain? Like Satan. The voice trailed off in silence. The dead man slid from the table to lie in a red heap upon the floor. Like Satan babbled the other bandit, I told you, tis the horned one himself. I tell you, he ceased as a frightened face peered in at the cave entrance. Cain? I—the wolf was too much at sea to lie. Keep close watch, Le Mans. In a moment the rat and I will join you. The face withdrew, and the loop turned to the other. This ends the band, he said. You, I, and that thief Le Mans are all that are left. What would you suggest? The rat's pallid lips barely formed the words. Flight! You are right. Let us take the gems and gold from their chests and flee using the secret passageway. And Le Mans? He can watch until we are ready to flee. Then why divide the treasure three ways? A faint smile touched the rat's malevolent features. Then a sun-thought smote him. He, indicating the corpse on the floor, said, I got here first. Does that mean Cain was pursuing him here? And as the wolf nodded impatiently, the other turned to the chest with chattering haste. The flickering candles in the rough table lighted up a strange and wild scene. The light, uncertain and dancing, gleamed redly in the slowly widening lake of blood in which the dead man lay. It danced upon the heaps of gems and coins emptied hastily upon the floor from the brass-bound chests that ranged the walls. And it glittered in the eyes of the wolf with the same gleam which sparkled from his sheath dagger. The chests were empty, their treasure lying in a shimmering mass upon the bloodstained floor. The wolf stopped and listened. Outside was silence. There was no moon, and the loop's keen imagination pictured the dark slayer, Solomon Cain, gliding through the blackness, a shadow among shadows. He grinned crookedly, this time the Englishman would be foiled. There's a chest yet unopened, said he, pointing. The rat, with a muttering exclamation of surprise, bent over the chest indicated. With a single cat-like motion, the wolf sprang upon him, sheeding his dagger to the hilt in the rat's back, between the shoulders. The rat sagged to the floor without a sound. Why divide the treasure two ways, murmured the loop, wiping his blade upon the dead man's doublet. Now full of man. He stepped toward the door, then stopped and shrank back. At first he thought it was the shadow of a man who stood in the entrance. Then he saw it was a man himself, though so dark and still he stood that a fantastic semblance of shadow was lent him by the guttering candle. A tall man, as tall as the loop he was, clad in black from head to foot, in plain, close-fitting garments that somehow suited the somber face. Long arms and broad shoulders betoken the swordsmen, as plainly as the long rapier in his hand. The features of the man were saturnene and gloomy. A kind of dark pallor lent him a ghostly appearance in the uncertain light, unaffect heightened by the satanic darkness of his lowering brows. Eyes, large, deep-set and unblinking, fixed their gaze upon the bandit, and looking into them, the loop was unable to decide what color they were. Strangely, the Mephistophelian trend of the lower features was offset by a high, broad forehead, though this was partly hidden by a featherless hat. That forehead marked the dreamer, the idealist, the introvert, just as the eyes and the thin straight nose betrayed the fanatic. An observer would have been struck by the eyes of two men who stood there facing each other. Eyes of both betoken untold deeps of power, but there the resemblance ceased. The eyes of the bandit were hard, almost opaque, with a curious, scintillant shadowlessness that reflected a thousand changing lights and gleams, like some strange gem. There was mockery in those eyes, cruelty and recklessness. The eyes of the man in black, on the other hand, deep-set and staring from under prominent brows were cold but deep, gazing into them one had the impression of looking into countless fathoms of ice. Now the eyes clashed and the wolf who was used to being feared felt a strange coolness on his spine. The sensation was new to him, a new thrill to one who lived for thrills and he laughed suddenly. You are Solomon Cain, I suppose, he asked, managing to make his question sound politely incurious. I am Solomon Cain, the voice was resonant and powerful. Are you prepared to meet your God? Why, Monsieur, the loop answered, bowing. I assure you I am as ready as I ever will be. I might ask Monsieur the same question. No doubt I stated my inquiry wrongly, Cain said grimly. I will change it. Are you prepared to meet your master, the devil? As to that Monsieur, the loop examined his fingernails with elaborate unconcern. I must say that I cannot present render a most satisfactory account to his honed excellency, though I really have no intention of doing, for a while at least. The loop did not wonder as to the fate of Le Mans. Cain's presence in the cave was sufficient answer that did not need the trace of blood on his rapier to verify it. What I wish to know, Monsieur, said the bandit, is why in the devil's name have you harassed my band as you have and how did you destroy that last set of fools? Your last question is easily answered, sir, Cain replied. I myself had the tale spread that the man possessed a store of gold, knowing that would draw your scum as Caryon draws vultures. For days and nights I have watched the hut, and tonight when I saw your villains coming, I warned the hermit, and together we went among the trees back of the hut. Then, when the rogues were inside, I struck flint and steel to the train I had laid, and flame ran through the trees like a red snake until it reached the powder I had placed beneath the hut floor. Then the hut and thirteen sinners went to hell in a slain and smoke. True, one escaped, but him I had slain in the forest had not I stumbled and fallen upon a broken root, which gave him time to elude me. Monsieur, said Leloupe, with another low bow, I grant you the admiration I must knees bestow on a brave and shrewd foeman. You tell me this, why have you followed me as a wolf follows deer? Some moons ago, said Cain, his frown becoming more menacing, you and your friends raided a small village down the valley. You know the details better than I. There was a girl there, a mere child, who, hoping to escape your lust, fled up the valley. But you, you jackal of hell, you caught her and left her, violated and dying. I found her there, and above her dead form I made up my mind to hunt you down and kill you. Hmm, mused the wolf. Yes, I remember the wench. On due, so the softer sentiments entered into the affair. Monsieur, I had not thought you an amorous man. Be not jealous, good fellow, there are many more wenches. Leloupe, take care, Cain exclaimed, a terrible menace in his voice. I have never yet done a man to death by torture, but by God, sir, you tempt me. The tone, and more especially the unexpected oath coming as it did from Cain, slightly sobered Leloupe. His eyes narrowed and his hand moved toward his rapier. The air was tense for an instant. Then the wolf relaxed elaborately. Who was the girl, he asked idly. Your wife? I never saw her before, answered Cain. Nom de nom! swore the bandit. What sort of men are you, monsieur, who takes up a feud of this sort merely to avenge a wench unknown to you? That, sir, is my own affair. It is sufficient that I do so. Cain could not have explained even to himself, nor did he ever seek an explanation within himself. A true fanatic, his promptings were reasons enough for his actions. You are right, monsieur, Leloupe was sparring now for time. Casually he edged backward inch by inch with such consummate acting skill that he aroused no suspicion even in the hawk who watched him. Monsieur, said he, possibly you will say that you are merely a noble cavalier wandering about like a true gala had, protecting the weaker. But you and I are no different. There on the floor is the equivalent to an emperor's ransom. Let us divide it peaceably. Then, if you like not my company, why, nom-do-nom, we can go our separate ways. Cain leaned forward, a terrible brooding threat growing in his cold eyes. He seemed like a great condor about to launch himself upon his victim. Sir, do you assume me to be as great a villain as yourself? Suddenly Leloupe threw back his head, his eyes dancing and leaping with a wild mockery and a kind of insane recklessness. He then sent the echoes flying. Gods of hell, no, you fool. I do not class you with myself. Mon-do, Monsieur Cain, you have a task indeed if you intend to avenge all the wenches who have known my favours. Shades of death, shall I waste time in parlaying with this base scoundrel? Cain snarled in a voice suddenly bloodthirsty and his lean frame flashed forward like a bent bow suddenly released. At the same instant, Leloupe with a wild laugh bounded backward with a swift as Cain's. His timing was perfect. His back-flung hand struck the table and hurled it aside, plunging the cave into darkness as the candle toppled and went out. Cain's rapier sang like an arrow in the dark as he thrust blindly and ferociously. Adieu, Monsieur Galahad! The taunt came from somewhere in front of him, but Cain, plunging toward the sound with the savage fury of baffled wrath chromed against a blank wall that did not yield to his blow. From somewhere seemed to come an echo Cain whirled, eyes fixed on the dimly outlined entrance, thinking his foe would try to slip past him and out of the cave. But no form bulked there and when his groping hands found the candle and lighted it, the cave was empty, safe for himself and the dead men on the floor. End of chapter This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org This recording is by Paul Siegel of Maynard, Massachusetts. Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard Chapter 3, The Chant of the Drums Across the dusky waters the whisper came boom, boom, boom a sullen reiteration far away and more faintly sounded a whisper of a different timbre thrum, thrum, thrum back and forth went the vibrations as the throbbing drums spoke to each other what tales did they carry what monstrous secrets whispered across the sullen, shadowy reaches of the unmapped jungle This you are sure is the bay where the Spanish ship puts in? Yes, señor The negro swears this is the bay where the white man left the ship alone and went into the jungle came nodded grimly then put me ashore here alone wait seven days then if I have not returned set sail wherever you will Yes, señor The waves flap lazily against the sides of the boat that carried Cain ashore the village that he sought was on the riverbank but set back from the bay shore the jungle hiding it from sight of the ship Cain had adopted what seemed the most hazardous course that of going ashore by night for the reason that he knew if the man he sought were in the village he would never reach it by day he was taking a most desperate chance in daring the night time jungle but all of his life he had been used to taking desperate chances now he gambled his life upon the slim chance of gaining the negro village under the cover of darkness and unknown to the villagers at the beach he left the boat with a few muttered commands and as the rowers put back to the ship which lay anchored some distance out in the bay he turned and engulfed himself in the blackness of the jungle sword in one hand, dagger in the other forward, seeking to keep pointed in the direction from which the drums still muttered and grumbled he went with the stealth an easy movement of a leopard feeling his way cautiously every nerve alert and straining but the way was not easy vines tripped him and slapped him in the face impeding his progress he was forced to grope his way between the huge bowls of towering trees and all through the underbrush about him sounded vague and menacing rustlings and shadows of movement were beneath it and writhed away and once he glimpsed the baleful glimmer of feline eyes among the trees they vanished however as he advanced thrum, thrum, thrum came the ceaseless monotone of the drums war and death they said blood and lust human sacrifice and human feast the soul of Africa said the drums the spirit of the jungle the chant of the gods of outer darkness the gods that roar and gibber the gods men knew when dawns were young beast-eyed gaping mouth huge bellied bloody handed the black gods sang the drums all this and more the drums roared and bellowed decaying as he worked his way through the forest somewhere in his soul a responsive cord was smitten and answered you too are of the night sang the drums there is the strength of darkness the strength of the primitive in you back down the ages let us teach you chanted the drums Cain stepped out of the thick jungle and came upon a plainly defined trail beyond through the trees came the gleam of the village fires flames glowing through the palisades Cain walked down the trail swiftly he went silently and warily sword extended in front of him eyes straining to catch any hint of movement in the darkness ahead for the trees loomed like sullen giants on each hand sometimes their great branches intertwined above the trail and he could see only a slight way ahead of him like a dark ghost he moved along the shadowed trail alertly he stared and harkened yet no warning came first to him as a great vague bulk rose up out of the shadows and struck him down silently End of chapter This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Paul Siegel of Maynard Massachusetts Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard Chapter 4 The Black God Thrum Thrum Somewhere with deadening monotony a cadence was repeated over and over bearing out the same theme Fool Fool Fool Now he could stretch out his hand and almost reach it Now it merged with the throbbing in his head until the two vibrations were as one Fool Fool Fool The fogs faded and vanished Kane sought to raise his hand to his head but found that he was bound hand and foot He lay on the floor in a hut Alone? He twisted about to view the place No, two eyes glimmered at him from the darkness Now a form took shape and Kane, still mazed, believed that he looked on the man who had struck him unconscious Yet no, this man could never strike such a blow He was lean, withered, and wrinkled The only thing that seemed alive about him were his eyes and they seemed like the eyes of a snake The man squatted on the floor of the hut near the doorway Naked save for a loincloth and the usual paraphernalia of bracelets, anklets, and armlets Weird fetishes of ivory, bone, and hide Animal and human adorned his arms and legs Suddenly and unexpectedly, he spoke in English Ha! You wake, white man Why you come here, huh? Kane asked the inevitable question following the habit of the Caucasian You speak my language How is that? The black man grinned I slave, long time, me boy Me, longer, juju man Me, great fetish No black man like me You, white man You hunt brother? Kane snarled, I, brother? I seek a man, yes The negro nodded Maybe so you'll find him He dies Again the negro grinned Me, powerful juju man He announced apropos of nothing He bent closer White man, you hunt Eyes like leopard, huh? Yes? Ha ha ha ha Listen, white man Man with eyes of a leopard He and chief Sanga make powerful paliver They blood brothers now Say nothing, I help you You help me, huh? Why should you help me? Asked Kane suspiciously The juju man bent closer And whispered White man, Sanga's right hand man Sanga more powerful than longer White man, mighty juju Longer white brother Killed man with eyes of a leopard Be blood brother to no longer No longer be more powerful than Sanga Paliver set And like a dusky ghost He floated out of the hut so swiftly That Kane was not sure but that the whole Affair was a dream Without, Kane could see the flare of fires The drums were still booming But close at hand the tones merged And mingled, and the impulse Producing vibrations were lost All seemed a barbaric clamour Without rhyme or reason The tone of mockery there Savage and gloating Lies, thought Kane, his mind still swimming Jungle lies like jungle women That lure a man to his doom Two warriors entered the hut Black giants, hideous with paint And armed with crude spears They lifted the white man And carried him out of the hut They bore him across an open space Leant him upright against a post And bound him there About him, behind him into the side Faces leered and faded in the firelight As the flames leapt and sank There in front of him loomed a shape Hideous and obscene A black, formless thing A grotesque parody of the human Still brooding, bloodstained Like the formless soul of Africa The horror, the black god And in front and to each side Upon roughly-carven thrones of teakwood Sat two men He who sat upon the right was a black man Huge, ungainly, a gigantic And an unlovely mass of dusky flesh And muscles Small, hog-like eyes blinked out Over sin-marked cheeks Huge, flabby red lips Perched in fleshy haughtiness The other Ah, monsieur, we meet again The speaker was far from being The debonair villain who had taunted Cane in the cavern among the mountains His clothes were rags There were more lines in his face He had sunk lower in the years that had passed His eyes still gleamed and danced With their old recklessness And his voice held the same mocking timber The last time I heard that a cursed voice Said Cane calmly, was in a cave In darkness, once you fled Like a hunted rat I, under different conditions Answered the loop imperturbably What did you do after Blunding about like an elephant in the dark? Cane hesitated then I left the mountain Battlefront entrance? I might have known you were too stupid To find the secret door Hoofs of the devil, had you thrust against The jest with the golden lock which stood Against the wall, the door had opened To you and revealed the secret passageway Through which I went I traced you to the nearest port And there took ship and followed you to Italy Where I found you had gone Ah, by the saints you nearly cornered me in Florence Ho ho ho, I was Cliving through a back window While monsieur Galahad was battering down the front door And had your horse not gone lame You would have caught up with me On the road to Rome Again, the ship on which I left Spain Had barely put out to sea when monsieur Galahad Rides up to the wharfs Why have you followed me like this? I do not understand Because you are a rogue Whom it is my destiny to kill Answered Cane coldly He did not understand All his life he had roamed about the world Aiding the weak and fighting oppression He neither knew nor questioned why That was his obsession His driving force of life Cruelty and tyranny to the weak Sent a red blaze of fury, fierce and lasting Through his soul When the full flame of his hatred was weakened and loosed There was no rest for him until his vengeance Had been fulfilled to the uttermost If he thought of it at all He considered himself a filler of God's judgment A vessel of wrath To be emptied upon the souls of the unrighteous Yet in the full sense of the word Solomon Cane was not wholly a Puritan Though he thought of himself as such The loop shrugged his shoulders I could understand that I wronged you personally Mondeu I too would follow an enemy across the world But though I would have joyfully slain And robbed you I never heard of you until you declared war on me Cane was silent His still fury overcoming him Though he did not realize it The wolf was more than merely an enemy to him The bandit symbolized to Cane All the things against which the Puritan Had fought all his life Cruelty, outrage, oppression And tyranny The loop broke in on his vengeful meditations What did you do with the treasure Which, gods of Hades Took me years to accumulate Devil take it I had time only to snatch a handful of coins And drink it as I ran I took such as I needed to hunt you down The rest I gave to the villages Which you had looted The devil swore the loop Monsieur, you are the greatest fool I have yet met To throw that fast treasure By Satan, I rage to think of it On the hands of face peasants Filed villagers Yet, ho ho ho ho They will steal and kill each other for it That is human nature Yes, damn you, flamed Cane suddenly Showing that his conscience had not been at rest Doubtless they will Being fools Yet what could I do? Had I left it there Starved and gone naked for lack of it More, it would have been found And theft and slaughter would have followed anyway You are to blame For had this treasure been left with its rightful owners No such trouble would have ensued The wolf grinned without reply Cane not being a profane man His rare curses had double effect And always startled his hearers No matter how vicious or hardened they might be It was Cane who spoke next Why have you fled from me across the world You do not really fear me No, you are right Really, I do not know Perhaps flight is a habit which is difficult to break I made my mistake When I did not kill you that night in the mountains I am sure I could kill you in a fair fight Yet I have never even And now sought to ambush you Somehow I have not had Liking to meet you, monsieur A whim of mine A mere whim Then, mon deux I have enjoyed a new sensation And I had thought that I had exhausted the thrills of life And then A man must either be the hunter or the hunted Until now, monsieur, I was the hunted But I grew weary of the role I thought I had thrown you off the trail A negro slave brought from this vicinity Told a portugal ship captain of a white man Who landed from a Spanish ship And went into the jungle I heard of it and hired the ship Paying the captain to bring me here Sure, I mired you for your attempt But you must admire me too Alone I came into this village And alone among savages and cannibals I, with some slight knowledge of the language Learned from a slave aboard ship I gained the confidence of King Songo And supplanted that murmur no longer I am a braver man than you, monsieur For I had no ship to retreat to And that ship is waiting for you I admire your courage, said Cain But you are content to rule amongst cannibals You the blackest soul of them all I intend to return to my own people When I have slain you Your confidence would be admirable But not amusing Oh, gulka! A giant negro stalked into the space Between them He was the hugest man that Cain had ever seen Though he moved with cat-like ease And suppleness His arms and legs were like trees And the great, sinuous muscles Rippled with each motion His ape-like head was set squarely His great, dusky hands were like the talons of an ape And his brow slanted back From above bestial eyes Flat nose and great, thick red lips Completed this picture of primitive, lustful savagery This is gulka, the guerrilla slayer Said Laloupe He it was who lay and wait beside The trail and smote you down You are like a wolf yourself, monsieur Cain But since your ship Hove into sight you have been watched By many eyes and had you had The powers of a leopard You had not seen gulka nor heard him He hunts the most terrible and crafty of all beasts In their native farths Far to the north The beasts who walk like men As that one whom he slew some day since Cain, following Laloupe's fingers Made out a curious, man-like thing Dangling from a roof pole of a hut A jagged end thrust through the thing's body Held it there Cain could scarcely distinguish its characteristics By the firelight There was a weird, human-like semblance About the hideous, hairy thing A female guerrilla that gulka slew And brought back to the village, said Laloupe The giant black slouched close to Cain And stared into the white man's eyes Cain returned his gaze somberly And presently the negro's eyes dropped sullenly And he slouched back a few paces The look in the Puritan's grim eyes Had pierced the primitive hazes Of the guerrilla slayer's soul And for the first time in his life To throw this off, he tossed A challenging look about Then, with unexpected animal-ness He struck his huge chest resoundingly Grinned cavernously and flexed his mighty arms No one spoke Primordial bestiality had the stage And the more highly-developed types looked on With various feelings of amusement, Tolerance, or contempt Gulka glanced furtively at Cain To see if the white man was watching him Then, with a sudden beastly roar Plunged forward and dragged a man from the semi-circle While the trembling victims screeched for mercy The giant hurled him upon the crude altar Before the shadowy idol A spear rose and flashed, and the screeching ceased The black god looked on, his monstrous features Seeming to leer in the flickering firelight He had drunk Was the black god pleased with the draft? With the sacrifice? Gulka walked back, and, stopping before Cain Flourished the bloody spear before the white man's face The loop left, then suddenly Nalanga appeared He came from nowhere in particular Suddenly he was standing there beside the post To which Cain was bound A lifetime of study of the art of illusion Had given the juju man a highly technical knowledge Of appearing and disappearing Which, after all, consisted only in timing The audience's attention He waved Gulka aside with a grand gesture And the gorilla man slunk back Apparently to get out of Nalanga's gaze Then, with incredible swiftness, he turned And struck the juju man a terrific blow Upon the side of the head, with his open hand Nalanga went down like a felled ox And in an instant he had been seized And bound to the post close to Cain An uncertain murmuring rose from the negroes Which died out as King Sanga stared Angrily toward them The loop leaned back upon his throne And laughed, uproarously The drill ends here, Monsieur Galahad That ancient fool thought I did not know I was hiding outside the hut And heard the interesting conversation you two had Ha ha ha ha! The black god must drink, Monsieur But I have persuaded Sanga to have you two burnt That will be much more enjoyable Though we shall have to forego the usual feast, I fear For after the fires are lit about your feet The devil himself could not keep your carcasses From becoming charred frames of bone Sanga shouted something imperiously And blacks came bearing wood Which they piled about the feet of Nalanga and Cain The juju man had recovered consciousness And he now shouted something in his native language Again the murmuring rose among the shadowy throng Sanga snarled something in reply Cain gazed at the scene almost impersonally Again somewhere in his soul Dim primal deeps were stirring Age old thought memories veiled in the fogs of lost eons He had been here before, thought Cain He knew all this of old Flames beating back the sullen night The bestial faces leering expectantly And the god, the black god, there in the shadows Always the black god brooding back in the shadows He had known the shouts, the frenzied chants of the worshippers Back there in the grey dawn of the world The speech of the bellowing drums The singing priests The repellent, inflaming, all pervading scent Of freshly spilt blood All this have I known somewhere Some time, thought Cain I am the main actor He became aware that someone was speaking to him Through the roar of the drums He had not realized that the drums had begun to boom again The speaker was Nalanga Me powerful juju man Watch now, I work mighty magic Sanga! His voice rose in a screech that drowned out The wildly clamoring drums Sanga grinned at the words Nalanga screamed at him The chants of the drums now had dropped to a low Sinister monotone Nalanga says that he will now work that magic Which it is death to speak even Never before has it been worked in the sight of living men It is the nameless juju magic Watch closely, monsieur Possibly we shall be further amused The wolf laughed lightly and sardonically A black man stooped Applying a torch to the wood about Cain's feet Tiny jets of flame began to leap up and catch Another bent to do the same with Nalanga Then hesitated The juju man sagged in his bonds His head drooped upon his chest He seemed dying The loop leaned forward cursing Fito the devil! Is this goundrel about to cheat us Of our pleasure of seeing him writhe in the flames? The warrior gingerly touched the wizard And said something in his own language The loop laughed He died of fright A great wizard by the His voice trailed off suddenly The drums stopped as if the drummers Had fallen dead simultaneously Silence dropped like a fog upon the village And in the stillness Cain heard only The sharp crackle of the flames Whose heat he was beginning to feel All eyes turned upon the dead man Upon the altar For the corpse had begun to move First a twitching of a hand Then an aimless motion of an arm A motion which gradually spread over the body And limbs Slowly, with blind, uncertain gestures The dead man turned upon his side The trailing limbs found the earth Then horribly like something being born Like some frightful reptilian thing Bursting the shell of non-existence The corpse tottered and reared upright Standing on legs wide apart And stiffly braced Arms still making useless infantile motions Utter silence Saved somewhere a man's quick breath Sounded loud in the stillness Cain stared for the first time in his life Smitten speechless and thoughtless To his Puritan mind this was Satan's hand manifested The loop sat on his throne Eyes wide and staring Hand still half raised in the careless gesture He was making when frozen into silence By the unbelievable sight Songa sat beside him Mouth and eyes wide open Fingers making curious jerky motions Upon the carved arms of the throne Now the corpse was upright Swaying on stilt-like legs Body tilting far back until the sightless eyes Seemed to stare straight into the red moon That was just rising over the black jungle The thing tottered uncertainly In a wide erratic half-circle Arms flung out grotesquely as if in balance Then swayed about to face the two thrones And the black god A burning twig at Cain's feet Cracked like the crash of a cannon In the tense silence The hearth rust forth a black foot It took a wavering step Another Then with stiff, jerky And automaton-like steps Legs straddled far apart The dead man came toward the two Who sat in speechless horror To each side of the black god From somewhere came the explosive sigh From the shadowy semi-circle Where crouched the terror-fascinated worshippers Straight on stalked the grim specter Now it was within three strides of the thrones And Leloupe, faced by fear For the first time in his bloody life Cringed back in his chair While Songa, with a superhuman effort Reaching the chains of horror that held him helpless Shattered the night with a wild scream And, springing to his feet, lifted a spear Shrieking and gibbering in wild menace Then as the ghastly thing halted not Its frightful advance, he hurled the spear With all the power of his great black muscles And the spear tore through the dead man's breast With a rending of flesh and bone Not an instant halted the thing For the dead died not And Songa the king stood frozen Arms outstretched as if to fend off the terror An instant they stood so Leaping firelight and eerie moonlight Etching the scene forever in the minds of the beholders The changeless, staring eyes of the corpse Looked full into the bulging eyes of Songa Where were reflected all the hells of horror Then, with a jerky motion The arms of the thing went out and up The dead hands fell on Songa's shoulders At the first touch, the king seemed to shrink and shrivel And with a scream that was to haunt the dreams Of every watcher through all the rest of time Songa crumpled and fell And the dead man reeled stiffly and fell with him Motionless lay the two at the feet of the black god And to Kane's dazed mind, it seemed that the idol's Great inhuman eyes were fixed upon them With terrible still laughter At the instant of the king's fall A great shout went up from the blacks And Kane, with a clarity lent his subconscious mind By the depths of his hate, looked for the loop And saw him spring from his throne In the darkness Then vision was blurred by a rush of black figures Who swept into the space before the god Feet knocked aside the blazing brands Whose heat Kane had forgotten And dusky hands freed him Others loosed the wizard's body And laid it upon the earth Kane dimly understood that the blacks believed this thing To be the work of Nalanga And that they connected the vengeance of the wizard With himself He bent, laid a hand on the jujuman's shoulder No doubt of it, he was dead He was cold He glanced at the other corpses Sanga was dead too And the thing that had slain him in Owl-A Without movement Kane started to rise, then halted Was he dreaming? Or did he really feel a sudden warmth In the dead flesh he touched? Mind reeling, he again bent over the wizard's body And slowly he felt warmness Steal over the limbs, and the blood Began to flow sluggishly through the veins again Then Nalanga opened his eyes Kane watched, flesh crawling And saw the knowing, reptilian glitter come back Saw the wizard's thick lips part in a wide grin Nalanga sat up, and a strange chant arose From the negroes Kane looked about The blacks were all kneeling, swaying their bodies To and fro, and in their shouts Kane caught the word Nalanga Repeated over and over in a kind of fearsome Ecstatic refrain of terror and worship As the wizard rose, they all fell prostrate Nalanga nodded as if in satisfaction Great juju, great fetish me He announced to Kane You see, my ghost go out Kill Sanga, come back to me Great magic, great fetish me Kane glanced at the black god looming back In the shadows, at Nalanga Who now flung out his arms toward the idol As if in invocation I am everlasting, Kane thought The black god said I drink, no matter who rules Chiefs, slayers, wizards They pass like the ghosts of dead men Through the grey jungle I stand, I rule I am the soul of the jungle Said the black god Suddenly Kane came back from the illusory mists In which he had been wandering The white man, which way did he flee? Nalanga shouted something A score of dusky hands pointed From somewhere Kane's rapier was thrust out to him The fogs faded and vanished Again he was the Avenger The scourge of the unrighteous With the sudden volcanic speed of a tiger He snatched the sword and was gone End of chapter This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to find out how you can volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This recording is by Paul Siegel Of Maynard, Massachusetts Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard Chapter 5 The End of the Red Trail Limbs and vines slapped against Kane's face The oppressive steam of the tropic night Rows like mist about him The moon, now floating high above the jungle Limbed the black shadows in its white glow And patterned the jungle floor In grotesque designs Kane knew not if the man he saw was ahead of him But broken limbs and trampled underbrush Showed that some man had gone that way Some man who fled in haste Nor halted to pick his way Kane followed these signs unswervingly Believing in the justice of his vengeance He did not doubt that the dim beings Who ruled men's destinies Would finally bring him face to face With laloupe Behind him the drums boomed and muttered What a tale they had to tell this night Of the triumph of Nolanga The death of the black king The overthrow of the white man with eyes like a leopard And a more darksome tale A tale to be whispered in low, muttering vibrations The nameless juju Was he dreaming Kane wondered as he hurried on Was all this part of some foul magic He had seen a dead man rise And slay and die again He had seen a man die and come to life again Did Nolanga in truth send his ghost His soul, his life essence Fourth into the void Dominating a corpse to do his will Aye, Nolanga died a real death there Bound to the torture stake And he who lay dead on the altar Rose and did as Nolanga would have done Had he been free Then the unseen force animating The dead man fading Nolanga had lived again Yes, Kane thought, he must admit it as a fact Somewhere in the darksome reaches Of the jungle and river Nolanga had stumbled upon the secret The secret of controlling life and death Of overcoming the shackles and limitations Of the flesh How had this dark wisdom Born in the black and bloodstained shadows Of this grim land And given to the wizard What sacrifice had been so pleasing To the black gods What ritual so monstrous As to make them give up the knowledge of this magic And what thoughtless, timeless journeys Had Nolanga taken When he chose to send his ego, his ghost Through the far, misty countries Reached only by death There is wisdom in the shadows Brooded the drums Wisdom and magic Go into the darkness for wisdom As the light We remember the lost ages Whispered the drums Airman became wise and foolish We remember the beast gods The serpent gods and the ape gods And the nameless, the black gods They who drank blood and whose voices Roared through the shadowy hills Who feasted and lusted The secrets of life and of death are theirs We remember We remember, sang the drums Kane heard them as he hastened on To the feathered black warriors farther up the river He could not translate But they spoke to him in their own way And that language was deeper, more basic The moon high in the dark blue skies Lighted his way and gave him a clear vision As he came out at last into a glade And saw the loop standing there The wolf's naked blade was a long gleam Of silver in the moon And he stood with shoulders thrown back The old defiant smile still on his face A long trail, monsieur, said he It began in the mountains It ends in an African jungle I have weirded of the game at last, monsieur And you die I had not fled from the village Even saved that I admitted freely That damnable witchcraft of no longer Shook my nerves More, I saw that the whole tribe Would turn against me Kane advanced warily Wondering what dim, forgotten Tinge of chivalry in the bandit's soul Had caused him thus to take his chance In the open He half suspected treachery But his keen eyes could detect No shadow of movement in the jungle On either side of the glade Monsieur, un god! The loop's voice was crisp Time that we ended this fool's dance About the world. Here we are alone The men were now within the reach Of each other, and the loop In the midst of his sentence Suddenly plunged forward with the speed Of light, thrusting viciously A slower man had died there He carried and sent his own blade In a silver streak that slit the loop's tunic As the wolf bounded backward The loop admitted the failure of his trick With a wild laugh, and came in With the breathtaking speed and fury of a tiger His blade making a white fan Of steel about him Rapier clashed on rapier As the two swordsmen fought They were fire and ice opposed The loop fought wildly but craftily Leaving no openings, taking advantage Of every opportunity Same, bounding back, leaping in Fainting, thrusting, warding, striking Laughing like a wild man Taunting and cursing Kane's skill was cold Calculating, scintillant He made no waste of movement No motion not absolutely necessary He seemed to devote more time And effort toward defense than did the loop Yet there was no hesitancy in his attack And when he thrust His blade shot out with the speed Of a striking snake Little to choose between the men as to height Strength and reach The loop was the swifter by a scant Flashing margin, but Kane's skill Reached a finer point of perfection The wolf's fencing was fiery, dynamic Like the blast from a furnace Kane was more steady Less the instinctive, more the thinking Fighter, though he too was a born Slayer with the coordination that Only a natural fighter possessed Thrust, parry, a faint A sudden whirl of blades Ah! The wolf sent up a shout of ferocious Laughter as the blood started From a cut on Kane's cheek As if the sight drove him to further fury He attacked like the beast men named him Kane was forced back before That bloodlusting onslaught But the Puritan's expression did not alter Minutes flew by The clanging clash of steel did not diminish Now they stood squarely in the center Of the glade, the loop untouched Kane's garments red with the blood That oozed from wounds on cheek, breast Arm and thigh The wolf grinned savagely and mockingly In the moonlight, but he had begun to doubt His breath came hissing fast And his arm began to weary Who was this man of steel and ice Who never seemed to weaken The loop knew that the wounds he had inflicted On Kane were not deep, but even so The steady flow of blood should have sapped Some of the man's strength and speed by this time But if Kane felt the ebb of his powers It did not show His brood incontinence did not change And he pressed the fight with as much cold fury As at the beginning The loop felt his might fading And with one last desperate effort He rallied all his fury and strength Into a single plunge A sudden, unexpected attack Too wild and swift for the eye to follow A dynamic burst of speed and fury No man could have withstood And Solomon Kane reeled for the first time As he felt cold steel tear through his body He reeled back And the loop, with a wild shout Plunged after him, his red sword free A gasping taunt on his lips Kane's sword Backed by the force of desperation Met the loops in mid-air Met, held, and wrenched The wolf's yell of triumph died on his lips As his sword flew singing from his hand For a fleeting instant he stopped short Arms flung wide as a crucifix And Kane heard his wild mocking laughter Peel forth for the last time As the Englishman's rapier Made a silver line in the moonlight Far away came the mutter of the drums Kane mechanically cleansed His sword on his tattered garments The trail ended here And Kane was conscious of a strange feeling Of futility He always felt that after he had killed the foe Somehow it always seemed That no real good had been wrought As if the foe had, after all, Escaped his just vengeance With a shrug of his shoulders Kane turned his attention to his bodily needs Now that the heat of battle had passed He began to feel weak and faint From the loss of blood That last thrust had been close Had he not managed to avoid its full point By a twist of his body The blade had transfixed him As it was, the sword had struck glancingly Plowed along his ribs And sunk deep in the muscles beneath the shoulder blade Inflicting a long, shallow wound Kane looked about him And saw that a small stream Trickled through the glade at the far side Here he made the only mistake That he ever made in his entire life May have he was dizzy from loss of blood And still mazed from the weird happenings Of the night Be that as it may, he laid down his rapier And crossed, weaponless, to the stream There he laid his wounds And bandaged them as best he could With strips torn from his clothing Then he rose and was about to retrace His steps when a motion among the trees On the side of the glade Where he first entered caught his eye A huge figure stepped out of the jungle And Kane saw and recognized his doom The man was Golka The guerrilla slayer Kane remembered that he had not seen the black Among those doing homage to Nalanga How could he know the craft and hatred In that dusky, slanting skull That had led the Negro Escaping the vengeance of his tribesmen To trail down the only man he had ever feared The black god had been kind To his knee of height Had led him upon his victim helpless and unarmed Now Golka could kill his man openly And slowly, as a leopard kills Not smiting him down from ambush As he had planned, silently and suddenly A wide grin split the Negro's face And he moistened his lips Kane, watching him, was coldly And deliberately weighing his chances Golka had already spied the rapiers He was closer to them than was Kane The Englishmen knew that there was no chance Of his winning in a sudden race For the swords A slow, deadly rage surged in him The fury of helplessness The blood shone in his temples And his eyes smoldered with a terrible light As he eyed the Negro His fingers spread and closed like claws They were strong, those hands Men had died in their clutch Even Golka's huge black column of a neck Might break like a rotten branch between them A wave of weakness made the futility Of these thoughts apparent To an extent that needed not The verification of the moonlight glimmering From the spear in Golka's black hand Kane could not even have fled had he wished And he had never fled from a single foe The guerrilla slayer moved out into the glade Massive, terrible, he was The personification of the primitive The Stone Age His mouth yawned in a red cavern of a grin He bore himself with the haughty arrogance Of savage might Kane tensed himself for the struggle That could end, but one way He strove to rally his waning forces Useless, he had lost too much blood At least he would meet his death On his way to Golka At least he would meet his death on his feet And somehow he stiffened His buckling knees and held himself erect Though the glade shimmered before him In uncertain waves and the moonlight Seemed to have become a red fog Through which he dimly glimpsed The approaching black man Kane stopped though the effort nearly Pitched him on his face He dipped water in his cupped hands And dashed it into his face This revived him and he straightened Hoping that Golka would charge And crumpled him to the earth Golka was now about the center of the glade Moving with the slow easy stride Of a great cat stalking a victim He was not at all in a hurry To consummate his purpose He wanted to toy with his victim To see fear come into those grim eyes Which had looked him down Even when the possessor of those eyes Had been bound to the death stake He wanted to slay at last, slowly Glutting his tigerish bloodlust And torturelust to the fullest extent Suddenly he halted, turned swiftly Facing another side of the glade Kane, wondering, followed his glance At first it seemed like a blacker Shadow among the jungle shadows At first there was no motion No sound, but Kane instinctively Knew that some terrible menace Lurked there in the darkness That masked and merged the silent trees A sullen horror brooded there And Kane felt as if From that monstrous shadow Inhuman eyes seared his very soul Continuously there came the fantastic sensation That these eyes were not directed on him He looked at the gorilla slayer The black man had apparently forgotten him He stood, half crouching, spear lifted Eyes fixed upon that clump of blackness Kane looked again Now there was motion in the shadows They merged fantastically And moved out into the glade Much as Gulka had done Kane blinked Was this the illusion that precedes death? The shape he looked upon Was such as he had visioned dimly In wild nightmares When the wings of sleep bore him back Through lost ages He thought at first it was some blasphemous Mockery of a man, for it went erect And was tall as a tall man But it was inhumanly broad and thick And its gigantic arms hung nearly To its misshapen feet Then the moonlight smote full upon Its bestial face, and Kane's Mazed mind thought that the thing Was the black god coming out of the shadows Then he saw that it was covered with hair And he remembered the man-like thing Dangling from the roof pole in the native village He looked at Gulka The negro was facing the gorilla Spear at the charge He was not afraid, but his sluggish mind Was wandering over the miracle that brought This beast so far from his native jungles The mighty ape came out into the moonlight And there was a terrible majesty About his movements He was nearer Kane than Gulka But he did not seem to be aware of the white man His small, blazing eyes Were fixed on the black man with terrible intensity He advanced with a curious swaying Stride Far away the drums whispered through the night Like an accompaniment to this grim stone age drama The savage crouched in the middle Of the glade, but the primordial Came out of the jungle with eyes Bloodshot and bloodlusting The negro was face to face With a thing more primitive than he Again, ghosts of memories whispered To Kane, you have seen such Sights before, they murmured Back in the dim days, the dawn days When beast and beast man Battled for supremacy Gulka moved away from the ape in a Half circle, crouching, spear ready With all his craft He was seeking to trick the gorilla To make a swift kill, for he had never Before met such a monster as this And though he did not fear, he had begun To doubt. The ape made no attempt To stalk our circle. He strode Straight forward toward Gulka The black man who faced him and the white Man who watched could not know the brutish Love, the brutish hate that had driven The monster down from the low, forest covered Hills of the north to follow for leagues The trail of him who was the scourge Of his kind, the slayer of his mate Whose body now hung from the roof pole Of the negro village The end came swiftly, almost like A sudden gesture. They were close Now, beast and beast man, and Suddenly, with an earth-shaking roar The gorilla charged. A great hairy Arms smote aside the thrusting spear And the ape closed with the negro There was a shattering sound As of many branches breaking simultaneously And Gulka slumped silently to the earth To lie with arms, legs, and body Flung in strange unnatural positions The ape towered an instant above him Like a statue of the primordial Triumphant. Far away Kane heard the drums murmur The soul of the jungle The soul of the jungle His phrase surged through his mind With monotonous reiteration The three who had stood in power Before the black god that night Where were they? Back in the village where the drums rustled By Sanga, King Sanga, once lord Of life and death, now a shriveled corpse With a face set in a mask of horror Stressed on his back in the middle Of the glade like he whom Kane had followed Many a league by land and sea And Gulka the gorilla slayer Lay at the feet of his killer Broken at last by the savagery Which had made him a true son of this grim land Which had at last overwhelmed him Yet the black god still reigned Thought Kane dizzily Brooding back in the shadows of this dark country Beastial, bloodlusting Caring not who lived or died So that he drank Kane watched the mighty ape Wondering how long it would be Before the huge simian spied and charged him But the gorilla gave no evidence Of having even seen him Some dim impulse of vengeance Yet unglutted prompting him He bent and raised the negro Then he slouched toward the jungle Gulka's limbs trailing limply And grotesquely As he reached the trees, the ape halted Whirling the giant form high in the air With seemingly no effort and dashed The dead man up among the branches There was a rending sound As a broken projecting limb Tore through the body hurled so powerfully Against it and the dead gorilla slayer Dangled there hideously At the moment the clear moon Limbed the great ape in its glimmer As he stood silently gazing up at his victim Then like a dark shadow He melted noiselessly into the jungle Kane walked slowly to the middle of the Glade and took up his rapier The blood had ceased to flow from his wounds And some of his strength was returning Enough at least for him to reach The coast where his ship awaited him He halted at the edge of the Glade for a backward glance At the loop's upturned face In the moonlight and at the dark shadow Among the trees that was gulka Left by some bestial whim Hanging as the she-gorilla hung in the village A far the drums muttered The wisdom of our land is ancient The wisdom of our land is dark Whom we serve we destroy Flea if you would live But you will never forget our chant Never, never Sang the drums Kane turned to the trail Which led to the beach and the ship Waiting there. End of chapter and end of Red Shadows by Robert E. Howard