The Witch and The Thief, a conan series fanfic

The Witch and The Thief.
By Hyborian Age

He emerged from the dark forest, and into the clearing. Around Him, the walls of a small canyon stretched up to the sky. Ahead of Him, in the distance, at the end of the canyon, was a stone and sod dwelling built like a mound into the escarpement. Around the shelter were strange poles and rocks. Smoke drifted from, what could be considered, a chimney in large black gouts.

He stopped, listened ... only silence.

Warily, he made his way toward the dwelling, His eyes constantly moving, His ears picking up the slightest sound, His body tense like a spring ready to deal death from whatever awaited him in this strange environment.

As he moved ever closer, he noticed a door in the Hut. Beside the Hut was a large stone post, and to this post was, tethered by strong iron chains, an animal-like figure. Dark, quaint eyes gleamed from under ragged furs in the half light gloom. The figure did not move, it stared back.

A womans voice jolted Him, "There is warmth by the fire." Her voice at once liquid, but also alluring, sensual.

unnatural?

She beheld a tall, strongly made youth. 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 balefire; a shock of tousled black hair crowned his broad forehead. From his girdle hung a Great-Sword in a worn leather scabbard.

He turned quickly, like that of a striking Cobra, to see the Woman peering at Him from the portal. Firelight silhouetted her in a flickering glow. Her figure ripe, curvaceous. Her pose sensual, inviting, beckoning. Her raven black hair ran down Her back to Her waist in waves. Then He held her gaze, Her eyes seemed to radiate a sinsiter yet compeling mystery. She was past Her bloom He surmised, but still She exuded a mature and complex eroticism.

Once again She spoke, "Do you not wish to warm yourself by my fire." Her face, Her eyes, Her lips suggesting more.

Pleasure? Danger?

Inside the Shelter She silently stoked the fire of Tamarisk chunks, a grace and ease to Her movements. Turning, She looked at Him.

He greedily devoured a meal of dried fruits, barley bread and cheese. The room was of stone, dark save the light from the fire. Animal skins of luxuriant softness covered the hard packed earthen floor; but, of what animals? Strange skulls adorned the walls, skulls of bears with great massive teeth, sabre-fanged cats and a one-horned beast unbeknownest to Him.

As he glanced around at them, His gaze fell upon Her. She had been staring at Him. He looked down at the food, chewing, uneasy.

She read His glance, amused, Her black eyes keen.

"From the North? That is where you are from!" She purred.

He did not respond, His face darkening. His hand dropped across His sword that lay at His side.
"I am a Cimmerian." He growled, deep like a warning of a Great Cat.

"You are a slave!" Her voice now carried a harshness. "Do you not think I can see a slave by his eyes?" Now mocking.
"Barbarian Slave!" Now Admonishing.

An uneasy silence fell across the stone walled room. On all fours, She moved about the smoky room. A strange, erotic animal-like grace, Her shadow not quite where it should be.

"Where do you go, Cimmerian?"
"To the South" Retored He.
"Why?"
"It is warm there, and They do not ask questions!" Quoth He.

"Bah!" Her response, cynical. Her hand scooped up something from the Great Fire Hearth, and She threw that something into the fire. The fired screeched like a Bean Sidhe's wail, it roared and flared momentarily.

For a moment He was startled, then His eyes took on the look of an unwelcome surprise threatening.

"Money ... Women ... Thieves ... bah! Civilisation - bah! You, a Barbarian? In a short time your spine will be nailed to a tree! She spat venomously.

She pourd wine from an earthen Jug and handed it to Him excitedly. She seemed to curl about, staring at Him with rising sexual tension, energy. Her supple thighs rubbing together; the fire glistened off Her firm, oiled legs.

He drank from the cup though warily. The wines surface gleamed like polished silver. His eyes now never leaving Her.

"They said you would come ..." She smiled phosphorescently. Suddenly, Her features frozed, drained of the All entrancing warmth. A fixed smile, fixed eyes. Then fluid once more.
"From the North ... a man of great strength. A conqueror - a Man who would one day become a King by His own hand. One who would crush the snakes of the Earth under His sandaled feet."

Instantly, He sprang toward Her. "Snakes? Did you say snakes?"

She pulled back, gasped, a frightened look washed over her Swarthy face. Then laughing deeply, mocking Him. "What is it you seek, Barbarian?"

"A standard ... a Symbol, perhaps on a shield ... two snakes ..." He motioned with His massive arms and huge fists, " ... coming together ... facing each other ..." His fists clenching, His biceps flexing. "... but They are One!"

"With the Sun and the Moon below ... Black Sun, Black Moon." Her voice trembled.

"Yes!" He now moving every closer toward Her.

She slid away, Her shadow not quite keeping up with Her. "There is a price Barbarian."

"Name It" He growled.

Like a that of a She Panther, the Woman approached Him. Her lither figure rippled. He kept His ground, feeling the blood surge within Him. The fire crackled.
Parting Her thighs together in mounting passion, He took Her. She grabbed Him fiercely, pressing together, sliding and writhing. She fumbled trying to loosen her silken garment - and His rags!
Against each other they writhed, naked bodies glistening with perspiration. Her breath was fast, desperate, an impassioned blend of pain and desire. She stroked His hair, clawed at His back. He was thrusting In to her while she squirmed and slithered like a great reptile.

She gasped, and whispered into his ear at the height of passion ...
"In Zamora ... ohhh ... the crossroads of the world ... you will find what you look for in Zamora ... ohhh ...

Convulsing and writhing in violent orgasm, she clawed Him, taking from Him Her utimate pleasure.

He, too, had reached His climax. He thew His head back, eyes closed for The moment. As His orgasm sent tremors through is body He opened His eyes, the passioned expression now morphing into a veil of Terror.

She was moaning and crying in passion, but in Her open mouth He saw the Fangs of a Serpent. Her skin and Lips were a luminescent blue. Her fingers that were raking his back were as sharp claws, talons, smoke rose in serpentine wisps from Her nostrils. Her tongue - darting out of her mouth was slim and forked!

They once, were hooked in the embrace of love, but that embrace became now one of Death! He struggled to pull her arms down. Her breath, now the stench of putrid brimstone, blew into His face, burning Evil. Her open eyes were wide with a mixture of pure sexuality and malevolence. Blood ran down His back and shoulders from scores of deep lacerations. Her moans now unearthly howls. Her legs gripped Him tightly, but Her feet were became now what had transformed into her hands.

They struggled this way and that, thrashing and slithering, the fire rose violently behind them.

He struggled and strained with all His barbarian might against the Supernatural strength of the Serpent-Witch. Then He remebered, the training of the Pit. While all of Her strength was focused on Him, puling Him into Her, He suddenly turned, rolling toward the fire.
The Power was broken, and He rolled over Her and threw her headlong, howling, into the blaze.
She seemed to incinerate immediately, like an explosion. From the explosion, a bolt of Searing Flame seemd to leap out of the fireplace and fly in an incandescent ball around the room. The ball of fire crashed off pots and pans and other hangings on the rooms wall. Then it burst through the hanging in the doorway. Quickly, He followed the fireball, to see it cackling and screeching into the night. Long after it had gone He could still hear it. "Crom!" Said he.

He stepped out of the dwelling at dawn. Clad only in a cheap tunic and pantherskin loin cloth with his sword in its scabard. A voice turned Him around.

He had forgotten the figure under the furs, chained to the rock pillar. He saw now only a drift of snow and pile of furs, the gleaming quaint eyes underneath.

"Food! I have not eaten in days!" The voice croaked.
"And who says you will!" Responded He.
'Leave me food, so that I will have the strength when the wolves come. Let me die in not in hunger - but in battle!"
"Who are you?" asked He.

Standing, He beheld a smallish man, lean with brown glinting eyes of immense depth. He was slight, a Leopard compared to the Lion. Every feature radiated animal strength, cunning and ferocity.

"I am Subotai, a Thief and Archer. I am Hyrkanian, of the Great order of Kurlit." Quoth He. "And who are you?"

"I am Conan, a Cimmerian." responded Conan. "What are you doing here?"
"Dinner for Wolves" Grinned Subotai as he held out his manacled wrists.