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tes of Velitrium…maybe beyond！ If we cannot hold the fort； how can they hold the town？
〃Conan； Zogar Sag must die； if we are to hold Conajohara。 You have penetrated the unknown deeper than any other man in the fort； you know where Gwawela stands； and something of the forest trails across the river。 Will you take a band of men tonight and endeavor to kill or capture him？ Oh； I know it's mad。 There isn't more than one chance in a thousand that any of you will e back alive。 But if we don't get him； it's death for us all。 You can take as many men as you wish。〃
〃A dozen men are better for a job like that than a regiment；〃 answered Conan。 〃Five hundred men couldn't fight their way to Gwawela and back； but a dozen might slip in and out again。 Let me pick my men。 I don't want any soldiers。〃
〃Let me go！〃 eagerly exclaimed Balthus。 〃I've hunted deer all my life on the Tauran。〃
〃All right。 Valannus； we'll eat at the stall where the foresters gather； and I'll pick my men。 We'll start within an hour； drop down the river in a boat to a point below the village and then steal upon it through the woods。 If we live； we should be back by daybreak。〃
3。 The Crawlers in the Dark
The river was a vague trace between walls of ebony。 The paddles that propelled the long boat creeping along in the dense shadow of the eastern bank dipped softly into the water； making no more noise than the beak of a heron。 The broad shoulders of the man in front of Balthus were a blue in the dense gloom。 He knew that not even the keen eyes of the man who knelt in the prow would discern anything more than a few feet ahead of them。 Conan was feeling his way by instinct and an intensive familiarity with the river。
No one spoke。 Balthus had had a good look at his panions in the fort before they slipped out of the stockade and down the bank into the waiting canoe。 They were of a new breed growing up in the world on the raw edge of the frontier…men whom grim necessity had taught woodcraft。 Aquilonians of the western provinces to a man； they had many points in mon。 They dressed alike…in buckskin boots； leathern breeks and deerskin shirts； with broad girdles that held axes and short swords； and they were all gaunt and scarred and hard…eyed； sinewy and taciturn。
They were wild men； of a sort； yet there was still a wide gulf between them and the Cimmerian。 They were sons of civilization； reverted to a semi…barbarism。 He was a barbarian of a thousand generations of barbarians。 They had acquired stealth and craft； but he had been born to these things。 He excelled them even in lithe economy of motion。 They were wolves； but he was a tiger。
Balthus admired them and their leader and felt a pulse of pride that he was admitted into their pany。 He was proud that his paddle made no more noise than did theirs。 In that respect at least he was their equal； though woodcraft learned in hunts on the Tauran could never equal that ground into the souls of men on the savage border。
Below the fort the river made a wide bend。 The lights of the outpost were quickly lost； but the canoe held on its way for nearly a mile； avoiding snags and floating logs with almost uncanny precision。
Then a low grunt from their leader； and they swung its head about and glided toward the opposite shore。 Emerging from the black shadows of the brush that fringed the bank and ing into the open of the midstream created a peculiar illusion of rash exposure。 But the stars gave little light； and Balthus knew that unless one were watching for it； it would be all but impossible for the keenest eye to make out the shadowy shape of the canoe crossing the river。
They swung in under the overhanging bushes of the western shore and Balthus groped for and found a projecting root which he grasped。 No word was spoken。 All instructions had been given before the scouting…party left the fort。 As silently as a great panther； Conan slid over the side and vanished in the bushes。 Equally noiseless； nine men followed him。 To Balthus； grasping the root with his paddle across his knee； it seemed incredible that ten men should thus fade into the tangled forest without a sound。
He settled himself to wait。 No word passed between him and the other man who had been left with him。 Somewhere； a mile or so to the northwest； Zogar Sag's village stood girdled with thick woods。 Balthus understood his orders； he and his panion were to wait for the return of the raiding…party。 If Conan and his men had not returned by the first tinge of dawn； they were to race back up the river to the fort and report that the forest had again taken its immemorial toll of the invading race。 The silence was oppressive。 No sound came from the black woods； invisible beyond the ebony masses that were the overhanging bushes。 Balthus no longer heard the drums。 They had been silent for hours。 He kept blinking； unconsciously trying to see through the deep gloom。 The dank night…smells of the river and the damp forest oppressed him。 Somewhere； near by； there was a sound as if a big fish had flopped and splashed the water。 Balthus thought it must have leaped so close to the canoe that it had struck the side； for a slight quiver vibrated the craft。 The boat's stern began to swing； slightly away from the shore。 The man behind him must have let go of the projection he was gripping。 Balthus twisted his head to hiss a warning； and could just make out the figure of his panion； a slightly blacker bulk in the blackness。
The man did not reply。 Wondering if he had fallen asleep； Balthus reached out and grasped his shoulder。 To his amazement； the man crumpled under his touch and slumped down in the canoe。 Twisting his body half about； Balthus groped for him； his heart shooting into his throat。 His fumbling fingers slid over the man's throat…only the youth's convulsive clenching of his jaws choked back the cry that rose to his lips。 His finger encountered a gaping； oozing wound…his panion's throat had been cut from ear to ear。
In that instant of horror and panic Balthus started up…and then a muscular arm out of the darkness locked fiercely about his throat； strangling his yell。 The canoe rocked wildly。 Balthus' knife was in his hand； though he did not remember jerking it out of his boot； and he stabbed fiercely and blindly。 He felt the blade sink deep； and a fiendish yell rang in his ear； a yell that was horribly answered。 The darkness seemed to e to life about him。 A bestial clamor rose on all sides； and other arms grappled him。 Borne under a mass of hurtling bodies the canoe rolled sidewise； but before he went under with it； something cracked against Balthus' head and the night was briefly illuminated by a blinding burst of fire before it gave way to a blackness where not even stars shone。
4。 The Beasts of Zogar Sag
Fires dazzled Balthus again as he slowly recovered his senses。 He blinked； shook his head。 Their glare hurt his eyes。 A confused medley of sound rose about him； growing more distinct as his senses cleared。 He lifted his head and stared stupidly about him。 Black figures hemmed him in； etched against crimson tongues of flame。
Memory and understanding came in a rush。 He was bound upright to a post in an open space； ringed by fierce and terrible figures。 Beyond that ring fires burned； tended by naked； dark…skinned women。 Beyond the fires he saw huts of mud and wattle； thatched with brush。 Beyond the huts there was a stockade with a broad gate。 But he saw these things only incidentally。 Even the cryptic dark women with their curious coiffures were noted by him only absently。 His full attention was fixed in awful fascination on the men who stood glaring at him。
Short men； broad…shouldered； deep…chested； lean…hipped； they were naked except for scanty loin…clouts。 The firelight brought out the play of their swelling muscles in bold relief。 Their dark faces were immobile； but their narrow eyes glittered with the fire that burns in the eyes of a stalking tiger。 Their tangled manes were bound back with bands of copper。 Swords and axes were in their hands。 Crude bandages banded the limbs of some； and smears of blood were dried on their dark skins。 There had been fighting； recent and deadly。
His eyes wavered away from the steady glare of his captors； and he repressed a cry of horror。 A few feet away there rose a low； hideous pyramid： it was built of gory human heads。 Dead eyes glared glassily up the black sky。 Numbly he recognized the countenances which were turned toward him。 They were the heads of the men who had followed Conan into the forest。 He could not tell if the Cimmerian's head were among them。 Only a few faces were visible to him。 It looked to him as if there must be ten or eleven heads at least。 A deadly sickness assailed him。 He fought a desire to retch。 Beyond the heads lay the bodies of half a dozen Picts； and he was aware of a fierce exultation at the sight。 The forest runners had taken toll； at least。
Twisting his head away from the ghastly spectacle； he became aware that another post stood near him…a stake painted black as was the one to which he was bound。 A man sagged in his bonds there； naked except for his leathern breeks； whom Balthus recognized as one o