at the face of the foremost priest at the stairway top. It caught the priest a glancing blow, fell among the others; rolled and bounced away.
They shrank back from it. Before they could muster again the Viking was up the steps and charging them, oar club flinging like a flail. And at his heels came Kenton, making for the black cabin's door.
There were eight of the black robes facing them. The Norseman's oar struck, shattering the skull of one like an egg shell. Before he could raise it again two of the priests had darted in upon him, stabbing, thrusting with their spears. Kenton's sword swept down, bit deep into the bone of an arm whose point was touching Sigurd's breast. With quick upward thrust he ripped that priest from navel to chin. The Viking dropped one hand from the oar, caught the shaft of the second spear, twisted it out of the black robe's grip and ran it through his heart. Down went another under bite of Kenton's blade.
Other priests came streaming from every passageway and corner of the black deck, armed with swords and spears and bearing shields. Out they streamed, screaming. And out of the black cabin rushed Klaneth, roaring, a great sword in hand. Behind him were Gigi and the Persian. The black priest came straight on, charging like a bull through the half ring of his servitors. But Gigi and the Persian slipped over to the serpent drum, stood there watching.
For an instant the black priest stood towering over Kenton. Then he struck downward, a lightning blow designed to cleave Kenton from shoulder to hip.
But Kenton was not there when the blow fell. Swifter than the sword of Klaneth he had leaped aside, thrust out his own blade—
Felt it bite deep into the black priest's side! The black priest howled and fell back. Instantly his acolytes streamed in between him and the besieged pair. They circled them.
"Back to back," shouted the Viking. Kenton heard the great club hum, saw three of the black robes mowed down by it as by giant flail. With sweep and thrust he cleared away the priests ravening at him.
Now the fighting had carried them close to the drum. He saw the Persian, scimitar unsheathed and held by rigid arm. And he was cursing, sobbing, quivering like a hound held in leash and held back from his quarry. Gigi, froth upon the corners of wide open mouth, face contorted, stood with long arms outstretched, hands trembling, shaking with that same eagerness.
Desire, Kenton knew, to join with him and Sigurd in that battle; both held back by vows not to be broken.
Gigi pointed downward. Kenton followed the gesture, saw a priest crawling, sword in hand, and almost within reach of the Viking's feet. One sweep of the sword against Sigurd's legs and he was done for; hamstrung. Forgetting his own defense, Kenton leaned forward, cut downward. The head of the creeping priest jumped from his shoulders, rolled away.
But as he straightened he saw Klaneth again above him, poised to strike!
"The end!" thought Kenton. He dropped flat, rolled away from the falling edge.
He had not counted on the Viking. Sigurd had seen that swift by-play. He swept his oar, held horizontally, in a gigantic punch. It crashed into Klaneth's chest.
The sword stroke fell short, the black priest was hurled backward, half falling for all his strength and massive bulk.
"Gigi! Zubran! To me!" he howled. Before Kenton could rise, two priests were on him, clawing him, stabbing at him. He released his grip on his sword; drew the poniard of Zachel. He thrust upward; felt a body upon him stiffen, then collapse like a pricked balloon, felt too, the edge of a sword slice into his shoulder. He struck again, blindly; was drenched with sudden flood of blood. He heard a bubbling whispering and the second weight was gone.
He gripped his sword, staggered upright. Of all Klaneth's pack not more than half a dozen were on their feet. They had drawn back, out of reach of the Viking's club. Sigurd stood, drawing in great breaths. And the black priest was gasping too, holding his broad chest where the oar of Sigurd had struck. At his feet was a little pool of blood, dripping from where the sword of Nabu had pierced him. "Gigi! Zubran!" he panted. "Take these dogs!"
The drummer leered at him. "Nay, Klaneth," he answered. "There was no vow to aid you."
He bent over the tall drum, with heave of broad shoulders he hurled it over the side.
From the priests arose a groan. Klaneth stood, silent, struck dumb.
There came from the waves touching the ship a sound—sonorous and sinister.
A thunderous drumming, menacing, malignant—summoning! Br-oom-rr- oom-oom!
The serpent drum swinging against the side of the ship! Lifted by the waves and by their arms beaten against the ship!
The Summoner of Nergal!
The ship trembled. A shadow fell upon the sea. Around Klaneth a darkness began to gather.
More angrily thundered the wave-beaten drum. The mists about the black priest thickened, writhed; beginning that hellish transmutation of Nergal's priest into the dread self of the Lord of the Dead.
"Strike!" howled Gigi. "Quick! Bite deep!"
He ran to the rail; dropped over it.
Kenton rushed straight upon that cloudy horror within which the black priest moved. His sword swept into it; struck. He heard a shriek, agonized, unbelieving. The voice of Klaneth. He struck again.
And striking realized that the drumming had ceased, that the voice of the drum was stilled. He heard Gigi's shout:
"Bite again. Wolf! Bite deep!"
The dark mist around Klaneth cleared. He stood there, dead eyes closed, hand holding an arm from which dark blood welled through clasping fingers.
And as Kenton raised his sword to strike again the black priest dashed into his eyes the blood from the hand that had held the wounded arm. Blinded, Kenton held his sword at mid-stroke. The black priest rushed upon him. Mechanically, through dimmed sight, he thrust out his blade to meet that rush; saw Sigurd driving down upon the remaining priests; heard the crack of bone as red stained oar met their bodies.
His sword struck against Klaneth's, and was beaten down.
Kenton's foot slipped on a gout of blood. He fell. The black priest crashed on him; his arms encircled him. Over and over they rolled. He saw Sigurd, whimpering with eagerness, striving to strike...
Suddenly Klaneth rolled over, Kenton on top of him; his grip relaxed; he grew limp; lay inert.
Kenton knelt upon him; looked up at the Norseman.
"Not yours," he gasped. "Mine!"
He sought for the dagger at his belt. The body of the black priest stiffened. Then, like a released spring, he leaped upon his feet, throwing Kenton away.
Before the Viking could raise his club Klaneth was at the rail.
He hurled himself over it into the sea!
A hundred feet away, the serpent drum floated, its top slit across by Gigi's knife. The head of Klaneth arose beside it, his hands gripped it. Under the touch the huge cylinder dipped to him with grotesque genuflection. From it came a dismal sound, like a lament.
Out
