mson.

"Black last night against the moon," grunted Conan, his eyes clouding
with the abysmal superstition of the barbarian. "Blood-red as a threat
of blood against the sun this dawn. I do not like this city."

But they went on, and as they went Conan pointed out the fact that no
road ran to the city from the north.

"No cattle have trampled the plain on this side of the city," said he.
"No plowshare has touched the earth for years, maybe centuries. But
look: once this plain was cultivated."

Valeria saw the ancient irrigation ditches he indicated, half filled in
places, and overgrown with cactus. She frowned with perplexity as her
eyes swept over the plain that stretched on all sides of the city to the
forest edge, which marched in a vast, dim ring. Vision did not extend
beyond that ring.

She looked uneasily at the city. No helmets or spear-heads gleamed on
battlements, no trumpets sounded, no challenge rang from the towers. A
silence as absolute as that of the forest brooded over the walls and
minarets.

The sun was high above the eastern horizon when they stood before the
great gate in the northern wall, in the shadow of the lofty rampart.
Rust flecked the iron bracings of the mighty bronze portal. Spiderwebs
glistened thickly on hinge and sill and bolted panel.

"It hasn't been opened for years!" exclaimed Valeria.

"A dead city," grunted Conan. "That's why the ditches were broken and
the plain untouched."

"But who built it? Who dwelt here? Where did they go? Why did they
abandon it?"

"Who can say? Maybe an exiled clan of Stygians built it. Maybe not. It
doesn't look like Stygian architecture. Maybe the people were wiped out
by enemies, or a plague exterminated them."

"In that case their treasures may still be gathering dust and cobwebs in
there," suggested Valeria, the acquisitive instincts of her profession
waking in her; prodded, too, by feminine curiosity. "Can we open the
gate? Let's go in and explore a bit."

Conan eyed the heavy portal dubiously, but placed his massive shoulder
against it and thrust with all the power of his muscular calves and
thighs. With a rasping screech of rusty hinges the gate moved
ponderously inward, and Conan straightened and drew his sword. Valeria
stared over his shoulder, and made a sound indicative of surprise.

They were not looking into an open street or court as one would have
expected. The opened gate, or door, gave directly into a long, broad
hall which