The man in the mirror seemed smiling at him--closer, closer--a fog enwrapped all and the reflection dimmed suddenly--Kull knew a sensation of fading, of change, of merging----ull!--the yell split the silence into a million vibratory fragments!
Mountains crashed and worlds tottered as Kull, hurled back by that frantic shout, made a superhuman effort, how or why he did not know.
A crash, and Kull stood in the room of Tuzun Thune before a shattered mirror, mazed and half blind with bewilderment. There before him lay the body of Tuzun Thune, whose time had come at last, and above him stood Brule the Spear-slayer, sword dripping red and eyes wide with a kind of horror.
--alka!--swore the warrior.--ull, it was time I came!----ye, yet what happened?--The king groped for words.
--sk this traitress,--answered the Spear-slayer, indicating a girl who crouched in terror before the king; Kull saw that it was she who first sent him to Tuzun Thune.--s I came in I saw you fading into yon mirror as smoke fades into the sky, by Valka! Had I not seen I would not have believed--you had almost vanished when my shout brought you back.----ye,--muttered Kull,--had almost gone beyond the door that time.----his fiend wrought most craftily,--said Brule.--ull, do you not now see how he spun and flung over you a web of magic? Kaanuub of Blaal plotted with this wizard to do away with you, and this wench, a girl of Elder Race, put the thought in your mind so that you would come here. Kananu of the council learned of the plot today; I know not what you saw in that mirror, but with it Tuzun Thune enthralled your soul and almost by his witchery he changed your body to mist--
--ye.--Kull was still mazed.--ut being a wizard, having knowledge of all the ages and despising gold, glory and position, what could Kaanuub offer Tuzun Thune that would make of him a foul traitor?----old, power and position,--grunted Brule.--he sooner you learn that men are men whether wizard, king or thrall, the better you will rule, Kull. Now what of her?----aught, Brule,--as the girl whimpered and groveled at Kull-- feet.--he was but a tool. Rise, child, and go your ways; none shall harm you.-- Alone with Brule, Kull looked for the last time on the mirrors of Tuzun Thune.
--ayhap he plotted and conjured, Brule; nay, I doubt you not, yet--was it his witchery that was changing me to thin mist, or had I stumbled on a secret? Had you not brought me back, had I faded in dissolution or had I found worlds beyond this?-- Brule stole a glance at the mirrors, and twitched his shoulders as if he shuddered.--ye. Tuzun Thune stored the wisdom of all the hells here. Let us begone, Kull, ere they bewitch me, too.----et us go, then,--answered Kull, and side by side they went forth from the House of a Thousand Mirrors--where, mayhap, are prisoned the souls of men.
NONE look now in the mirrors of Tuzun Thune. The pleasure boats shun the shore where stands the wizard-- house and no one goes in the house or to the room where Tuzun Thune-- dried and withered carcass lies before the mirrors of illusion. The place is shunned as a place accursed, and though it stands for a thousand years to come, no footsteps shall echo there. Yet Kull upon his throne meditates often upon the strange wisdom and untold secrets hidden there and wonders--
For there are worlds beyond worlds, as Kull knows, and whether the wizard bewitched him by words or by mesmerism, vistas did open to the king-- gaze beyond that strange door, and Kull is less sure of reality since he gazed into the mirrors of Tuzun Thune.
The Tower of the Elephant
Torches flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their sport. Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight licked luridly from broken windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a blow in the face.
In one of these dens merriment thundered to the low smoke-stained roof, where rascals gathered in every stage of rags and tatters--furtive cutpurses, leering kidnappers, quick-fingered thieves, swaggering bravoes with their wenches, strident-voiced women clad in tawdry finery. Native rogues were the dominant element--dark-skinned, dark-eyed Zamorians, with daggers at their girdles and guile in their hearts. But there were wolves of half a dozen outland nations there as well. There was a giant Hyperborean renegade, taciturn, dangerous, with a broadsword strapped to his great gaunt frame--for men wore steel openly in the Maul. There was a Shemitish counterfeiter, with his hook nose and curled blue-black beard. There was a bold-eyed Brythunian wench, sitting on the knee of a tawny-haired Gunderman--a wandering mercenary soldier, a deserter from some defeated army. And the fat gross rogue whose bawdy jests were causing all the shouts of mirth was a professional kidnapper come up from distant Koth to teach woman-stealing to Zamorians who were born with more knowledge of the art than he could ever attain.
This man halted in his description of an intended victim-- charms, and thrust his muzzle into a huge tankard of frothing ale. Then blowing the foam from his fat lips, he said,--y Bel, god of all thieves, I--l show them how to steal wenches: I--l have her over the Zamorian border before dawn, and there--l be a caravan waiting to receive her. Three hundred pieces of silver, a count of Ophir promised me for a sleek young Brythunian of the better class. It took me weeks, wandering among the border cities as a beggar, to find one I knew would suit. And is she a pretty baggage!-- He blew a slobbery kiss in the air.
-- know lords in Shem who would trade the secret of the Elephant Tower for her,--he said, returning to his ale.
A touch on his tunic sleeve made him turn his head, scowling at the interruption. He saw a tall, strongly made youth standing beside him. This person was as much out of place in that den as a gray wolf among mangy rats of the gutters. His cheap tunic could not conceal the hard, rangy lines of his powerful frame, the broad heavy shoulders, the massive chest, lean waist, and heavy arms. His skin was brown from outland suns, his eyes blue and smoldering; a shock of tousled black hair crowned his broad forehead. From his girdle hung a sword in a worn leather scabbard.
The Kothian involuntarily drew back; for the man was not one of any civilized race he knew.
--ou spoke of the Elephant Tower,--said the stranger, speaking Zamorian with an alien accent.----e heard much of this tower; what is its secret?-- The fellow-- attitude did not seem threatening, and the Kothian't courage was bolstered up by the ale, and the evident approval of his audience. He swelled with self-importance.
--he secret of the Elephant Tower?--he exclaimed.--hy, any fool knows that Yara the priest dwells there with the great jewel men call the Elephant-- Heart, that is the secret of his magic.-- The barbarian digested this for a space.
-- have seen this tower,--he said.--t is set in a great garden above the level of the city, surrounded by high walls. I have seen no guards. The walls would be easy to climb. Why has not somebody stolen this secret gem?-- The Kothian stared wide-mouthed at the other-- simplicity, then burst into a roar of derisive mirth, in which the others joined.
--arken to this heathen!--he bellowed.--e would steal the jewel of Yara!--Harken, fellow,--he said, turning portentously to the other,--suppose you are some sort of a northern barbarian--