“The Altar and the Scorpion”

Published in King Kull, 1967.

“God of the crawling darkness, grant me aid!” A slim youth knelt in the gloom, his white body shimmering like ivory. The polished marble floor was cold to his knees, but his heart was colder than the stone.

High above him, merged into the masking shadows, loomed the great lapis lazuli ceiling, upheld by marble walls. Before him glimmered a golden altar, and on this altar shone a huge crystal image; a scorpion, wrought with a craft surpassing mere art.

“Great Scorpion,” the youth continued his invocation, “aid thy worshipper! Thou knowest how in bygone days Gonra of the Sword, my greatest ancestor, died before thy shrine on a heap of slain barbarians who sought to defile thy holiness. Through the mouths of thy priests, thou promised aid to Gonra’s race for all the years to come.

“Great Scorpion! Never has man or woman of my blood before reminded thee of thy vow. But now in my hour of bitter need I come before thee, to abjure thee to remember that oath, by the blood drunk by Gonra’s blade, by the blood spilled from Gonra’s veins!

“Great Scorpion! Thuron, high priest of The Black Shadow, is my enemy. Kull, king of all Valusia, rides from his purple-spired city to smite with fire and steel the priests who have defied him and still offer human sacrifice to the dark elder gods. But before the king may arrive and save us, I, and the girl I love, shall lie stark on the black altar in the Temple of Everlasting Darkness. Thuron has sworn! He will give our bodies to ancient and abhorred abominations, and, at last, our souls to the god that lurks forever in The Black Shadow.

“Kull sits high on the throne of Valusia and now rides to our aid, but Thuron rules this mountain city and even now follows me. Great Scorpion, aid us! Remember Gonra, who gave up his life for you when the Atlantean savages carried the torch and sword into Valusia.”

The boy’s slender form drooped, his head sank on his bosom despairingly. The great shimmering image on the altar gave back an icy sheen in the dim light, and no sign came to its worshipper to show that the curious god had heard that passionate invocation. Suddenly the youth started erect. Quick footfalls throbbed on the long wide steps outside the temple. A girl darted into the shadowed doorway like a white flame blown before the wind.

“Thuron—he comes!” she gasped as she flew into her lover’s arms.

The boy’s face went pale, and his embrace tightened as he gazed apprehensively at the doorway. Footfalls, heavy and sinister, clashed on the marble, and a shape of menace loomed in the opening.

Thuron, the high priest, was a tall, gaunt man, a cadaverous giant. His eves glimmered like fiery pools under his heavy brows, and his thin gash of a mouth gaped in a silent laugh. His only garment was a silken loincloth, through which was thrust a cruel curved dagger, and he carried a short, heavy whip in his lean, powerful hand.

His two victims clung to each other and gazed wide-eyed at their foe, as birds stare at a serpent. And Thuron’s slow, swaying stride as he advanced was not unlike the sinuous glide of a crawling snake.

“Thuron, have a care!” the youth spoke bravely, but his voice faltered from the terror that gripped him. “If you have no fear of the king or pity for us, beware offending the Great Scorpion, under whose protection we are.”

Thuron laughed in his might and arrogance.

“The king!” he jeered. “What means the king to me, who am mightier than any king? The Great Scorpion? Ho! ho! A forgotten god, a deity remembered only by children and women. Would you pit your Scorpion against The Black Shadow? Fool! Valka himself, god of all gods, could not save you now! You are sworn to the god of The Black Shadow.”

He swept toward the cowering youngsters and gripped their white shoulders, sinking his talon-like nails deep into the soft flesh. They sought to resist, but he laughed and with incredible strength lifted them in the air, where he dangled them at arm’s length as a man might dangle a baby. His grating, metallic laughter filled the room with echoes of evil mockery.

Holding the youth between his knees, he bound the girl hand and foot while she whimpered in his cruel clutch; then, flinging her roughly to the floor, he bound the youth likewise. Stepping back, he surveyed his work. The girl’s frightened sobs sounded quick and panting in the silence. At last the high priest spoke.

“Fools, to think to escape me! Always men of your blood, boy, have opposed me in council and court. Now you pay, and The Black Shadow drinks. Ho! ho! I rule the city today, let he be king who may!

“My priests throng the streets, full armed, and no man dare say me nay. Were the king in the saddle this moment, he could not arrive and break my swordsmen in time to save you.”

His eyes roved about the temple and fell upon the golden altar and the silent crystal scorpion.

“Ho! ho! What fools to pin your faith on a god whom men have long ceased to worship! Who has not even a priest to attend him, and who is granted a shrine only because of the memory of his former greatness; who is accorded reverence only by simple people and foolish women!

“The real gods are dark and bloody! Remember my words when soon you lie on an ebon altar behind which broods a black shadow forever. Before you die you shall know the real gods, the powerful, the terrible gods, who came from forgotten worlds and lost realms of blackness. Who had their birth on frozen stars, and black suns brooding beyond the light of any stars. You shall know the brain-shattering truth of that Unnamable One, to whose reality no earthly likeness may be given, but whose symbol is—The Black Shadow!”

The girl ceased to cry, frozen, like the youth, into dazed silence. They sensed, behind these threats, a hideous and inhuman gulf of monstrous shadows.

Thuron took a stride toward them, bent and reached claw-like hands to grip and lift them to his shoulders. He laughed as they sought to writhe away from him. His fingers closed on the girl’s tender shoulder—

A scream shattered the crystal gong of the silence into a million vibrating shards as Thuron bounded into the air and fell on his face, screeching and writhing. Some small creature scurried away and vanished through the door. Thuron’s screams dwindled into a high, thin squealing and broke short at the highest note. Silence fell like a deathly mist.

At last the boy spoke in an awed whisper. “What was it?”

“A scorpion!” the girl’s answer came low and tremulous. “It crawled across my bare bosom without harming me, and when Thuron seized me it stung him.”

Another silence fell. Then the boy spoke again, hesitantly.

“No scorpion has been seen in this city for longer than men remember.”

“The Great One summoned this of his people to our aid!” whispered the girl. “The gods never forget, and the Great Scorpion has kept his oath. Let us give thanks to him!”

And, bound hand and foot as they were, the youthful lovers wriggled about on their faces, where they lay giving praise to the great silent, glistening scorpion on the altar for a long time—until a distant clash of many silver-shod hoofs and the clangor of swords bore to them the coming of the king.

“The Altar and the Scorpion”

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