His thoughts rolled tightly into a metal sphere which nothing could
dent.
Rann laughed unpleasantly and leaned forward until she filled every
dark horizon of his skull with her shimmering body. "All right. I
_gave_ you Conan's body. Now I'll take it away."
She struck him a combined blow of her eyes, her writhing lips, her
bone-sharp teeth. "Go back to your old body, go back to your old body,
Hugh Starke," she hissed. "Go back! Leave Conan to his idiocy. Go back
to your old body!"
Fear had him. He fell down upon his face, quivering and jerking. You
could fight a man with a sword. But how could you fight this thing in
your brain? He began to suck sobbing breaths through his lips. He was
screaming. He could not hear himself. Her voice rushed in from the dim
outer red universe, destroying him.
"Hugh Starke! Go back to your old body!"
His old body was--dead!
And she was sending him back into it.
Part of him shot endwise through red fog.
He lay on a mountain plateau overlooking the harbor of Falga.
Red fog coiled and snaked around him. Flame birds dived eerily down at
his staring, blind eyes.
His old body held him.
Putrefaction stuffed his nostrils. The flesh sagged and slipped
greasily on his loosened structure. He felt small again and ugly. Flame
birds nibbled, picking, choosing between his ribs. Pain gorged him.
Cold, blackness, nothingness filled him. Back in his old body. Forever.
He didn't want that.
The plateau, the red fog vanished. The flame birds, too.
He lay once more on the floor of the sea shepherds, struggling.
"That was just a start," Rann told him. "Next time, I'll leave you up
there on the plateau in that body. _Now_, will you tell the plans of
the sea people? And go on living in Conan? He's yours, if you tell."
She smirked. "You don't want to be dead."
Starke tried to reason it out. Any way he turned was the wrong way. He
grunted out a breath. "If I tell, you'll still kill Beudag."
"Her life in exchange for what you know, Hugh Starke."
Her answer was too swift. It had the sound of treachery. Starke did not
believe. He would die. That would solve it. Then, at least, Rann would
die when the sea people carried out their strategy. That much revenge,
at least, damn it.
Then he got the idea.
He coughed out a laugh, raised his weak head to look at the startled
sea shepherd. His little dialogue with Rann had taken about ten
seconds, actually, but it had seemed a century. The sea shepherd
stepped forward.
Starke tried to get to his feet. "Got--got a proposition for you. You
with the harp. Rann's inside me. _Now._ Unless you guarantee Crom Dhu
and Beudag's safety, I'll tell her some things she might want to be in
on!"
The sea shepherd drew a knife.
Starke shook his head, coldly. "Put it away. Even if you get me I'll
give the whole damned strategy to Rann."
The shepherd dropped his hand. He was no fool.