James Silke - Prisoner of the Horned helmet

She smiled disdainfully. “Nothing can withstand the strength of our Master, but it will only last a day and drain most of his own resources. After tomorrow he will be only the shell of the man he is now.”

“That cannot concern us. All that matters is that the execution goes smoothly, and the helmet be returned.”

She turned sharply so his milky face was within inches, and snapped, “No! That is not all. I will be revenged.” Her eyes were as wavering as arrows in flight.

Dang-Ling blinked behind his wet lashes, then turned, and she followed him back down the tunnel.

At the opposite side of the arena, four more Snake Finders huddled against the back wall watching the Skull soldiers drive off scavengers trying for a closer look at the chained prisoner. One of them was a young boy with short reddish hair, dressed in shapeless rags. There were tears in his eyes.

Baak conducted the striding warlord through the dimly lit corridors of the Temple of Dreams. Klang’s eyes were without light or warmth, as confident as tombstones. Reaching a heavy wooden door, Baak knocked, opened it, and Klang strode in.

Dang-Ling, waiting just inside, bowed in welcome. A single torch in a silver embrasure lit the room. The shadows on the far walls expanded and shrank at the touch of the orange light.

“Where is she?” Klang demanded.

Dang-Ling bowed again. “We are alone, my lord. The sorceress says that the potion works more effectively without the presence of a female.”

“Potion?” Klang asked abruptly. “If that is all there is to it, give it to me.”

Dang-Ling spoke coolly. “It is not simply a potion.”

“Then what?”

“It is a fresh venom, my lord.”

Klang went white. When he finally spoke, his voice was dry. “All right, priest, venom. Just so you are certain of what it will do!”

“Absolutely.”

Klang extended his hand, waited. Dang-Ling hesitated, looking at the empty palm, then up with professional candor into the warlord’s expectant eyes. “There is one more thing. It can not be swallowed. It must be… administered.”

Klang said nothing for a moment, then, “How?”

“Injected, my lord.”

Again the warlord paused, and again asked the same question. Dang-Ling indicated the pool. Klang peered over the edge and jumped back, drawing his sword.

The pool was drained but not empty. Lying on its bottom in a neat coil was a ten-foot, emerald-green cobra. Its head lifted, and the black balls at the centers of its yellow eyes stared at the warlord.

Klang turned on the priest, growling, “Fool! How can you let filth like that creep in here? The Goddess’ own temple?”

Dang-Ling replied calmly, “It is not an accident. The sorceress placed it there herself.”

Klang looked down at the green serpent, and his breath came in harsh gasps.

“The serpent’s fangs are the instruments which will inject the venom.”

“No!” growled Klang. He turned on the priest. “That is madness! I can not, I will not submit my flesh to such filth. What kind of foreign practice is this?”

“An extraordinary one,” said Dang-Ling quietly. “With the venom comes the strength of the Lord of Death himself. You cannot fail. With your people watching, you will destroy the Barbarian and regain their absolute confidence.”

Klang looked down at the menacing snake, “All right!” he said quietly. “I will let it bite me. Once.” He started down the steps into the stone bath.

“Wait,” Dang-Ling requested. He indicated the sword in Klang’s hand. “You must leave your sword behind, in case your natural instincts betray you and you attack as it strikes.”

Klang shuddered, but set his sword and sheath down on the stone rim of the pool.

“One more thing,” Dang-Ling said quietly. When Klang looked at him, he added, “The reptile is a very carefully cultured species, and while its venom is extraordinarily powerful, to obtain the best results, it should be injected as close as possible to the genitals.”

Klang turned white again. He swayed, then brought himself erect. Defiantly, he struggled out of his armor and clothing, and tossed them aside. With a deep breath, he advanced steadily into the tub, white from forehead to toenails.

Dang-Ling, impressed by his reckless bravery, clasped his hands in excitement and held his breath.

Klang reached the floor of the stone bath, and stood, legs astride, at the center. The reptile uncoiled languidly in front of him, as high as his eyes. Its hood spread wide, a brilliant black and yellow-green. Its tongue darted. Its jaws parted displaying rows of sharp teeth, and two upper fangs of curving white porcelain. As Klang waited, the sweat drained off him and puddled at his feet.

The snake dived for his genitals, and buried its fangs deep.

Klang screamed and staggered back ripping the head away, and flung the snake across the hole. He dashed up the stairs and snatched up his sword.

“No!” screamed Dang-Ling. “If you kill it, the magic will be turned against you.”

Cupping his wound, Klang glared from the reptile to Dang-Ling, and back to the reptile. Its hooded head floated three feet above the ground. Suddenly Klang’s hands stiffened, his fingers trembled, and his sword dropped with a clatter.

Dang-Ling retired quietly to a corner to watch.

Klang looked down at his trembling hand in wonderment, as if it belonged to someone else. He squatted over his armor and clothes, and a tremor ripped through him, dropping him to his knees and fists. His body convulsed, rippled with growth, and blood trickled from his nose and ears. It was bright against his suddenly alabaster flesh. He shuddered again, then, defying the pain and blood, he Stood and dizzily picked up his things. Two inches of scaled tail protruded from his flesh just above his anus.

Klang had grown a good five inches taller and six inches thicker. Like a man asleep he forced his massive arms through the sleeves of his tunic. The sounds of ripping cloth cut the silence. Oblivious, he continued to dress with similar results. Finally, he turned his dazed eyes to Dang-Ling.

The high priest smiled. “Excellent. You are superb now.”

Klang smiled back, as if not certain why. A dull acquiescence glazed his normally bright black eyes.

Dang-Ling picked up Klang’s sword and sheath and guided him to the door, patting him soothingly on his hard rump. “Get some rest. I will see you tomorrow, at the third hour. You’ll be just fine.”

Klang nodded, took his sword and sheath, and numbly shuffled out the door as Dang-Ling closed it behind him. The high priest threw back his head and laughed deliciously, then stopped himself short as Cobra’s voluptuous, armored body emerged slowly from the empty pool. She looked exhausted. Dang-Ling composed himself and hurried to help her, murmuring praise.

In the corridor outside, Klang headed back the way he had come. The halls were empty, dark and silent except for some slight ripping/sounds. There were beads of sweat on his face, his eyes swam, and he felt sick to his stomach. It rumbled, and he passed gas with a sound like rolling thunder. He stopped, looked about, uncertain as to just what had happened, then moved on. As he stumbled out the temple door, he hiccupped and smoke drifted past his lips.

Torchlight greeted the temple guards as they moved swiftly onto the stage to relieve the Skulls. Casual words were exchanged, and the Skulls strolled away chatting amicably. Their crude laughter echoed out of the tunnel, then silence rejoined the night.

In the front row of the tiered seats a small group slept entwined in ragged blankets and each other, fanatics, idlers and veteran soldiers more than willing to relinquish their own flea-ridden cots in order to obtain the best seats for tomorrow’s entertainment, or perhaps turn a nice profit for those seats in the morning.