BY ROBERT E HOWARD
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales June 1929.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Landlord, ho!" The shout broke the lowering silence and reverberatedthrough the black forest with sinister echoing.
"This place hath a forbidding aspect, meseemeth."
Two men stood in front of the forest tavern. The building was low,long and rambling, built of heavy logs. Its small windows were heavilybarred and the door was closed. Above the door its sinister sign showedfaintly—a cleft skull.
This door swung slowly open and a bearded face peered out. The owner ofthe face stepped back and motioned his guests to enter—with a grudginggesture it seemed. A candle gleamed on a table; a flame smoldered inthe fireplace.
"Your names?"
"Solomon Kane," said the taller man briefly.
"Gaston l'Armon," the other spoke curtly. "But what is that to you?"
"Strangers are few in the Black Forest," grunted the host, "banditsmany. Sit at yonder table and I will bring food."
The two men sat down, with the bearing of men who have traveled far.One was a tall gaunt man, clad in a featherless hat and somber blackgarments, which set off the dark pallor of his forbidding face. Theother was of a different type entirely, bedecked with lace and plumes,although his finery was somewhat stained from travel. He was handsomein a bold way, and his restless eyes shifted from side to side, neverstill an instant.
The host brought wine and food to the rough-hewn table and then stoodback in the shadows, like a somber image. His features, now recedinginto vagueness, now luridly etched in the firelight as it leaped andflickered, were masked in a beard which seemed almost animal-like inthickness. A great nose curved above this beard and two small red eyesstared unblinkingly at his guests.
"Who are you?" suddenly asked the younger man.
"I am the host of the Cleft Skull Tavern," sullenly replied the other.His tone seemed to challenge his questioner to ask further.
"Do you have many guests?" l'Armon pursued.
"Few come twice," the host grunted.
Kane started and glanced up straight into those small red eyes, as ifhe sought for some hidden meaning in the host's words. The flaming eyesseemed to dilate, then dropped sullenly before the Englishman's coldstare.
"I'm for bed," said Kane abruptly, bringing his meal to a close. "Imust take up my journey by daylight."
"And I," added the Frenchman. "Host, show us to our chambers."
Black shadows wavered on the walls as the two followed their silenthost down a long, dark hall. The stocky, broad body of their guideseemed to grow and expand in the light of the small candle which hecarried, throwing a long, grim shadow behind him.
At a certain door he halted, indicating that they were to sleep there.They entered; the host lit a candle with the one he carried, thenlurched back the way he had come.
In the chamber the two men glanced at each other. The only furnishingsof the room were a couple of bunks, a chair or two and a heavy table.
"Let us see if there be any way to make fast the door," said Kane. "Ilike not the looks of mine host."
"There are racks on door and jamb for a bar," said Gaston, "but no bar."
"We might break up the table and use its pieces for a bar," mused Kane.
"Mon Dieu," said l'Armon, "you are timorous, m'sieu."
Kane scowled. "I like not being murdered in my sleep," he answeredgruffly.
"My faith!" t