A Witch Shall Be Born by Robert E. Howard
3 A Letter to Nemedia
The savant Astreas, traveling in the East in his never-tiring search forknowledge, wrote a letter to his friend and fellow-philosopherAlcemides, in his native Nemedia, which constitutes the entire knowledgeof the Western nations concerning the events of that period in the East,always a hazy, half-mythical region in the minds of the Western folk.
Astreas wrote, in part: 'You can scarcely conceive, my dear old friend,of the conditions now existing in this tiny kingdom since Queen Taramisadmitted Constantius and his mercenaries, an event which I brieflydescribed in my last, hurried letter. Seven months have passed sincethen, during which time it seems as though the devil himself had beenloosed in this unfortunate realm. Taramis seems to have gone quite mad;whereas formerly she was famed for her virtue, justice and tranquillity,she is now notorious for qualities precisely opposite to those justenumerated. Her private life is a scandal--or perhaps "private" is notthe correct term, since the queen makes no attempt to conceal thedebauchery of her court. She constantly indulges in the most infamousrevelries, in which the unfortunate ladies of the court are forced tojoin, young married women as well as virgins.
'She herself has not bothered to marry her paramour, Constantius, whosits on the throne beside her and reigns as her royal consort, and hisofficers follow his example, and do not hesitate to debauch any womanthey desire, regardless of her rank or station. The wretched kingdomgroans under exorbitant taxation, the farms are stripped to the bone,and the merchants go in rags which are all that is left them by thetax-gatherers. Nay, they are lucky if they escape with a whole skin.
'I sense your incredulity, good Alcemides; you will fear that Iexaggerate conditions in Khauran. Such conditions would be unthinkablein any of the Western countries, admittedly. But you must realize thevast difference that exists between West and East, especially this partof the East. In the first place, Khauran is a kingdom of no great size,one of the many principalities which at one time formed the eastern partof the empire of Koth, and which later regained the independence whichwas theirs at a still earlier age. This part of the world is made up ofthese tiny realms, diminutive in comparison with the great kingdoms ofthe West, or the great sultanates of the farther East, but important intheir control of the caravan routes, and in the wealth concentrated inthem.
'Khauran is the most southeasterly of these principalities, bordering onthe very deserts of eastern Shem. The city of Khauran is the only cityof any magnitude in the realm, and stands within sight of the riverwhich separates the grasslands from the sandy desert, like a watch-towerto guard the fertile meadows behind it. The land is so rich that ityields three and four crops a year, and the plains north and west of thecity are dotted with villages. To one accustomed to the greatplantations and stock-farms of the West, it is strange to see these tinyfields and vineyards; yet wealth in grain and fruit pours from them asfrom a horn of plenty. The villagers are agriculturists, nothing else.Of a mixed, aboriginal race, they are unwarlike, unable to protectthemselves, and forbidden the possession of arms. Dependent wholly uponthe soldiers of the city for protection, they are helpless under thepresent conditions. So the savage revolt of the rural sections, whichwould be a certainty in any Western nation, is here impossible.
'They toil supinely under the iron hand of Constantius, and hisblack-bearded Shemites ride incessantly through the fields, with whipsin their hands, like the slave-drivers of the black serfs who toil inthe plantations of southern Zingara.
'Nor do the people of the city fare any better. Their wealth is strippedfrom them, their fairest daughters taken to glut the insatiable lust ofConstantius and his mercenaries. These men are utterly without mercy orcompassion, possessed of all the characteristics our armies learned toabhor in our wars against the Shemitish allies of Argos--inhumancruelty, lust, and wild-beast ferocity. The people of the city areKhauran's ruling caste, predominantly Hyborian, and valorous andwar-like. But the treachery of their queen delivered them into the handsof their oppressors. The Shemites are the only armed force in Khauran,and the most hellish punishment is inflicted on any Khaurani foundpossessing weapons. A systematic persecution to destroy the youngKhaurani men able to bear arms has been savagely pursued. Many haveruthlessly been slaughtered, others sold as slaves to the Turanians.Thousands have fled the kingdom and either entered the service of otherrulers, or become outlaws, lurking in numerous bands along the borders.
'At present there is some possibility of invasion from the desert, whichis inhabited by tribes of Shemitish nomads. The mercenaries ofConstantius are men from the Shemitish cities of the west, Pelishtim,Anakim, Akkharim, and are ardently hated by the Zuagirs and otherwandering tribes. As you know, good Alcemides, the countries of thesebarbarians are divided into the western meadowlands which stretch to thedistant ocean, and in which rise the cities of the town-dwellers, andthe eastern deserts, where the lean nomads hold sway; there is incessantwarfare between the dwellers of the cities and the dwellers of thedesert.
'The Zuagirs have fought with and raided Khauran for centuries, withoutsuccess, but they resent its conquest by their western kin. It isrumored that their natural antagonism is being fomented by the man whowas formerly the captain of the queen's guard, and who, somehow escapingthe hate of Constantius, who actually had him upon the cross, fled tothe nomads. He is called Conan, and is himself a barbarian, one of thosegloomy Cimmerians whose ferocity our soldiers have more than oncelearned to their bitter cost. It is rumored that he has become theright-hand man of Olgerd Vladislav, the _kozak_ adventurer who wandereddown from the northern steppes and made himself chief of a band ofZuagirs. There are also rumors that this band has increased vastly inthe last few months, and that Olgerd, incited no doubt by thisCimmerian, is even considering a raid on Khauran.
'It can not be anything more than a raid, as the Zuagirs are withoutsiege-machines, or the knowledge of investing a city, and it has beenproven repeatedly in the past that the nomads in their loose formation,or rather lack of formation, are no match in hand-to-hand fighting forthe well-disciplined, fully-armed warriors of the Shemitish cities. Thenatives of Khauran would perhaps welcome this conquest, since the nomadscould deal with them no more harshly than their present masters, andeven total extermination would be preferable to the suffering they haveto endure. But they are so cowed and helpless that they could give noaid to the invaders.
'Their plight is most wretched. Taramis, apparently possessed of ademon, stops at nothing. She has abolished the worship of Ishtar, andturned the temple into a shrine of idolatry. She has destroyed the ivoryimage of the goddess which these eastern Hyborians worship (and which,inferior as it is to the true religion of Mitra which we Western nationsrecognize, is still superior to the devil-worship of the Shemites) andfilled the temple of Ishtar with obscene images of every imaginablesort--gods and goddesses of the night, portrayed in all the salaciousand perverse poses and with all the revolting characteristics that adegenerate brain could conceive. Many of these images are to beidentified as foul deities of the Shemites, the Turanians, theVendhyans, and the Khitans, but others are reminiscent of a hideous andhalf-remembered antiquity, vile shapes forgotten except in the mostobscure legends. Where the queen gained the knowledge of them I dare noteven hazard a guess.
'She has instituted human sacrifice, and since her mating withConstantius, no less then five hundred men, women and children have beenimmolated. Some of these have died on the altar she has set up in thetemple, herself wielding the sacrificial dagger, but most have met amore horrible doom.
'Taramis has placed some sort of monster in a crypt in the temple. Whatit is, and whence it came, none knows. But shortly after she had crushedthe desperate revolt of her soldiers against Constantius, she spent anight alone in the desecrated temple, alone except for a dozen boundcaptives, and the shuddering people saw thick, foul-smelling smokecurling up from the dome, heard all night the frenetic chanting of thequeen, and the agonized cries of her tortured captives; and toward dawnanother voice mingled with these sou
'In the full dawn Taramis reeled drunkenly from the temple, her eyesblazing with demoniac triumph. The captives were never seen again, northe croaking voice heard. But there is a room in the temple into whichnone ever goes but the queen, driving a human sacrifice before her. Andthis victim is never seen again. All know that in that grim chamberlurks some monster from the black night of ages, which devours theshrieking humans Taramis delivers up to it.
'I can no longer think of her as a mortal woman, but as a rabidshe-fiend, crouching in her blood-fouled lair amongst the bones andfragments of her victims, with taloned, crimsoned fingers. That the godsallow her to pursue her awful course unchecked almost shakes my faith indivine justice.
'When I compare her present conduct with her deportment when first Icame to Khauran, seven months ago, I am confused with bewilderment, andalmost inclined to the belief held by many of the people--that a demonhas possessed the body of Taramis. A young soldier, Valerius, hadanother belief. He believed that a witch had assumed a form identicalwith that of Khauran's adored ruler. He believed that Taramis had beenspirited away in the night, and confined in some dungeon, and that thisbeing ruling in her place was but a female sorcerer. He swore that hewould find the real queen, if she still lived, but I greatly fear thathe himself has fallen victim to the cruelty of Constantius. He wasimplicated in the revolt of the palace guards, escaped and remained inhiding for some time, stubbornly refusing to seek safety abroad, and itwas during this time that I encountered him and he told me his beliefs.
'But he has disappeared, as so many have, whose fate one dares notconjecture, and I fear he has been apprehended by the spies ofConstantius.
'But I must conclude this letter and slip it out of the city by means ofa swift carrier-pigeon, which will carry it to the post whence Ipurchased it, on the borders of Koth. By rider and camel-train it willeventually come to you. I must haste, before dawn. It is late, and thestars gleam whitely on the gardened roofs of Khauran. A shudderingsilence envelops the city, in which I hear the throb of a sullen drumfrom the distant temple. I doubt not that Taramis is there, concoctingmore devilry.'
* * * * *
But the savant was incorrect in his conjecture concerning thewhereabouts of the woman he called Taramis. The girl whom the world knewas queen of Khauran stood in a dungeon, lighted only by a flickeringtorch which played on her features, etching the diabolical cruelty ofher beautiful countenance.
On the bare stone floor before her crouched a figure whose nakedness wasscarcely covered with tattered rags.
This figure Salome touched contemptuously with the upturned toe of hergilded sandal, and smiled vindictively as her victim shrank away.
'You do not love my caresses, sweet sister?'
Taramis was still beautiful, in spite of her rags and the imprisonmentand abuse of seven weary months. She did not reply to her sister'staunts, but bent her head as one grown accustomed to mockery.
This resignation did not please Salome. She bit her red lip, and stoodtapping the toe of her shoe against the floor as she frowned down at thepassive figure. Salome was clad in the barbaric splendor of a woman ofShushan. Jewels glittered in the torchlight on her gilded sandals, onher gold breast-plates and the slender chains that held them in place.Gold anklets clashed as she moved, jeweled bracelets weighted her barearms. Her tall coiffure was that of a Shemitish woman, and jade pendantshung from gold hoops in her ears, flashing and sparkling with eachimpatient movement of her haughty head. A gem-crusted girdle supporteda silk shirt so transparent that it was in the nature of a cynicalmockery of convention.
Suspended from her shoulders and trailing down her back hung a darklyscarlet cloak, and this was thrown carelessly over the crook of one armand the bundle that arm supported.
Salome stooped suddenly and with her free hand grasped her sister'sdishevelled hair and forced back the girl's head to stare into her eyes.Taramis met that tigerish glare without flinching.
'You are not so ready with your tears as formerly, sweet sister,'muttered the witch-girl.
'You shall wring no more tears from me,' answered Taramis. 'Too oftenyou have reveled in the spectacle of the queen of Khauran sobbing formercy on her knees. I know that you have spared me only to torment me;that is why you have limited your tortures to such torments as neitherslay nor permanently disfigure. But I fear you no longer; you havestrained out the last vestige of hope, fright and shame from me. Slay meand be done with it, for I have shed my last tear for your enjoyment,you she-devil from hell!'
'You flatter yourself, my dear sister,' purred Salome. 'So far it isonly your handsome body that I have caused to suffer, only your prideand self-esteem that I have crushed. You forget that, unlike myself, youare capable of mental torment. I have observed this when I have regaledyou with narratives concerning the comedies I have enacted with some ofyour stupid subjects. But this time I have brought more vivid proof ofthese farces. Did you know that Krallides, your faithful councillor, hadcome skulking back from Turan and been captured?'
Taramis turned pale.
'What--what have you done to him?'
For answer Salome drew the mysterious bundle from under her cloak. Sheshook off the silken swathings and held it up--the head of a young man,the features frozen in a convulsion as if death had come in the midst ofinhuman agony.
Taramis cried out as if a blade had pierced her heart.
'Oh, Ishtar! Krallides!'
'Aye! He was seeking to stir up the people against me, poor fool,telling them that Conan spoke the truth when he said I was not Taramis.How would the people rise against the Falcon's Shemites? With sticks andpebbles? Bah! Dogs are eating his headless body in the market-place, andthis foul carrion shall be cast into the sewer to rot.
'How, sister!' She paused, smiling down at her victim. 'Have youdiscovered that you still have unshed tears? Good! I reserved the mentaltorment for the last. Hereafter I shall show you many such sightsas--this!'
Standing there in the torchlight with the severed head in her hand shedid not look like anything ever borne by a human woman, in spite of herawful beauty. Taramis did not look up. She lay face down on the slimyfloor, her slim body shaken in sobs of agony, beating her clenched handsagainst the stones. Salome sauntered toward the door, her ankletsclashing at each step, her ear pendants winking in the torch-glare.
A few moments later she emerged from a door under a sullen arch that ledinto a court which in turn opened upon a winding alley. A man standingthere turned toward her--a giant Shemite, with sombre eyes and shoulderslike a bull, his great black beard falling over his mighty,silver-mailed breast.
'She wept?' His rumble was like that of a bull, deep, low-pitched andstormy. He was the general of the mercenaries, one of the few even ofConstantius's associates who knew the secret of the queens of Khauran.
'Aye, Khumbanigash. There are whole sections of her sensibilities that Ihave not touched. When one sense is dulled by continual laceration, Iwill discover a newer, more poignant pang. Here, dog!' A trembling,shambling figure in rags, filth and matted hair approached, one of thebeggars that slept in the alleys and open courts. Salome tossed the headto him. 'Here, deaf one; cast that in the nearest sewer. Make the signwith your hands, Khumbanigash. He can not hear.'
The general complied, and the tousled head bobbed, as the man turnedpainfully away.
'Why do you keep up this farce?' rumbled Khumbanigash. 'You are sofirmly established on the throne that nothing can unseat you. What ifKhaurani fools learn the truth? They can do nothing. Proclaim yourselfin your true identity! Show them their beloved ex-queen--and cut off herhead in the public square!'
'Not yet, good Khumbanigash--'
The arched door slammed on the hard accents of Salome, the stormyreverberations of Khumbanigash. The mute beggar crouched in thecourtyard, and there was none to see that the hands which held thesevered head were quivering strongly--brown, sinewy hands, strangelyi
'I knew it!' It was a fierce, vibrant whisper, scarcely audible. 'Shelives! Oh, Krallides, your martyrdom was not in vain! They have herlocked in that dungeon! Oh, Ishtar, if you love true men, aid me now!'