James Silke - Prisoner of the Horned helmet

“Your highness has demonstrated again her foresight and leadership.” Dang-Ling bowed low. “I am honored to assist the Queen of Serpents.”

“If you enjoy watching as much as you appear to,” she winked, “you are quite welcome to continue.” Ignoring the high priest’s reaction, she appraised Robin’s sleeping body, and her eyes hardened. “She sleeps very deeply.”

“A mild drug,” Dang-Ling purred, petting Robin possessively. “Her little body has been overtaxed these last few days. I thought she should look as fresh as possible when he sees her.” His lips were prim, but his eyes glimmered.

Cobra addressed his eyes. “You are a weak fool, priest. We must revive her!” Her arm and hand uncoiled, and she struck Robin hard across the face, bringing a moan. “Wake the others! Screaming is absolutely essential!”

Dang-Ling paled, and his eyes narrowed. “First I must inquire about the necessity of screaming in this particular experiment. Is it essential to the process or to you?”

Cobra glared at him, her fury rising. “To both, you simpering lecher.”

The high priest’s smile returned with the slightest trace of mockery. His eyes met Cobra’s, and held them with surprising ease. Cobra glanced warily about the laboratory, then hissed sarcastically, “If you have anymore professional comments, ask them now, priest. Once we begin there will be no interruptions.”

“Actually, I do have one question,” Dang-Ling said flatly. “Would it not be easier to simply enslave each of them with the bite of the Pawder snake?”

“An excellent suggestion.” With regal grace Cobra reached inside her emerald robe, and brought forth a small rose-pink snake. Dang-Ling flushed.

Bestowing a tender kiss on the snake’s head, she said, “The Pawder’s bite is an essential part of the procedure. But merely to enslave their wills would not suffice. Their nature itself must be transformed, and the transfusion and signs will accomplish that. Not completely. Just enough to allow them to develop a very strong venom which no human can withstand, not even the Dark One.”

“Of course,” Dang-Ling said hurriedly. “But if you will excuse my impertinence, I think we must consider the possibility that this particular girl,” he stroked Robin’s thigh, “might serve our Master more effectively without alteration.”

Cobra’s high cheeks turned crimson. Her fist unclenched and the Pawder snake wound its way up her arm. She said archly, “Your interruptions tire me, priest. Pay attention, and you will understand. All the Barbarian has to do is see this girl. That alone will relax his guard and allow her, or one of the others, to strike. And only one bite will leave him helpless. Now do you understand?”

“Perfectly.” Dang-Ling’s inflection was so florid it would have humbled an orchid. “Your jealousy and arrogance have blinded you! And it is apparent, if the Master is to be served as he deserves to be, that I must conduct this procedure myself.”

Before Cobra, snarling with outrage, could reply, the harsh sounds of scraping rocks filled the room. Four huge stones were receding from the wall; four temple guards appeared in the openings pointing loaded crossbows at the Queen of Serpents.

Cobra whirled on Dang-Ling. “You go too far, priest!”

Dang-Ling said soothingly, “Do not be offended. I have not betrayed you. These four are devoted servants of the Master of Darkness, and will do you no harm unless it is necessary. So do not tempt them. Being Kitzakks, they are unusually fond of killing reptiles.”

“They would not dare. I am the Master’s ‘chosen one’.”

“They will dare, sorceress, whatever I dare. Because they understand that what I do, I do in our holy Master’s best interest. Now, I must ask you to remember what you have forgotten in your jealousy. If the girl’s nature is altered, if she is tainted in the slightest way, the power of the horned helmet will discover it… and the Death Dealer will destroy her before she is even close enough for him to smell the enticing fragrance of her flesh.”

The bones in the Queen of Serpent’s face seemed to pulsate under her creamy flesh.

The high priest delicately removed the glass tube from Robin’s throat. A drop of blood splashed on her breast and trickled down the curved slope. He wiped it off fastidiously, saying, “It is only in her perfection that she will be able to subdue the helmet’s power and distract him long enough for these maidens, transformed by your formula, to strike.”

Cobra’s body vibrated under the gold and silver plates, and began to shimmer with opalescent light, fusing her voluptuous flesh and translucent metal. Her breasts were smooth heaving globes of soft gold, her stomach a silver slope of carnal invitation. Her pupils were pools of black magnetism rimmed by irises of radiating gold. The rose cheeks drew in and hollowed. As her scarlet lips parted, they revealed a single drop of glistening blood trickling freely down her alabaster chin.

The temple guards trembled, eyes white with terror.

Dang-Ling observed all this with surprising equanimity, then, bowing to the Queen of Serpents, he responded, “Thank you for this spectacular display of the generous and unequaled gifts our Master of Darkness has bestowed upon you. It is an eloquent reminder of the sacrifices we all owe him.”

He fastidiously removed the rose-pink snake from her arm and stroked it. “Now, if you will restore your appearance so my aides can function, we will begin the work.”

Cobra’s magnificent body wavered. Then, like a tide receding into the ocean, her body drew into itself, ebbing and flowing back to a less intimidating though still impressive presence that glared impotently at the high priest, as if she had had her fangs pulled.

The guards carried Robin out of the laboratory as the maidens were revived. Then Dang-Ling himself applied the enslaving snakebite to each girl’s foot, and the screaming began.

The process proceeded at a slow dripping pace for several hours. Then, distressingly, a blood clot formed in the neck of one girl. Before they could remove the tube, her skin ballooned and exploded, splattering the room with flesh and blood, and she was dead. After that there were no more delays.

The wagon, racing across the flat desert, sent up a tail of dust that boiled with bright golds and yellows in the midday sunshine. Half a mile behind and barely visible through the dust, a crowd of mounted soldiers chased it. Far off to the right, miragelike in the wavering heat, was a thin crescent of reds, the Kitzakk Army. Ahead were the ruins of Chela Kong.

A Cytherian temple maiden drove. Three others sprawled on the bed, clutching the side boards desperately as the wagon bounced and rattled. Robin, still unconscious, tumbled about on a layer of hay between them. A large stack of hay was piled in a corner.

One of the girls, a small, chubby old friend of Robin, crawled over to her. She uncorked a tiny blue jar, and, pressing it against Robin’s teeth, poured a clear amber liquid into her mouth. She threw the jar away, then waited anxiously. Robin coughed and sat up abruptly. Her eyes were wide but her body, still weak, was trembling.

“Where am I?”

“We’ve escaped!” As she spoke, she pounded small fists together excitedly. “Robin, we’ve escaped!”

“Escaped!” Robin gasped. She rolled onto her hands and knees and through the tumbling dust saw the riders chasing them. She pivoted to the front. A dark collection of black boulders lay ahead.

The chubby girl pointed a plump finger at the rocks shouting, “Our people are there! There in the rocks!”

Robin gasped incredulously, “But how… how did we…”