Duar the Accursed By CLIFFORD BALL _A surprizing tale about the Black Tower and the intrusion therein of a barbarian adventurer--a strange weird tale of the love of a queen for her enemy._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales May 1937. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Nione of the Krall Dynasty, ruler of Ygoth, for all her lithe beauty of rounded limbs, sat on her throne like a man, with an elbow resting on crossed knees and knuckles under chin. Before her a ring of guards surrounded a bareheaded man of great stature whose bronze, half-naked body was loaded down with heavy chains. Many scars and sword-cuts testified to the difficulty of his capture. The man stood insolently gazing over the Queen's head at the purple and gold of the tapestries as though something of great interest held his attention to their scarlet colors. The fair occupant of the throne, accustomed to bended knees and supplications, was rapidly losing her temper. "Speak, dog!" she cried. "Find your tongue, or by Krall I'll have my torturers find it with the plucking-tongs!" At last the captive deemed it best to answer. He did not hurry. His gaze wandered slowly from the walls to the guards, from the guards to the chains on his limbs, at which he stared as though in surprized discovery, and finally to the enraged features of Queen Nione of Ygoth. "Faith," he said, and his tone was slurred and deep, "by the look of you you'd be a better warrior than a man's mistress!" Around him his chains rattled as the guards gave nervous starts. The two women-slaves crouching at the foot of the dais turned as pale as their brown skins would permit. Queen Nione lost all of her regal bearing and some of her dignity. "I am no man's mistress!" she shrieked like any fish-wife. "But you will learn before long who I am, creature! I'll brand my name on you with letters of fire!" "And I'll carry it a long way, Your Majesty," interrupted the undaunted captive. A slight curl of his firm lips belied any humility. "Only to the slave galleys, dog!" taunted Nione. "I see by the marks on your back you are not unacquainted with them. You've felt the weight of the lash before." "Sure. And I've felt the weight of a crown, too, but perhaps a little less heavily, for the mark of it seems to be gone." The prisoner smiled with a flash of white teeth that split the tanned grimness of his countenance like a beam of light over a dark battlefield. One of the guards jerked impatiently on a chain. The smile faded as the captive gave his captor a level stare holding the threat of death behind calm blue eyes. The guard shuffled his feet nervously until Queen Nione, watching the byplay, chose to become expressive.