.

Klaneth!" roared Gigi. "Has fear of him killed your tongue?"

      Under the apparent anger of the drummer's voice Kenton sensed a warning; friendliness.

      "If that favor could have saved me, at least it did not," he said sullenly.

      The black priest dropped back upon the settle, chuckling.

      "Nor could it save you if I decreed your death," he said.

      "Death—if he decrees it," croaked Gigi. "Whoever you are," went on the black priest, "whence you come, or how—one thing seems true. You have power to break a chain that irks me. Nay, Zachel, stay," he spoke to the overseer who had made a move to go. "Your counsel is also good. Stay!"

      "There is a slave dead at the oars," said the overseer. "I would loose his chains and cast him over."

      "Dead," there was new interest in Klaneth's voice. "Which was he? How did he die?"

      "Who knows?" Zachel shrugged his shoulders. "Of weariness, maybe. He was one of those who first set sail with us. He who sat beside the yellow-haired slave from the North whom we bought at Emakhtila."

      "Well—he had served long," said the black priest. "Nergal has him. Let his body bear his chains a little longer. Stay with me."

      He spoke again to Kenton, deliberately, finally:

      "I offer you freedom. I will give you honors and wealth in Emakhtila, where we shall sail as soon as you have done my bidding. There you shall have priesthood and a temple if you want them. Gold and women and rank—if you will do what I desire."

      "What must I do to win me all this?" asked Kenton. The black priest arose and bent his head so that his eyes looked straight into Kenton's own. "Slay Sharane!" he said.

      "Little meat in that, Klaneth," the Persian spoke, mockingly. "Did you not see her girls beat him? As well send to conquer a lioness a man who has already been whipped by her cubs."

      "Nay," said Klaneth, "I did not mean for him to pass over the open deck where surely her watchers would see him. He can clamber round the ship's hull —from chain, ledge to ledge. There is a window behind the cabin wherein she sleeps. He can creep up and through it."

      "Best swear him to Nergal before he takes that road, master," Zachel interrupted. "Else we may never have him back again."

      "Fool!" Gigi spoke. "If he makes his vows to Nergal perhaps he cannot go at all. How do we know that then the barrier will not be closed to him as it is to us who are sworn to the Dark One, even as it is to those who are sworn to Ishtar?"

      "True," nodded the black priest. "We dare not risk that Well spoken, Gigi."

      "Why should Sharane be slain?" asked Kenton. "Let me take her for slave that I may repay her for her mockery and her blows. Give her to me— and you may keep all the riches and honors you have offered."

      "No!" The black priest leaned closer, searching more intently his eyes. "She must be slain. While she lives the Goddess has a vial into which to pour herself. Sharane dead—Ishtar has none on this ship through whom she may make herself manifest. This, I, Klaneth, know. Sharane dead, Nergal rules —through me! Nergal wins—through me!"

      In Kenton's mind a plan had formed. He would promise to do this—to slay Sharane. He would creep into her cabin, tell her of the black priest's plot. Some way, somehow, make her believe him.

      Too late he saw by the black priest's face that Klaneth had caught his thought! Too late remembered that the sharp eyes of the overseer had been watching him, losing no fleeting change of expression; interpreting.

      "Look, master!" Zachel snarled. "Look! Can you not read his thought, even as I? He cannot be trusted. You have held me here for counsel and have called my counsel good—then let me speak what is in my mind. I thought that this man had vanished from beside the mast, even as I told you. But did he? The gods come and go upon the ship as they will. But no man does. We thought we saw him struggling in the waves far behind the ship. But did we? By sorcery he may have lain all this while, hid in Sharane's cabin. Out of her cabin we saw him come——"

      "But driven forth by her women, Zachel," broke in the drummer. "Cast out. Beaten. Remember that. There was no friendship there, Klaneth. They were at his throat like hounds tearing down a deer."

      "A play!" cried Zachel. "A play to trick you, master. They could have killed him. Why did they not? His wounds are but pin pricks. They drove him, yes, but where? Over to us! Sharane knew he could cross the barrier. Would she have made gift to us of new strength unless—she had a purpose? And what could that purpose have been, master? Only one. To place him here to slay you—even as you now plan to send him to slay her!

      "He is a strong man—and lets himself be beaten by girls! He had a sword, a sharp blade and a holy one—and he lets a woman take it. Ho! Ho!" laughed Zachel. "Do you believe all this, master? Well—I do not!"

      "By Nergal!" Klaneth swore, livid. "Now by Nergal—!"

      He gripped Kenton by the shoulders, hurled him through the cabin door and out upon the deck. Swiftly he followed him.

      "Sharane!" he howled. "Sharane!"

      Kenton raised his head, dizzily; saw her standing beside the cabin door, arms around the slim waists of two of her damsels.

      "Nergal and Ishtar are busy elsewhere," mocked the black priest. "Life on the ship grows dull. There is a slave under my feet. A lying slave. Do you know him, Sharane?"

      He bent and lifted Kenton high, as a man a child. Her face, cold, contemptuous, did not change.

      "He is nothing to me—Worm," she answered.

      "Nothing to you, eh?" roared Klaneth. "Yet it was by your will that he came to me. Well—he has a lying tongue, Sharane. By the old law of the slaves shall he be punished for it. I will pit four of my men against him. If he master them I shall keep him for awhile—to amuse us further. But if they master him—then shall his lying tongue be torn from him. And I will give it to you as a token of my love—O, Sacred Vessel of Ishtar!"

      "Ho! Ho!" laughed the black priest as Sharane shrank, paling. "A test for your sorceries, Sharane. To make that tongue speak! Make it—" the thick voice purred—"make it whisper of love to you. Tell you how beautiful you are, Sharane. How wonderful—ah, sweet Sharane! Reproach you a little, too, perhaps for sending it to me to be torn out!"

      "Hoi Ho!" laughed Klaneth; then as though he spat the words, "You temple slut!"

      He thrust a light whip in Kenton's hands. "Now fight, slave!" he snarled, "fight for your lying tongue!"

      Four of the priests leaped forward, drawing from beneath their robes thongs tipped with metal. They circled, and before Kenton could gather his strength they were upon him. They darted about him like four lank wolves; slashing at him with their whips. Blows flailed upon his head, his naked shoulders. Awkwardly he tried to parry to return them. The metal tips bit deep. From shoulders, chest, back, a slow rain of blood began to drip.

      A thong caught him across the face, half blinding him.

      Far away, he heard the golden voice of Sharane, shrill with scorn.

      "Slave—can you not even fight?"

      Cursing, he dropped his useless whip. Close before him was the grinning face of the priest who had struck him. Ere his lash could be raised again the fist of Kenton had smashed squarely on the leering mouth. He felt beneath his knuckles the bones of the nose crumble, the teeth shatter. The priest crashed back; went rolling to the rail.

      Instantly the other three were upon him; tearing at his throat, clawing him, striving to drag him down. He broke loose. The three held back for an instant; then rushed. One there was a little in front of the others. Kenton. caught him by an arm, twisted that arm over his shoulder, set hip to prisoned flank, heaved and hurled the priest through air against the pair poised to strike. Out flung the body; fell short. The head crashed against the deck. There was a sharp snap, like a breaking faggot.