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Conan started toward him to finish the job -- for he knew that the black's sudden movement had caused the blade to strike flat -- but Muriela threw her arms convulsively about him.
"I've done as you ordered!" she gasped hysterically. "Take me away! Oh, please take me away!"
"We can't go yet," he grunted. "I want to follow the priests and see where they get the jewels. There may be more loot hidden there. But you can go with me. Where's that gem you wore in your hair?"
"It must have fallen out on the dais," she stammered, feeling for it. "I was so frightened -- when the priests left I ran out to find you, and this big brute had stayed behind, and he grabbed me--"
"Well, go get it while I dispose of this carcass," he commanded. "Go on! That gem is worth a fortune itself."
She hesitated, as if loth to return to that cryptic chamber; then, as he grasped Gwarunga's girdle and dragged him into the alcove, she turned and entered the oracle room.
Conan dumped the senseless black on the floor, and lifted his sword. The Cimmerian had lived too long in the wild places of the world to have any illusions about mercy. The only safe enemy was a headless enemy. But before he could strike, a startling scream checked the lifted blade. It came from the oracle chamber.
"Conan! Conan! _She's come back!_" The shriek ended in a gurgle and a scraping shuffle.
With an oath Conan dashed out of the alcove, across the throne dais and into the oracle chamber, almost before the sound had ceased
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