The Moon Pool & Dwellers in the Mirage. Abraham Merritt

to his hammer.

      And suddenly I saw red; all the world dissolved in a red mist of red. The horse of the man closest to me was a noble animal. I had been watching it — a roan stallion, strong as the black stallion that had carried me from the Gobi oasis. I reached up, caught at its jaw, and pulled it down to its knees. Taken unaware, its rider toppled forward, somersaulted over its head and fell at my feet. He was up again like a cat, sword athrust at me. I caught his arm before he could strike and swung up my left fist. It cracked on his jaw; his head snapped back, and he dropped. I snatched up the sword, and swung myself on the rising horse’s back. Before Tibur could move I had the point of the sword at his throat.

      “Stop! I grant you Dwayanu! Hold your hand!” It was the Witch-woman’s voice, low, almost whispering.

      I laughed. I pressed the point of the sword deeper into Tiber’s throat.

      “Am I Dwayanu? Or by-blow of Sirk?”

      “You are — Dwayanu!” he groaned.

      I laughed again.

      “I am Dwayanu! Then guide me into Karak to make amends for your insolence, Tibur!”

      I drew the sword away from his throat.

      Yes, I drew it back — and by all the mad mixed gods of that mad mixed mind of mine at that moment I would that I had thrust it through his throat!

      But I did not’, and so that chance passed. I spoke to the Witch-woman:

      “Ride at my right hand. let Tibur ride before.”

      The man I had struck down was on his feet, swaying unsteadily. Lur spoke to one of her women. She slipped from her horse, and with Tibur’s other follower helped him upon it.

      We rode across the plaza, and through the walls of the black citadel.