His hand dipped into his robe and came out with something shining--a glistening sphere. This he threw suddenly at Conan. The Cimmerian contemptuously struck it aside with his sword--at the instant of contact there was a sharp explosion, a flare of white, blinding flame, and Conan pitched senseless to the ground. 'He is dead?' Tarascus' tone was more assertion than inquiry. 'No. He is but senseless. He will recover his senses in a few hours. Bid your men bind his arms and legs and lift him into my chariot.' With a gesture Tarascus did so, and they heaved the senseless king into the chariot, grunting with their burden. Xaltotun threw a velvet cloak over his body, completely covering him from any who might peer in. He gathered the reins in his hands. 'I'm for Belverus,' he said. 'Tell Amalric that I will be with him if he needs me. But with Conan out of the way, and his army broken, lance and sword should suffice for the rest of the conquest. Prospero cannot be bringing more than ten thousand men to the field, and will doubtless fall back to Tarantia when he hears the news of the battle. Say nothing to Amalric or Valerius or anyone about our capture. Let them think Conan died in the fall of the cliffs.' He looked at the man-at-arms for a long space, until the guardsman moved restlessly, nervous under the scrutiny. 'What is that about your waist?' Xaltotun demanded. 'Why, my girdle, may it please you, my lord!' stuttered the amazed guardsman. 'You lie!' Xaltotun's laugh was merciless as a sword-edge. 'It is a poisonous serpent! What a fool you are, to wear a reptile about your waist!' With distended eyes the man looked down; and to his utter horror he saw the buckle of his girdle rear up at him. It was a snake's head! He saw the evil eyes and the dripping fangs, heard the hiss and felt the loathsome contact of the thing about his body. He screamed hideously and struck at it with his naked hand, felt its fangs flesh themselves in that hand--and then he stiffened and fell heavily. Tarascus looked down at him without expression. He saw only the leathern girdle and the buckle, the pointed tongue of which was stuck in the guardsman's palm. Xaltotun turned his hypnotic gaze on Tarascus' squire, and the man turned ashen and began to tremble, but the king interposed: 'Nay, we can trust him.' The sorcerer tautened the reins and swung the horses around. 'See that this piece of work remains secret. If I am needed, let Altaro, Orastes' servant, summon me as I have taught him. I will be in your palace at Belverus.' Tarascus lifted his hand in salutation, but his expression was not pleasant to see as he looked after the departing mesmerist. 'Why should he spare the Cimmerian?' whispered the frightened squire. 'That I am wondering myself,' grunted Tarascus.