utterly cynical to be at all interested in her thoughts or opinions. His
flame-lit eyes devoured her, dwelling burningly on the generous expanses
of clear white flesh exposed where her shirt and breeches had been torn
in the struggle.

"Forget Conan," he said thickly. "Olmec is lord of Xuchotl. Xotalanc is
no more. There will be no more fighting. We shall spend our lives in
drinking and love-making. First let us drink!"

He seated himself on an ivory table and pulled her down on his knees,
like a dark-skinned satyr with a white nymph in his arms. Ignoring her
un-nymphlike profanity, he held her helpless with one great arm about
her waist while the other reached across the table and secured a vessel
of wine.

"Drink!" he commanded, forcing it to her lips, as she writhed her head
away.

The liquor slopped over, stinging her lips, splashing down on her naked
breasts.

"Your guest does not like your wine, Olmec," spoke a cool, sardonic
voice.

Olmec stiffened; fear grew in his flaming eyes. Slowly he swung his
great head about and stared at Tascela who posed negligently in the
curtained doorway, one hand on her smooth hip. Valeria twisted herself
about in his iron grip, and when she met the burning eyes of Tascela, a
chill tingled along her supple spine. New experiences were flooding
Valeria's proud soul that night. Recently she had learned to fear a man;
now she knew what it was to fear a woman.

Olmec sat motionless, a gray pallor growing under his swarthy skin.
Tascela brought her other hand from behind her and displayed a small
gold vessel.

"I feared she would not like your wine, Olmec," purred the princess, "so
I brought some of mine, some I brought with me long ago from the shores
of Lake Zuad--do you understand, Olmec?"

Beads of sweat stood out suddenly on Olmec's brow. His muscles relaxed,
and Valeria broke away and put the table between them. But though reason
told her to dart from the room, some fascination she could not
understand held her rigid, watching the scene.

Tascela came toward the seated prince with a swaying, undulating walk
that was mockery in itself. Her voice was soft, slurringly caressing,
but her eyes gleamed. Her slim fingers stroked his beard lightly.

"You are selfish, Olmec," she crooned, smiling. "You would keep our
handsome guest to yourself, though you knew I wished to entertain her.
You are much at fault, Olmec!"

The mask dropped for an instant; her eyes flashed, her fac