The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane Read Online Free PDF Page A

sun.”
    Solomon Kane was silent for he was thinking of the fearful terror which had twisted John Redly's features in that last swift moment of awakening and life, ere doom struck. And a dim picture rose in his mind – that of a hairy severed hand crawling on its fingers like a great spider, blindly, through the dark night-time forests to scale a wall and fumble open a pair of bedroom shutters. Here his vision stopped, recoiling from the continuance of that dark and bloody drama. What terrible fires of hate had blazed in the soul of the doomed necromancer and what hideous powers had been his, to so send that bloody hand groping on its mission, guided by the magic and will of that burning brain!
    Yet to make sure, Solomon asked:
    “And was the hand ever found?”
    “Nay, sir. Men found the place where it had fallen when it was thrown from the cell, but it was gone, and a trail of red led into the forest. Doubtless a wolf devoured it.”
    “Doubtless,” answered Solomon Kane. “And were Simeon's hands great and hairy with a ring on the second finger of the right hand?”
    “Aye, sir. A silver ring coiled like unto a snake.'
     

Red Shadows
    Original title: Solomon Kane

 
    Red Shadows

    I
    T HE C OMING OF S OLOMON

    The moonlight shimmered hazily, making silvery mists of illusion among the shadowy trees. A faint breeze whispered down the valley, bearing a shadow that was not of the moon-mist. A faint scent of smoke was apparent.
     

     
    The man whose long, swinging strides, unhurried yet unswerving, had carried him for many a mile since sunrise, stopped suddenly. A movement in the trees had caught his attention, and he moved silently toward the shadows, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his long, slim rapier.
    Warily he advanced, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness that brooded under the trees. This was a wild and menacing country; death might be lurking under those trees. Then his hand fell away from the hilt and he leaned forward. Death indeed was there, but not in such shape as might cause him fear.
    “The fires of Hades!” he murmured. “A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.”
    The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.
    “You – who are – you?” her words came in gasps.
    “Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.” The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.
    The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet.
    “Tell me.” His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
    “Le Loup,” she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. “He and his men – descended upon our village – a mile up the valley. They robbed – slew – burned –”
    “That, then, was the smoke I scented,” muttered the man. “Go on, child.”
    “I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me – and – caught me–” The words died away in a shuddering silence.
    “I understand, child. Then –?”
    “Then – he – he – stabbed me – with his dagger – oh, blessed saints! – mercy –”
    Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.
    “Dead!” he muttered.
    Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oath by saints or devils.
    “Men shall die for this,” he said coldly.
    II
    T HE L AIR OF THE W OLF

    “You are a fool!” The words came in a cold snarl that curdled the hearer's blood.
    He who had just been named a fool lowered his eyes sullenly without answer.
    “You and all the others I lead!” The speaker leaned forward, his fist pounding emphasis on the rude table between them. He was a tall, rangy-built man, supple as a leopard and with a lean, cruel, predatory face. His eyes danced and glittered