Robert E. Howard

“ She saw a brown-skinned giant in a loin cloth standing over her, and, across the chamber into which she had come, a man sat on a divan, with his back to a rich black velvet curtain, a broad, fleshy man, with fat white hands and sanky eyes. And her flesh crawled, for this man was Totrasmek, the priest of Hanuman, who for years had spun his slimy webs of power throughout the city of Zamboula.
“The barbarian seeks to batter his way through the wall,” said Totrasmek sardonically, “but the bolt will hold.” ”

“ Then he fell into a normal slumber.
“When he awakes he will be quite sane,” she whispered, motioning to the silent slave.
With a deep bow he gave into her hands a small leather bag and drew about her shoulders a silken cloak. Her manner had subtly changed when she beckoned Conan to follow her out of the chamber.
In an arch that opened on the street, she turned to him, drawing herself up with a new regality.
“I must now tell you the truth,” she said. “I am not Zabibi. I am Nafertari. And he is not Alafdhal, a poor captain of the guardsmen. He is Jungir Khan, satrap of Zamboula.” ”

“ For a Zamboulan dancer to blush would be an impossibility, but a smolder of anger mingled with the fear in Zabibi's dilated eyes.
“Fat pig! You know I did not come here for love of you.”
“No,” laughed Totrasmek, “you came like a fool, creeping through the night with a stupid barbarian to cut my throat. Why should you seek my life?” ”

“ Somewhere a thin, whining music struck up, mingling with the hissing of the serpents, like an evil night wind blowing through the empty sockets of a skull. Even in the flying speed of her urgent haste she realized that the darting of the serpents was no longer at random. ”

“ Still gripping his captive's throat — for a man can scream incoherently even with his throat slit — Conan dragged him out of the dark chamber and down the cypress-shadowed path, to the iron-bound door in the outer wall. ”

“ Their eyes gleamed whitely in the starlight. Their brutish lust shone in their ebony faces, but they knew their three cudgels could not prevail against his sword, just as he knew it.
“Where are you going?” he challenged.
“To bid our brothers put out the fire in the pit beyond the groves,” was the sullen gutteral reply. “Aram Baksh promised us a man, but he lied. We found one of our brothers dead in the trap-chamber. We go hungry this night.”
“I think not,” smiled Conan. “Aram Baksh will give you a man. Do you see that door?” ”