This Argon text is from the now-dead link http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/5934/theeye.htm, except that here we've highlighted all the typo-type clear errors for ease in judging Eye of Argon reading contests.

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 This is a fannish legend.  It was discovered in an APA by
 a SF Bay Area fan in approximately 1970, and has been
 passed on, as the transcriber's note at the end mentions.
 It has been the object of competitive readings. The
 transcriber (not I) wishes to remain anonymous.

There are no copyright notices on the original, and it
 pre-dates the current law, so it is NOT protected in any
 way.

There is a transcriber's note at the end.

                 THE EYE OF ARGON by Jim Theis

     The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust
 racked climes of the baren land which dominates large
 portions of the Norgolian empire.  Age worn hoof prints
 smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against
 the dust splattered crust of earth.  The tireless sun cast
 its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way
 through its daily revolution.  Small rodents scampered
 about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments
 of their dismal lives.  Dust sprayed over three heaving
 mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome
 cargoes of their struggling overseers.

     "Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian
 haunts of hell, barbarian", gasped the first soldier.


     "Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of
 death, wretch!" returned Grignr.

     A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the
 massive barbarians hide enameled shield as his rippling
 right arm thrust forth, sending a steel shod blade to the
 hilt into the soldiers vital organs.  The disemboweled
 mercenary crumpled from his saddle and sank to the clouded
 sward, sprinkling the parched dust with crimson droplets
 of escaping life fluid.

     The enthused barbarian swilveled about, his shock of
 fiery red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents
 as he faced the attack of the defeated soldier's fellow in
 arms.

     "Damn you, barbarian" Shrieked the soldier as he
 observed his comrade in death.

     A gleaming scimitar smote a heavy blow against the
 renegade's spiked helmet, bringing a heavy cloud over the
 Ecordian's misting brain.  Shaking off the effects of the
 pounding blow to his head, Grignr brought down his scarlet
 streaked edge against the soldier's crudely forged
 hauberk, clanging harmlessly to the left side of his
 opponent.  The soldier's stead whinnied as he directed the
 horse back from the driving blade of the barbarian.
 Grignr leashed his mount forward as the hoarsely piercing
 battle cry of his wilderness bred race resounded from his
 grinding lungs. A twirling blade bounced harmlessly from
 the mighty thief's buckler as his rolling right arm cleft
 upward, sending a foot of blinding steel ripping through
 the Simarian's exposed gullet.  A gasping gurgle from the
 soldier's writhing mouth as he tumbled to the golden sand
 at his feet, and wormed agonizingly in his death bed.

     Grignr's emerald green orbs glared lustfully at the
 wallowing soldier struggling before his chestnut swirled
 mount.  His scowling voice reverberated over the dying
 form in a tone of mocking mirth.  "You city bred dogs
 should learn not to antagonize your better."  Reining his
 weary mount ahead, grignr resumed his journey to the
 Noregolian city of Gorzam, hoping to discover wine, women,
 and adventure to boil the wild blood coarsing through his
 savage veins.

     The trek to Gorzom was forced upon Grignr when the
 soldiers of Crin were leashed upon him by a faithless
 concubine he had wooed.  His scandalous activities
 throughout the Simarian city had unleashed throngs of
 havoc and uproar among it's refined patricians, leading
 them to tack a heavy reward over his head.  He had barely
 managed to escape through the back entrance of the inn he
 had been guzzling in, as a squad of soldiers tounced upon
 him.  After spilling a spout of blood from the leader of
 the mercenaries as he dismembered one of the officer's
 arms, he retreated to his mount to make his way towards
 Gorzom, rumoured to contain hoards of plunder, and many
 young wenches for any man who has the backbone to wrest
 them away.


                               -2-


     Arriving after dusk in Gorzom,grignr descended down a
 dismal alley, reining his horse before a beaten tavern.
 The redhaired giant strode into the dimly lit hostelry
 reeking of foul odors, and cheap wine.  The air was heavy
 with chocking fumes spewing from smolderingtorches encased
 within theden's earthen packed walls.  Tables were
 clustered with groups of drunken thieves, and cutthroats,
 tossing dice, or making love to willing prostitutes.

     Eyeing a slender female crouched alone at a nearby
 bench, Grignr advanced wishing to wholesomely occupy his
 time.  The flickering torches cast weird shafts of
 luminescence dancing over the half naked harlot of his
 choice, her stringy orchid twines of hair swaying
 gracefully over the lithe opaque nose, as she raised a
 half drained mug to her pale red lips.

     Glancing upward, the alluring complexion noted the
 stalwart giant as he rapidly approached.  A faint glimmer
 sparked from the pair of deep blue ovals of the amorous
 female as she motioned toward Grignr, enticing him to join
 her.  The barbarian seated himself upon a stool at the
 wenches side, exposing his body, naked save for a loin
 cloth brandishing a long steel broad sword, an iron
 spiraled battle helmet, and a thick leather sandals, to
 her unobstructed view.

     "Thou hast need to occupy your time,
 barbarian",questioned the female?

     "Only if something worth offering is within my
 reach."  Stated Grignr,as his hands crept to embrace the
 tempting female, who welcomed them with open willingness.

     "From where do you come barbarian, and by what are
 you called?" Gasped the complying wench, as Grignr
 smothered her lips with the blazing touch of his flaming
 mouth.

     The engrossed titan ignored the queries of the
 inquisitive female, pulling her towards him and crushing
 her sagging nipples to his yearning chest.  Without
 struggle she gave in, winding her soft arms around the
 harshly bronzedhide of Grignr corded shoulder blades, as
 his calloused hands caressed her firm protruding busts.

     "You make love well wench," Admitted Grignr as he
 reached for the vessel of potent wine his charge had been
 quaffing.

     A flying foot caught the mug Grignr had taken hold
 of, sending its blood red contents sloshing over a
 flickering crescent; leashing tongues of bright orange
 flame to the foot trodden floor.

     "Remove yourself Sirrah, the wench belongs to me;"
 Blabbered a drunken soldier, too far consumed by the
 influences of his virile brew to take note of the superior
 size of his adversary.

     Grignr lithly bounded from the startled female, his
 face lit up to an ashen red ferocity, and eyes locked in a
 searing feral blaze toward the swaying soldier.

     "To hell with you, braggard!" Bellowed the angered
 Ecordian, as he hefted his finely honed broad sword.

     The staggering soldier clumsily reached towards the
 pommel of his dangling sword, but before his hands ever
 touched the oaken hilt a silvered flash was slicing the
 heavy air.  The thews of the savages lashing right arm
 bulged from the glistening bronzed hide as his blade bit
 deeply into the soldiers neck, loping off the confused
 head of his senseless tormentor.

     With a nauseating thud the severed oval toppled to
 the floor, as the segregated torso of Grignr's bovine
 antagonist swayed, then collapsed in a pool of swirled
 crimson.

     In the confusion the soldier's fellows confronted
 Grignr with unsheathed cutlasses, directed toward the
 latters scowling make-up.

     "The slut should have picked his quarry more
 carefully!"  Roared the victor in a mocking baritone
 growl, as he wiped his dripping blade on the prostrate
 form, and returned it to its scabbard.

     "The fool should have shown more prudence, however
 you shall rue your actions while rotting in the pits."
 Stated one of the sprawled soldier's comrades.

     Grignr's hand began to remove his blade from its
 leather housing, but retarded the motion in face of the
 blades waving before his face.

     "Dismiss your hand from the hilt, barbarbian, or you
 shall find a foot of steel sheathed in your gizzard."

     Grignr weighed his position observing his plight,
 where-upon he took the soldier's advice as the only
 logical choice.  To attempt to hack his way from his
 present predicament could only warrant certain death.  He
 was of no mind to bring upon his own demise if an
 alternate path presented itself.  The will to necessitate
 his life forced him to yield to the superior force in
 hopes of a moment of carlessness later upon the part of
 his captors in which he could effect a more plausible
 means of escape.

     "You may steady your arms, I will go without a
 struggle."

     "Your decision is a wise one, yet perhaps you would
 have been better off had you forced death," the soldier's
 mouth wrinkled to a sadistic grin of knowing mirth as he
 prodded his prisoner on with his sword point.

     After an indiscriminate period of marching through
 slinking alleyways and dim moonlighted streets the
 procession confronted a massive seraglio. The palace area
 was surrounded by an iron grating, with a lush garden upon
 all sides.

     The group was admitted through the gilded gateway and
 Grignr was ledalong a stone pathway bordered by plush
 vegitation lustfully enhanced by the moon's shimmering
 rays.  Upon reaching the palace the group was granted
 entrance, and after several minutes of explanation, led
 through several winding corridors to a richly draped
 chamber.

     Confronting the group was a short stocky man seated
 upona golden throne.  Tapestries of richly draped regal
 blue silk covered all walls of the chamber, while the
 steps leading to the throne were plated with sparkling
 white ivory.  The man upon the throne had a naked wench
 seated at each of his arms, and a trusted advisor seated
 in back of him.  At each cornwr of the chamber a guard
 stood at attention, with upraised pikes supported in their
 hands, golden chainmail adorning their torso's and barred
 helmets emitting scarlet plumes enshrouding their heads.
 The man rose from his throne to the dias surrounding it.
 His plush turquois robe dangled loosely from his chuncky
 frame.

     The soldiers surrounding Grignr fell to their knees
 with heads bowed to the stone masonry of the floor in
 fearful dignity to their sovereign, leige.

     "Explain the purpose of this intrusion upon my
 chateau!"

     "Your sirenity, resplendent in noble grandeur, we
 have brought this yokel before you (the soldier gestured
 toward Grignr) for the redress or your all knowing wisdon
 in judgement regarding his fate."

     "Down on your knees, lout, and pay proper homage to
 your sovereign!" commanded the pudgy noble of Grignr.

     "By the surly beard of Mrifk, Grignr kneels to no
 man!"  scowled the massive barbarian.

     "You dare to deal this blasphemous act to me!  You
 are indeed brave stranger, yet your valor smacks of
 foolishness."

     "I find you to be the only fool, sitting upon your
 pompous throne, enhancing the rolling flabs of your belly
 in the midst of your elaborate luxuryand ..."  The soldier
 standing at Grignr's side smote him heavily in the face
 with the flat of his sword, cutting short the harsh words
 and knocking his battered helmet to the masonry with an
 echo-ing clang.

     The paunchy noble's sagging round face flushed
 suddenly pale, then pastily lit up to a lustrous cherry
 red radiance.  His lips trembled with malicious rage,
 while emitting a muffled sibilant gibberish.  His sagging
 flabs rolled like a tub of upset jelly, then compressed as
 he sucked in his gut in an attempt to conceal his
 softness.

     The prince regained his statue, then spoke to the
 soldiers surrounding Grignr, his face conforming to an
 ugly expression of sadistic humor.

     "Take this uncouth heathen to the vault of misery,
 and be sure that his agonies are long and drawn out before
 death can release him."

     "As you wish sire, your command shall be heeded
 immediately," answered the soldier on the right of Grignr
 as he stared into the barbarians seemingly unaffected
 face.

     The advisor seated in the back of the noble slowly
 rose and advanced to the side of his master, motioning the
 wenches seated at his sides to remove themselves.  He
 lowered his head and whispered to the noble.

     "Eminence, the punishment you have decreed will cause
 much misery to this scum, yet it will last only a short
 time, then release him to a land beyond the sufferings of
 the human body.  Why not mellow him in one of the
 subterranean vaults for a few days, then send him to life
 labor in one of your buried mines.  To one such as he, a
 life spent in the confinement of the stygian pits will be
 an infinitely more appropiate and lasting torture."

     The noble cupped his drooping double chin in the
 folds of his briming palm, meditating for a moment upon
 the rationality of the councilor's word's, then raised his
 shaggy brown eyebrows and turned toward the advisor, eyes
 aglow.

     "...As always Agafnd, you speak with great wisdom.
 Your words ring of great knowledge concerning the nature
 of one such as he ," sayeth , the king.  The noble turned
 toward the prisoner with a noticable shimmer reflecting in
 his frog-like eyes, and his lips contorting to a greasy
 grin. "I have decided to void my previous decree.  The
 prisoner shall be removed to one of the palaces
 underground vaults.  There he shall stay until I have
 decided that he has sufficiently simmered, whereupon he is
 to be allowed to spend the remainder of his days at labor
 in one of my mines."

     Upon hearing this, Grignr realized that his fate
 would be far less merciful than death to one such as he,
 who is used to roaming the countryside at will.  A life of
 confinement would be more than his body and mind could
 stand up to.  This type of life would be immeasurably
 worse than death.

     "I shall never understand the ways if your twisted
 civilization.  I simply defend my honor and am condemned
 to life confinement, by a pig who sits on his royal ass
 wooing whores, and knows nothing of the affairs of the
 land he imagines to rule!" Lectures Grignr ?

     "Enough of this!  Away with the slut before I loose
 my control!"

     Seeing the peril of his position, Grignr searched for
 an opening. Crushing prudence to the sward, he plowed into
 the soldier at his left arm taking hold of his sword, and
 bounding to the dias supporting the prince before the
 startled guards could regain their composure.  Agafnd
 leaped Grignr and his sire, but found a sword blade
 permeating the length of his ribs before he could loosed
 his weapon.

     The councilor slumped to his knees as Grignr slid his
 crimsoned blade from Agfnd's rib cage.  The fat prince
 stood undulating in insurmountable fear before the edge of
 the fiery maned comet, his flabs of jellied blubber
 pulsating to and fro in ripples of flowing terror.

     "Where is your wisdom and power now, your magjesty?"
 Growled Grignr.

     The prince went rigid as Grignr discerned him glazing
 over his shoulder.  He swlived to note the cause of the
 noble's attention, raised his sword over his head, and
 prepared to leash a vicious downward cleft, but fell short
 as the haft of a steel rimed pike clashed against his
 unguarded skull.  Then blackness and solitude.  Silence
 enshrouding and ever peaceful reind supreme.

     "Before me, sirrah!  Before me as always! Ha, Ha Ha,
 Haaaa...", nobly cackled.


                               -3-


     Consciousness returned to Grignr in stygmatic pools
 as his mind gradually cleared of the cobwebs cluttering
 its inner recesses, yet the stygian cloud of charcoal
 ebony remained.  An incompatible shield of blackness,
 enhanced by the bleak abscense of sound.

     Grignr's muddled brain reeled from the shock of the
 blow he had recieved to the base of his skull.  The events
 leading to his predicament were slow to filter back to
 him.  He dickered with the notion that he was dead and had
 descended or sunk, however it may be, to the shadowed land
 beyond the the aperature of the grave, but rejected this
 hypothesis when his memory sifted back within his grips.
 This was not the land of the dead, it was something
 infinitely more precarious than anything the grave could
 offer.  Death promised an infinity of peace, not the
 finite misery of an inactive life of confined torture,
 forever concealed from the life bearing shafts of the
 beloved rising sun.  The orb that had been before taken
 for granted, yet now cherished above all else.  To be
 forever refused further glimpses of the snow capped
 summits of the land of his birth, never again to witness
 the thrill of plundering unexplored lands beyond the crest
 of a bleeding horizon, and perhaps worst of all the denial
 to ever again encompass the lustful excitement of
 caressing the naked curves of the body of a trim yound
 wench.

     This was indeed one of the buried chasms of Hell
 concealed within the inner depths of the palace's despised
 interior.  A fearful ebony chamber devised to drive to the
 brinks of insanity the minds of the unfortunately
 condemned, through the inapt solitude of a limbo of
 listless dreary silence.


                             -3 1/2-


     A tightly rung elliptical circle or torches cast
 their wavering shafts prancing morbidly over the smooth
 surface of a rectangular, ridged alter. Expertly chisled
 forms of grotesque gargoyles graced the oblique rim
 protruberating the length of the grim orifice of death,
 staring forever ahead into nothingness in complete
 ignorance of the bloody rites enacted in their prescence.
 Brown flaking stains decorated the golden surface of the
 ridge surrounding the alter, which banked to a small slit
 at the lower right hand corner of the altar.  The slit
 stood above a crudely pounded pail which had several
 silver meshed chalices hanging at its sides. Dangling at
 the rimof golden mallet, the handle of which was engraved
 with images of twisted faces and groved at its far end
 with slots designed for a snug hand grip.  The head of the
 mallet was slightly larger than a clenched fist and shaped
 into a smooth oval mass.

     Encircling the marble altar was a congregation of
 leering shamen. Eerie chants of a bygone age, originating
 unknown eons before the memory of man, were being uttered
 from the buried recesses of the acolytes' deep lings.
 Orange paint was smeared in generous globules over the
 tops of thw Priests' wrinkled shaven scalps, while golden
 rings projected from the lobes of their pink ears.  Ornate
 robes of lusciour purple satin enclosed their bulging
 torsos, attached around their waists with silvered silk
 lashes latched with ebony buckles in the shape of morose
 mis-shaped skulls. Dangling around their necks were oval
 fashoned medalions held by thin gold chains, featuring in
 their centers blood red rubys which resembled crimson
 fetish eyeballs.  Cushoning their bare feet were plush red
 felt slippers with pointed golden spikes projecting from
 their tips.

     Situated in front of the altar, and directly adjacent
 to the copper pail was a massive jade idol; a misshaped,
 hideous bust of the shamens' pagan diety.  The shimmering
 green idol was placed in a sitting posture on an ornately
 carved golden throne raised upon a round, dvory plated
 dias; it bulging arms and webbed hands resting on the
 padded arms of the seat.  Its head was entwined in golden
 snake-like coils hanging over its oblong ears, which
 tappered off to thin hollow points.  Its nose was a
 bulging triangular mass, sunken in at its sides with tow
 gaping nostrils.  Dramatic beneath the nostrils was a
 twisted, shaggy lipped mouth, giving the impression of a
 slovering sadistic grimace.

     At the foot of the heathen diety a slender, pale
 faced female, naked but for a golden, jeweled harness
 enshrouding her huge outcropping breasts, supporting long
 silver laces which extended to her thigh, stood before the
 pearl white field with noticable shivers traveling up and
 down the length of her exquisitely molded body.  Her
 delicate lips trembled beneath soft narrow hands as she
 attemped to conceal herself from the piercing stare of the
 ambivalent idol.

     Glaring directly down towards her was the stoney,
 cycloptic face of the bloated diety.  Gaping from its
 single obling socket was scintillating, many fauceted
 scarlet emerald, a brilliant gem seeming to possess a life
 all of its own.  A priceless gleaming stone, capable of
 domineering the wealth of conquering empires...the eye of
 Argon.


                               -4-


     All knowledge of measuring time had escaped Grignr.
 When a person is deprived of the sun, moon, and stars, he
 looses all conception of time as he had previously
 understood it.  It seemed as if years had passed if time
 were being measured by terms of misery and mental anguish,
 yet he estimated that his stay had only been a few days in
 length.  He has slept three times and had been fed five
 times since his awakening in the crypt.  However, when the
 actions of the body are restricted its needs are also
 affected. The need for nourishmnet and slumber are
 directly proportional to the functions the body has
 performed, meaning that when free and active Grignr may
 become hungry every six hours and witness the desire for
 sleep every fifteen hours, whereas in his present
 condition he may encounter the need for food every ten
 hours, and the want for rest every twenty hours.  All
 methods he had before depended upon were extinct in the
 dismal pit.  Hence, he may have been imprisoned for ten
 minutes or ten years, he did not know, resulting in a
 disheartened emotion deep within his being.

     The food, if you can honor the moldering lumps of
 fetid mush to that extent, was born to him by two guards
 who opened a portal at the top of his enclosure and shoved
 it to him in wooden bowls, retrieving the food and water
 bowels from his previous meal at the same time, after
 which they threw back the bolts on the iron latch and
 returned to their other duties. Since deprived of all
 other means of nourishment, Grignr was impelled to eat the
 tainted slop in order to ward off the paings of
 starvation, though as he stuffed it into his mouth with
 his filthy fingers and struggled to force it down his
 throat, he imagined it was that which had been spurned by
 the hounds stationed at various segments of the palace.

     There was little in the baren vault that could occupy
 his body or mind.  He had paced out the length and width
 of the enclosure time and time again and tested every
 granite slab which consisted the walls of the prison in
 hopes of finding a hidden passage to freedom, all of which
 was to no avail other than to keep him busy and distract
 his mind from wandering to thoughts of what he believed
 was his future.  He had memorized the number of strides
 from one end to the other of the cell, and knew the exact
 number of slabs which made up the bleak dungeon.  Numorous
 schemes were introduced and alternately discarded in turn
 as they succored to unravel to him no means of escape
 which stood the slightest chance of sucess.

     Anguish continued to mount as his means of occupation
 were rapidly exhausted.  Suddenly without no tive, he
 wasrouted from his contemplations as he detected a faint
 scratching sound at the end of the crypt opposite him.
 The sound seemed to be caused by something trying to
 scrape away at the grantite blocks the floor of the
 enclosure consisted of, the sandy scratching of something
 like an animal's claws.

     Grignr gradually groped his way to the other end of
 the vault carefully feeling his way along with his hands
 ahead of him.  When a few inches from the wall, a loud,
 penetrating squeal, and the scampering of small padded
 feet reverberated from the walls of the roughly hewn
 chamber.

     Grignr threw his hands up to shield his face, and
 flung himself backwards upon his buttocks.  A fuzzy form
 bounded to his hairy chest, burying its talons in his
 flesh while gnashing toward his throat with its grinding
 white teeth;its sour, fetid breath scortching the sqirming
 barbarians dilating nostrils.  Grignr grappled with the
 lashing flexor muscles of the repugnant body of a
 garganuan brownhided rat, striving to hold its razor teeth
 from his juicy jugular, as its beady grey organs of sight
 glazed into the flaring emeralds of its prey.

     Taking hold of the rodent around its lean, growling
 stomach with both hands Grignr pried it from his crimson
 rent breast, removing small patches of flayed flesh from
 his chest in the motion between the squalid black claws of
 the starving beast.  Holding the rodent at arms length, he
 cupped his righthand over its frothing face, contrcting
 his fingers into a vice-like fist over the quivering head.
 Retaining his grips on the rat, grignr flexed his
 outstretched arms while slowly twisting his right hand
 clockwise and his left hand counter clockwise motion.  The
 rodent let out a tortured squall, drawing scarlet as it
 violently dug its foam flecked fangs into the barbarians
 sweating palm, causing his face to contort to an ugly
 grimace as he cursed beneath his braeth.

     With a loud crack the rodents head parted from its
 squirming torso, sending out a sprinking shower of crimson
 gore, and trailing a slimy string of disjointed vertebrae,
 snapped trachea, esophagus, and jugular, disjointed hyoid
 bone, morose purpled stretched hide, and blood seared
 muscles.

     Flinging the broken body to the floor, Grignr shook
 his blood streaked hands and wiped them against his thigh
 until dry, then wiped the blood that had showered his face
 and from his eyes.  Again sitting himself upon the jagged
 floor, he prepared to once more revamp his glum
 meditations.  He told himself that as long as he still
 breathed the gust of life through his lungs, hope was not
 lost; he told himself this, but found it hard to
 comprehend in his gloomy surroundings.  Yet he was still
 alive, his bulging sinews at their peak of marvel, his
 struggling mind floating in a miral of impressed
 excellence of thought.  Plot after plot sifted through his
 mind in energetic contemplations.

     Then it hit him.  Minutes may have passed in silent
 thought or days, he could not tell, but he stumbled at
 last upon a plan that he considered as holding a slight
 margin of plausibility.  He might die in the attempt, but
 he knew he would not submit without a final bloody
 struggle.  It was not a foolproof plan, yet it built up a
 store of renewed vortexed energy in his overwroughtsoul,
 though he might perish in the execution of the escape, he
 would still be escaping the life of infinite torture in
 store forhim. Either way he would still cheat the gloating
 prince of the succored revenge his sadistic mind craved so
 dearly.

     The guards would soon come to bear him off to the
 prince's buried mines of dread, giving him the sought
 after opportunity to execute his newly formulated plan.
 Groping his way along the rough floor Grignr finally found
 his tool in a pool of congealed gore; the carcass of the
 decapitated rodent; the tool that the very filth he had
 been sentenced too, spawned.  When the time came for
 action he would have to be prepared, so he set himself to
 rending the sticky hulk in grim silence, searching by the
 touch of his fingertips for the lever to freedom.



                               -5-


     "Up to the altar and be done with it wench;" ordered
 a fidgeting shaman as he gave the female a grim stare
 accompanied by the wrinkling of his lips to a mirthful
 grin of delight.

     The girl burst into a slow steady whimper, stooping
 shakily to her knees and cringing woefully from the priest
 with both arms wound snake-like around the bulging jade
 jade shin rising before her scantily attired figure.  Her
 face was redly inflamed from the salty flow of tears
 spouting from her glassy dilated eyeballs.

     With short, heavy footfals the priest approached the
 female, his piercing stare never wavering from her
 quivering young countenance. Halting before the terrified
 girl he projected his arm outward and motioned her to
 arise with an upward movement of his hand.  the girl's
 whimpering increased slightly and she sunk closer to the
 floor rather than arising. The flickering torches outlined
 her trim build with a weird ornate glow as it cast a
 ghostly shadow dancing in horrid waves of splendor over
 smoothly worn whiteness of the marble hewn altar.

     The shaman's lips curled back farther, exposing a set
 of blackened, decaying molars which transformed his
 slovenly grin into a wide greasy arc of sadistic mirth and
 alternately interposed into the female a strong sensation
 of stomach curdling nausea.  "Have it as you will female;"
 gloated the enhanced priest as he bent over at the waist,
 projecting his ape-like arms forward, and clasped the
 female's slender arms with his hairy round fists.  With an
 inward surge of of his biceps he harshly jerked the
 trembling girl to her feet and smothered her salty wet
 cheeks with the moldy touch of his decrepid, dull red
 lips.

     The vile stench of the Shaman's hot fetid breath over
 came the nauseated female with a deep soul searing
 sickness, causing her to wrench her head backwards and
 regurgitate a slimy, orange- white stream of swelling gore
 over the richly woven purple robe of the enthused acolyte.

     The priest's lips trembled with a malicious rage as
 he removed his callous paws from the girl's arms and
 replaced them with tightly around her undulating neck,
 shaking her violently to and fro.

     The girl gasped a tortured groan from her clamped
 lungs, her sea blue eyes bulging forth from damp sockets.
 Cocking her right foot backwards, she leashed it
 desperately outwards with the strength of a demon
 possessed, lodging her sandled foot squarely between the
 shaman's testicles.

     The startled priest released his crushing grip,
 crimping his body over at the waist overlooking his
 recessed belly; wide open in a deep chasim. His face
 flushed to a rose red shade of crimson, eyelids fluttering
 wide with eyeballs protruding blindly outwards from their
 sockets to their outmost perimeters, while his lips
 quivered wildly about allowing an agonized wallow to gust
 forth as his breath billowed from burning lungs. His hands
 reached out clutching his urinary gland as his knees
 wobbled rapidly about for a few seconds then buckled,
 causing the ruptured shaman to collapse in an egg huddled
 mass to the granite pavement, rolling helplessly about in
 his agony.

     The pathetic screeches of the shaman groveling in
 dejected misery upon the hand hewn granite laid pavement,
 worn smooth by countless hours of arduous sweat and toil,
 a welter of ichor oozing through his clenched hands,
 attracted the purturbed attention of his comrades from
 their foetid ulations.  The actions of this this
 rebellious wench bespoke the creedence of an unheard of
 sacrilige.  Never before in a lost maze of untold eons had
 a chosen one dared to demonstrate such blasphemy in the
 face of the cult's idolic diety.

     The girl cowered in unreasoning terror, helpless in
 the face of the emblazoned acolytes' rage; her orchid
 tusseled face smothered betwixt her bulging bosom as she
 shut her curled lashed tightly hoping to open them and
 find herself awakening from a morbid nightmare.  yet the
 hand of destiny decreed her no such mercy, the antagonized
 pack of leering shaman converging tensely upon her
 prostrate form were entangled all too lividly in the grim
 web of reality.

     Shuddering from the clamy touch of the shaman as they
 grappled with her supple form, hands wrenching at her
 slender arms and legs in all directions, her bare body
 being molested in the midst of a labyrnth of orange
 smudges, purpled satin, and mangled skulls, shadowed in an
 eerie crimson glow; her confused head reeled then clouded
 in a mist of enshrouding ebony as she lapsed beneath the
 protective sheet of unconsiousness to a land peach and
 resign.


                               -6-


     "Take hold of this rope," said the first soldier,
 "and climb out from your pit, slut.  Your presence is
 requested in another far deeper hell hole."

     Grignr slipped his right hand to his thigh,
 concealing a small opaque object beneath the folds of the
 g-string wrapped about his waist.  Brine wells swelled in
 Grignr's cold, jade squinting eyes, which grown accustomed
 to the gloom of the stygian pools of ebony engulfing him,
 were bedazzled and blinded by flickerering radiance cast
 forth by the second soldiers's resin torch.

     Tightly gripped in the second soldier's right hand,
 opposite the intermittent torch, was a large double edged
 axe, a long leather wound oaken handled transfixing the
 center of the weapon's iron head.  Adorning the torso's of
 both of the sentries were thin yet sturdy hauberks, the
 breatplates of which were woven of tightly hemmed twines
 of reinforced silver braiding.  Cupping the soldiers' feet
 were thick leather sandals, wound about their shins to two
 inches below their knees.  Wrapped about their waists were
 wide satin girdles, with slender bladed poniards dangling
 loosely from them, the hilts of which featured scarlet
 encrusted gems. Resting upon the manes of their heads, and
 reaching midway to their brows were smooth copper morions.
 Spiraling the lower portion of the helmet were short,
 up-curved silver spikes, while a golden hump spired from
 the top of each basinet.  Beneath their chins, wound
 around their necks, and draping their clad shoulders
 dangled regal purple satin cloaks, which flowed midway to
 the soldiers feet.

     hand over hand, feet braced against the dank walls of
 the enclosure, huge Grignr ascended from the moldering
 dephs of the forlorn abyss.  His swelled limbs, stiff due
 to the boredom of a timeless inactivity, compounded by the
 musty atmosture and jagged granite protuberan against his
 body, craved for action.  The opportunity now presenting
 itself served the purpose of oiling his rusty joints, and
 honing his dulled senses.

     He braced himself, facing the second soldier.  The
 sentry's stature was was wildly exaggerated in the glare
 of the flickering cresset cuppex in his right fist.  His
 eyes were wide open in a slightly slanted owlish glaze,
 enhanced in their sinister intensity by the hawk-bill
 curve of his nose andpale yellow pique of his cheeks.

     "Place your hands behind your back," said the second
 soldier as he raised his ax over his right shoulder blade
 and cast it a wavering glance. "We must bind your wrists
 to parry any attempts at escape.  Be sure to make the knot
 a stout one, Broig, we wouldn't want our guest to take
 leave of our guidance."

     Broig grasped Grignr's left wrist and reached for the
 barbarians's right wrist.  Grignr wrenched his right arm
 free and swilveled to face Broig, reach- beneath his loin
 cloth with his right hand.  The sentry grappled at his
 girdle for the sheathed dagger, but recoiled short of his
 intentions as Grignr's right arm swept to his gorge.  The
 soldier went limp, his bobbing eyes rolling beneath
 fluttering eyelids, a deep welt across his spouting
 gullet.  Without lingering to observe the result of his
 efforts, Grignr dropped to his knees.  The second
 soldier's axe cleft over Grignr's head in a blze of
 silvered ferocity, severing several scarlet locks from his
 scalp.  Coming to rest in his fellow's stomach, the iron
 head crashed through mail and flesh with splintering
 force, spilling a pool of crimsoned entrails over the
 granite paving.

     Before the sentry could wrench his axe free from his
 comrade's carcass, he found Grignr's massive hands clasped
 about his throat, choking the life from his clamped lungs.
 With a zealous grunt, the Ecordian flexed his tightly
 corded biceps, forcing the grim faced soldier to one knee.
 The sentry plunged his right fist into Grignr's face,
 digging his grimy nails into the barbarians flesh.
 Ejaculating a curse through rasping teeth, grignr surged
 the bulk of his weight foreard, bowling the beseiged
 soldier over upon his back.  The sentry's arms collapsed
 to his thigh, shuddering convulsively; his bulging eyes
 staring blindly from a bloated ,cherry red face.

     Rising to his feet, Grignr shook the bllod from his
 eyes, ruffling his surly red mane as a brush fire swaying
 to the nightime breeze.  Stooping over the spr sprawled
 corpse of the first soldier, Grignr retrieved a small
 white object from a pool of congealing gore.  Snorting a
 gusty billow of mirth, he once more concealed th e tiny
 object beneath his loin cloth; the tediously honed pelvis
 bone of the broken rodent.  Returning his attention toward
 the second soldier, Grignr turned to the task of attiring
 his limbs. To move about freely through the dim recesses
 of the castle would require the grotesque garb of its
 soldiery.

     Utilizing the silence and stealth aquired in the
 untamed climbs of his childhood, Grignr slink through
 twisting corridors, and winding stairways, lighting his
 way with the confisticated torch of his dispatched
 guardian. Knowing where his steps were leading to, Grignr
 meandered aimlessly in search of an exit from the
 chateau's dim confines.  The wild blood coarsing through
 his veins yearned for the undefiled freedom of the livid
 wilderness lands.

     Coming upon a fork in the passage he treaked, voices
 accompanied by clinking footfalls discerned to his
 sensitive ears from the left corridor. Wishing to avoid
 contact, Grignr veered to the right passageway.  If
 aquested as to the purpose of his presence, his barbarous
 accent would reveal his identity, being that his attire
 was not that of the castle's mercenary troops.

     In grim silence Grignr treaded down the dingily lit
 corridor; a stalking panther creeping warily along on
 padded feet.  After an interminable period of wandering
 through the dull corridors; no gaps to break the monotony
 of the cold gray walls, Grignr espied a small winding
 stairway.  Descending the flight of arced granite slabs to
 their posterior, Grignr was confronted by a short haalway
 leading to a tall arched wooden doorway.

     Halting before the teeming portal portal, Grignr
 restes his shaggy head sideways against the barrier.
 Detecting no sounds from within, he grasped the looped
 metel handle of the door; his arms surging with a
 tremendous effort of bulging muscles, yet the door would
 not budge. Retrieving his ax from where he had sheathed it
 beneath his girdle, he hefted it in his mighty hands with
 an apiesed grunt, and wedging one of its blackened edges
 into the crack between the portal and its iron rimed sill.
 Bracing his sandaled right foot against the rougjly hewn
 wall, teeth tightly clenched, Grignr appilevered the oaken
 haft, employing it as a lever whereby to pry open the
 barrier.  The leather wound hilt bending to its utmost
 limits of endurance, the massive portal swung open with a
 grating of snapped latch and rusty iron hinges.

     Glancing about the dust swirled room in the gloomily
 dancing glare of his flickering cresset, Grignr eyed
 evidences of the enclosure being nothing more than a
 forgotten storeroom.  Miscellaneous articles required for
 the maintainance of a castle were piled in disorganized
 heaps at infrequent intervals toward the wall opposite the
 barbarian's piercing stare.  Utilizing long, bounding
 strides, Grignr paced his way over to the mounds of
 supplies to discover if any articles of value were
 contained within their midst.

     Detecting a faint clinking sound, Grignr sprawed to
 his left side with the speed of a striking cobra, landing
 harshly upon his back; torch and axe loudly clattering to
 the floor in a morass of sparks and flame.  A elmwoven
 board leaped from collapsed flooring, clashing against the
 jagged flooring and spewing a shower of orange and yellow
 sparks over Grignr's startled face.  Rising uneasily to
 his feet, the half stunned Ecordian glared down at the
 grusome arm of death he had unwittingly sprung.  "Mrifk!"

     If not for his keen auditory organs and lighting
 steeled reflexes, Grignr would have been groping through
 the shadowed hell-pits of the Grim Reaper.  He had
 unknowingly stumbled upon an ancient, long forgotton booby
 trap; a mistake which would have stunted the perusal of
 longevity of one less agile.  A mechanism, similar in type
 to that of a minature catapult was concealed beneath two
 collapsable sections of granite flooring.  The arm of the
 device was four feet long, boasting razor like cleats at
 regular intervals along its face with which it was to
 skewer the luckless body of its would be victim.  Grignr
 had stepped upon a concealed catch which relaesed a small
 metal latch beneath the two granite sections, causing them
 to fall inward, and thereby loose the spiked arm of death
 they precariously held in.

     Partially out of curiosity and partially out of an
 inordinate fear of becoming a pincushion for a possible
 second trap, Grignr plunged his torch into the exposed gap
 in the floor.  The floor of a second chamber stood out
 seven feet below the glare.  Tossing his torch through the
 aperature, Grignr grasped the side of an adjoining tile,
 dropping down.

     Glancing about the room, Grignr discovered that he
 had decended into the palace's mausoleum.  Rectangular
 stone crypts cluttered the floor at evenly placed
 intervals.  The tops of the enclosures were plated with
 thick layers of virgin gold, while the sides were plated
 with white ivory; at one time sparkling, but now grown
 dingy through the passage of the rays of allencompassing
 mother time.  Featured at the head of each sarcophagus in
 tarnished silver was an expugnisively carved likeness of
 its rotting inhabitant.

     A dingy atmosphere pervaded the air of the chamber;
 which sealed in the enclosure for an unknown period had
 grown thick and stale. Intermingling with the curdled
 currents was the repugnant stench of slowly moldering
 flesh, creeping ever slowly but surely through minute
 cracks in the numerous vaults.  Due to the embalming of
 the bodies, their flesh decayed at a much slower rate than
 is normal, yet the nauseous oder was none the less
 repellant.

     Towering over Grignr's head was the trap he released.
 The mechanism of the miniaturized catapolt was cluttered
 with mildew and cobwebs. Notwithstanding these relics of
 antiquity, its efficiency remained unimpinged.  To the
 right of the trap wound a short stairway through a recess
 in the ceiling; a concealed entrance leading to the
 mausoleum for which the catapult had obviously been
 erected as a silent, relentless guardian.

     Climbing up the side of the device, Grignr set to the
 task of resetting its mechanism.  In the e event that a
 search was organized, it would prove well to leave no
 evidence of his presence open to wandering eyes.  Besides,
 it might even serve to dwindle the size of an opposing
 force.

     Descending from his perch, Grignr was startled by a
 faintly muffled scream of horrified desperation.  His hair
 prickled yawkishly in disorganized clumps along his scalp.
 As a cold danced along the length of his spinal cord.  No
 moral/mortal barrier, human or otherwise, was capable of
 arousing the numbing sensation of fear inside of Grignr's
 smoldering soul.  However, he was overwrought by the
 forces of the barbarians' instinctive fear of the
 supernatural.  His mighty thews had always served to
 adequately conquer any tangible foe., but the intangible
 was something distant and terrible.  Dim horrifying tales
 passed by word of mouth over glimmering camp fires and
 skins of wine had more than once served the purpose of
 chilling the marrowed core of his sturdy limbed bones.

     Yet, the scream contained a strangely human quality,
 unlike that which Grignr imagined would come from the
 lungs of a demon or spirit, making Grignr take short
 nervous strides advancing to the sarcophagus from which
 the sound was issuing.  Clenching his teeth in an attempt
 to steel his jangled nerves, Grignr slid the engraved slab
 from the vault with a sharp rasp of grinding stone.
 Another long drawn cry of terror infested anguish met the
 barbarian, scoring like the shrill piping of a demented
 banshee; piercing the inner fibres of his superstitious
 brain with primitive dread dread and awe.

     Stooping over to espy the tomb's contents, the
 glittering Ecordians nostrills were singed by the
 scorching aroma of a moldering corpse, long shut up and
 fermenting; the same putrid scent which permeated the
 entire chamber, though multiplied to a much more
 concentrated dosage.  The shriveled, leathery packet of
 crumbling bones and dried flacking flesh offered no
 resistance, but remained in a fixed position of perpetual
 vigilance, watching over its dim abode from hollow gaping
 sockets.

     The tortured crys were not coming from the tomb but
 from some hidden depth below!  Pulling the reaking corpse
 from its resting place, Grignr tossed it to the floor in a
 broken, mangled heap.  Upon one side of the crypt's bottom
 was attached a series of tiny hinges while running
 parallel along the opposite side of a convex railing like
 protruberance; laid so as to appear as a part of the
 interior surface of the sarcophagus.

     Raising the slab upon its bronze hinges, long removed
 from the gaze of human eyes, Grignr percieved a scene
 which caused his blood to smolder not unlike bubbling,
 molten lava.  Directly below him a whimpering female lay
 stretched upon a smooth surfaced marble altar.  A pack of
 grasy faced shamen clustered around her in a tight
 circular formation.  Crouched over the girl was a tall,
 potbellied priest; his face dominated by a disgusting,
 open mouthed grimace of sadistic glee.  Suspended from the
 acolyte's clenched right hand was a carven oval faced
 mallet, which he waved menacingly over the girl's shadowed
 face; an incoherent gibberish flowing from his grinning,
 thick lipped mouth.

     In the face of the amorphos, broad breated female,
 stretched out aluringly before his gaping eyes; the
 universal whim of nature filing a plea of despair inside
 of his white hot soul; Grignr acted in the only manner he
 could perceive.  Giving vent to a hoarse, throat rending
 battle cry, Grignr plunged into the midst of the startled
 shamen; torch simmering in his left hand andax twirling in
 his right hand.

     A gaunt skull faced priest standing at the far side
 of the altar clutched desperately at his throat, coughing
 furiously in an attempt to catch his breath.  Lurching
 helplessly to and fro, the acolyte pitched headlong
 against the gleaming base of a massive jade idol.
 Writhing agonizedly against the hideous image, foam
 flecking his chalk white lips, the priest struggled
 helplessly - - - the victim of an epileptic siezure.

     Startled by the barbarians stunning appearance, the
 chronic fit of their fellow, and the fear that Grignr
 might be the avantgarde of a conquering force dedicated to
 the cause of destroying their degenerated cult, the saman
 momentarily lost their composure.  Giving vent to heedless
 pandemonium, the priests fell easy prey to Grignr's
 sweeping arc of crimsoned death and maiming distruction.

     The acolyte performing the sacrifice took a vicious
 blow to the stomach; hands clutching vitals and severed
 spinal cord as he sprawled over the altar.  The disor
 anized priests lurched and staggered with split skulls,
 dismembered limbs, and spewing entrails before the enraged
 Ecordian's relentless onslaught.  The howles of the maimed
 and dying reverberated against the walls of the tiny
 chamber; a chorus of hell frought despair; as the granite
 floor ran red with blood.  The entire chamber was
 encompassed in the heat of raw savage butchery as Grignr
 luxuriated in the grips of a primitive, beastly blood
 lust.

     Presently all went silenet save for the ebbing groans
 of the sinking shaman and Grignr's heaving breath
 accompanied by several gusty curses. The well had run dry.
 No more lambs remained for the slaughter.

     The rampaging stead of death having taken of Grignr
 for the moment, left the barbarian free to the
 exploitation of his other perusials. Towering over his
 head was the misshaped image of the cult's hideous diety -
 - - Argon.  The fantastic size of the idol in
 consideration of its being of pure jade was enough to
 cause the senses of any man to stagger and reel, yet thus
 was not the case for the behemoth.  he had paid only
 casual notice to this incredible fact, while riviting the
 whole of his attention upon the jewel protruding from the
 idol's sole socket; its masterfully cut faucets emitting
 blinding rays of hypnotising beauty.  After all, a man
 cannot slink from a heavily guarded palace while burdened
 down by the intense bulk of a squatting statue, providing
 of course that the idol can even be hefted, which in fact
 was beyond the reaches of Grignr's coarsing stamina. On
 the other hand, the jewel, gigantic as it was, would not
 present a hinderence of any mean concern.

     "Help me ... please ... I can make it well worth your
 while," pleaded a soft, anguish strewn voice wafting over
 Grignr's shoulders as he plucked the dull red emerald from
 its roots.  Turning, Grignr faced the female that had
 lured him into this blood bath, but whom had become all
 but forgotten in the heat of the battle.

     "You"; ejaculated the Ecordian in a pleased tone.  "I
 though that I had seen the last of you at the tavern, but
 verilly I was mistaken." Grignr advanced into the grips of
 the female's entrancing stare, severing the golden chains
 that held her captive upon the altars highly polished face
 of ornamental limestone.

     As Grignr lifted the girl from the altar, her arms
 wound dexterously about his neck; soft and smooth against
 his harsh exterior.  "Art thou pleased that we have
 chanced to meet once again?" Grignr merely voiced an
 sighed grunt, returning the damsels embrace while he
 smothered her trim, delicate lips between the coarsing
 protrusions of his reeking maw.

     "Let us take leave of this retched chamber." Stated
 Grignr as he placed the female upon her feet.  She swooned
 a moment, causing Grignr to giver her support then
 regained her stance.  "Art thou able to find your way
 through the accursed passages of this castle?  Mrifk!
 Every one of the corridors of this damned place are
 identical."

     "Aye; I was at one time a slave of prince Agaphim.
 His clammy touch sent a sour swill through my belly, but
 my efforts reaped a harvest.  I gained the pig's liking
 whereby he allowed me the freedom of the palace. It was
 through this means that I eventually managed escape at the
 western gate.  His trust found him with a dagger thrust
 his ribs," the wench stated whimsicoracally.

     "What were you doing at the tavern whence I
 discovered you?"  asked Grignr as he lifted the female
 through the opening into the mausoleum.

     "I had sought to lay low from the palace's guards as
 they conducted their search for me.  The tavern was seldom
 frequented by the palace guards and my identity was
 unknown to the common soldiers.  It was through the
 disturbance that you caused that the palace guards were
 attracted to the tavern.  I was dragged away shortly after
 you were escorted to the palace."

     "What are you called by female?"

     "Carthena, daughter of Minkardos, Duke of Barwego,
 whose lands border along the northwestern fringes of
 Gorzom.  I was paid as homage to Agaphim upon his
 thirty-eighth year," husked the femme!

     "And I am called a barbarian!" Grunted Grignr in a
 disgusted tone!

     "Aye!  The ways of our civilization are in many ways
 warped and distorted, but what is your calling," she
 queried, bustily?

     "Grignr of Ecordia."

     "Ah, I have heard vaguely of Ecordia.  It is the hill
 country to the far east of the Noregolean Empire.  I have
 also heard Agaphim curse your land more than once when his
 troops were routed in the unaccustomed mountains and
 gorges." Sayeth she.

     "Aye.  My people are not tarnished by petty luxuries
 and baubles. They remain fierce and unconquerable in their
 native climes."  After reaching the hidden panel at the
 head of the stairway, Grignr was at a loss in regard to
 its operation.  His fiercest heaves were as pebbles
 against burnished armour!  Carthena depressed a small
 symbol included within the elaborate design upon the panel
 whereopen it slowly slid into a cleft in the wall.  "How
 did you come to be the victim of those crazed shamen?"
 Quested Grignr as he escorted Carthena through the piles
 of rummage on the left side of the trap.

     "By Agaphim's orders I was thrust into a secluded
 cell to await his passing of sentence.  By some means, the
 Priests of Argon acquired a set of keys to the cell.  They
 slew the guard placed over me and abducted me to the
 chamber in which you chanced to come upon the scozsctic
 sacrifice. Their hell-spawned cult demands a sacrifice
 once every three moons upon its full journey through the
 heavens.  They were startled by your unannounced
 appearance through the fear that you had been sent by
 Agaphim.  The prince would surely have submitted them to
 the most ghastly of tortures if he had ever discovered
 their unfaithfulness to Sargon, his bastard diety.  Many
 of the partakers of the ritual were high nobles and high
 trustees of the inner palace; Agaphim's pittiless wrath
 would have been unparalled."

     "They have no more to fear of Agaphim now!" Bellowed
 Grignr in a deep mirthful tome; a gleeful smirk upon his
 face.  "I have seen that they were delivered from his
 vengence."

     Engrossed by Carthena's graceful stride and
 conversation Grignr failed to take note of the footfalls
 rapidly approaching behind him.  As he swung aside the
 arched portal linking the chamber with the corridors
 beyond, a maddened, blood lusting screech reverberated
 from his ear drums.  Seemingly utilizing the speed of
 thought, Grignr swiveled to face his unknown foe. With
 gaping eyes and widened jaws, Grignr raised his axe above
 his surly mein; but he was too late.


                               -7-


     With wobbling knees and swimming head, the priest
 that had lapsed into an epileptic siezure rose unsteadily
 to his feet.  While enacting his choking fit in writhing
 agony, the shaman was overlooked by Grignr.  The barbarian
 had mistaken the siezure for the death throes of the
 acolyte, allowing the priest to avoid his stinging blade.
 The sight that met the priests inflamed eyes nearly served
 to sprawl him upon the floor once more. The sacrificial
 sat it grim, blood splattered silence all around him,
 broken only by the occasional yelps and howles of his
 maimed and butchered fellows.  Above his head rose the
 hideous idol, its empty socket holding the shaman's
 ifurbished infuriated gaze.  His eyes turned to a stoney
 glaze with the realization of the pillage and blasphemy.
 Due to his high succeptibility following the siezure, the
 priest was transformed into a raving maniac bent soley
 upon reaking vengeance.  With lips curled and quivering, a
 crust of foam dripping from them, the acolyte drew a long,
 wicked looking jewel hilted scimitar from his silver
 girdle and fled through the aperature in the ceiling
 uttering a faintly perceptible ceremonial jibberish.


                             -7 1/2-


     A sweeping scimitar swung towards Grignr's head in a
 shadowed blur of motion.  With Axe raised over his head,
 Grignr prepared to parry the blow, while gaping wideeyed
 in open mouthed perplexity.  Suddenly a sharp snap
 resounded behind the frothing shaman.  The scimitar,
 halfway through its fatal sweep, dropped from a quivering
 nerveless hand, clattering harmlessly to the stoneage.
 Cutting his screech short with a bubbling, red mouthed
 gurgle, the lacerated acolyte staggered under the pressure
 of the released spring-board.  After a moment of hopeless
 struggling, the shaman buckled, sprawling face down in a
 widening pool of bllod and entrails, his regal purple robe
 blending enhancingly with the swirling streams of crimson.

     "Mrifk!  I thought I had killed the last of those
 dogs;" muttered Grignr in a half apathetic state.

     "Nay Grignr.  You doubtless grew careless while
 giving vent to your lusts.  But let us not tarry any long
 lest we over tax the fates.  The paths leading to freedom
 will soon be barred.  The wretch's crys must certainly
 have attracted unwanted attention," the wench mused.

     "By what direction shall we pursue our flight?"

     "Up that stair and down the corridor a short distance
 is the concealed enterance to a tunnel seldom used by
 others than the prince, and known to few others save the
 palace's royalty.  It is used mainly by the prince when he
 wishes to take leave of the palace in secret.  It is not
 always in the Prince's best interests to leave his chateau
 in public view.  Even while under heavy guard he is often
 assaulted by hurtling stones and rotting fruits.  The
 commoners have little love for him." lectured the
 nerelady!

     "It is amazing that they would ever have left a pig
 like him become their ruler.  I should imagine that his
 people would rise up and crucify him like the dog he is."

     "Alas, Grignr, it is not as simple as all that.  His
 soldiers are well paid by him.  So long as he keeps their
 wages up they will carry out his damned wished.  The crude
 impliments of the commonfolk would never stand up under an
 onslaught of forged blades and protective armor; they
 would be going to their own slaughter," stated Carthena to
 a confused, but angered Grignr as they topped the
 stairway.

     "Yet how can they bear to live under such oppression?
 I would sooner die beneath the sword than live under such
 a dog's command." added Grignr as the pair stalked down
 the hall in the direction opposite that in which Grignr
 had come.

     "But all men are not of the same mold that you are
 born of, they choose to live as they are so as to save
 their filthy necks from the chopping block." Returned
 Carthena in a disgusted tone as she cast an appiesed
 glance towards the stalwart figure at her side whose left
 arm was wound dextrously about her slim waist; his slowly
 waning torch casting their images in intermingling wisps
 as it dangled from his left hand.

     Presently Carthena came upon the panel, concealed
 amonst the other granite slabs and discernable only by the
 burned out cresset above it.  "As I push the cresset aside
 push the panel inwards."  Catrhena motioned to the panel
 she was refering to and twisted the cresset in a
 counterclockwise motion.  Grignr braced his right shoulder
 against the walling, concentrating the force of his bulk
 against it.  The slab gradually swung inward with a slight
 grating sound.  Carthena stooped beneath Grignr's corded
 arms and crawled upon all fours into the passage beyond.
 Grignr followed after easing the slab back into place.

     Winding before the pair was a dark musty tunnel,
 exhibiting tangled spider webs from it ceiling to wall and
 an oozing, sickly slime running lazily upon its floor.
 Hanging from the chipped wall upon GrignR's right side was
 a half mouldered corpse, its grey flacking arms held in
 place by rusted iron manacles.  Carthena flinched back
 into Grignr's arms at sight of the leering set in an ugly
 distorted grimmace; staring horribly at her from hollow
 gaping sockets.

     "This alcove must also be used by Agaphim as a
 torture chamber.  I wonder how many of his enemies have
 disappeared into these haunts never to be heard from
 again," pondered the hulking brute.

     "Let us flee before we are also caught within
 Agaphim's ghastly clutches.  The exit from this tunnel
 cannot be very far from here!" Said Carthena with a slight
 sob to her voice, as she sagged in Grignr's encompasing
 embrace.

     "Aye; It will be best to be finished with this
 corridor as soon as it is possible.  But why do you flinch
 from the sight of death so?  Mrift! You have seen much
 death this day without exhibiting such emotions."
 Exclaimed Grignr as he led her trembling form along the
 dingy confines.

     "---The man hanging from the wall was Doyanta.  He
 had committed the folly of showing affections for me in
 front of Agaphim --- he never meant any harm by his
 actions!"  At this Carthena broke into a slow steady
 whimpering, chokking her voice with gasping sobs.  "There
 was never anything between us yet Agaphim did this to him!
 The beast!  May the demons of Hell's deepest haunts claw
 away at his wretched flesh for this merciless act!" she
 prayed.

     "I detect that you felt more for this fellow than you
 wish to let on ... but enough of this, We can talk of such
 matters after we are once more free to do so."  With this
 Grignr lifted the grieved female to her feet and strode
 onward down the corridor, supporting the bulk of her
 weight with his surging left arm.

     Presently a dim light was perceptibly filtering into
 the tunnel, casting a dim reddish hue upon the moldy wall
 of the passage's grim confines.  Carthena had ceased her
 whimpering and partially regained her composure.  "The
 tunnel's end must be nearing.  Rays of sunlight are
 beginning to seep into ..."

     Grignr clameed his right hand over Carthena's mouth
 and with a slight struggle pulled her over to the shadows
 at the right hand wall of the path, while at the same time
 thrusting this torch beneath an overhanging stone to
 smother its flickering rays.  "Be silent; I can hear
 footfalls approaching through the tunnel;" growled Grignr
 in a hushed tone.

     "All that you hear are the horses corraled at the far
 end of the tunnel.  That is a further sign that we are
 nearing our goal." She stated!

     "All that you hear is less than I hear!  I heard
 footsteps coming towards us.  Silence yourself that we may
 find out whom we are being brought into contact with.  I
 doubt that any would have thought as yet of searching this
 passage for us.  The advantage of surprize will be upon
 our side." Grignr warned.

     Carthena cast her eyes downward and ceased any
 further pursuit towards conversation, an irritating habit
 in which she had gained an amazing proficiency.  Two
 figures came into the pairs view, from around a turn in
 the tunnel.  They were clothed in rich luxuriant silks and
 rambling o on in conversation while ignorant of their
 crouching foes waiting in an ambush ahead.

     "...That barbarian dog is cringing beneath the weight
 of the lash at this moment sire.  He shall cause no more
 disturbance."

     "Aye, and so it is with any who dare to cross the
 path of Sargon's chosen one." said the 2nd man.

     "But the peasants are showing signs of growing
 unrest.  They complain that they cannot feet their
 families while burdened with your taxes."

     "I shall teach those sluts the meaning of humility!
 Order an immediate increase upon their taxes.  They dare
 to question my sovereign authority, Ha-a, they shall soon
 learn what true oppression can be.  I will ... "

     A shodowed bulk leapt from behind a jutting
 promontory as it brought down a double edged axe with the
 spped of a striking thought.  One of the nobles sagged
 lifeless to the ground, skull split to the teeth.

     Grignr gasped as he observed the bisected face set in
 its leering death agonies.  It was Agafnd!  The dead mans
 comrade having recovered from his shock drew a jewel
 encrusted dagger from beneath the folds of his robe and
 lunged toward the barbarians back.  Grignr spun at the
 sound from behind and smashed down his crimsoned axe once
 more.  His antagonist lunged howling to a stream of
 stagnent green water, grasping a spouting stump that had
 once been a wrist.  Grignr raised his axe over his head
 and prepaired to finish the incomplete job, but was
 detered half way through his lunge by a frenzied screech
 from behind.

     Carthena leapt to the head of the writhing figure,
 plunging a smoldering torch into the agonized face.  The
 howls increased in their horrid intensity, stifled by the
 sizzling of roasting flesh, then died down until the man
 was reduced to a blubbering mass of squirming, insensate
 flesh.

     Grignr advance to Carthena's side wincing slightly
 from the putrid aroma of charred flesh that rose in a puff
 of thick white smog throughout the chamber.  Carthena
 reeled slightly, staring dasedly downward at her gruesome
 handywork.  "I had to do it ...  it was Agaphim ... I had
 to, " she exclaimed!

     "Sargon should be more carful of his right hand men."
 Added Grignr, a smug grin upon his lips.  "But to hell
 with Sargon for now, the stench is becoming bothersome to
 me."  With that Grignr grasped Carthena around the waist
 leading her around the bend in the cave and into the open.

     A ball of feral red was rising through the mists of
 the eastern horizon, disipating the slinking shadows of
 the night.  A coral stood before the pair, enclosing two
 grazing mares.  Grignr reached into a weighted down
 leather pouch dangling at his side and drew forth the
 scintillant red emerald he had obtained from the bloated
 idol.  Raising it toward the sun he said, "We shall do
 well with bauble, eh!"

     Carthena gaped at the gem gasping in a terrified
 manner "The eye of Argon, Oh!  Kalla!"  At this the gem
 gave off a blinding glow, then dribbled through Grignr's
 fingers in a slimy red ooze.  Grignr stepped back, pushing
 Carthena behind him.  The droplets of slime slowly
 converged into a pulsating jelly-like mass.  A single
 opening transfixed the blob, forminf into a leechlike maw.

     Then the hideous transgressor of nature flowed
 towards Grignr, a trail of greenish slime lingering behind
 it.  The single gap puckered repeatedly emitting a ghastly
 sucking sound.

     Grignr spread his legs into a battle stance, steeling
 his quivering thews for a battle royal with a thing he
 knew not how to fight.  Carthena wound her arms about her
 protectors neck, mumbling, "Kill it!  Kill!" While her
 entire body trembled.

     The thing was almost upon Grignr when he buried his
 axe into the gristly maw.  It passed through the blob and
 clanged upon the ground. Grignr drew his axe back with a
 film of yellow-green slime clinging to the blade.  The
 thing was seemingly unaffected.  Then it started to slooze
 up his leg.  The hairs upon his nape stoode on end from
 the slimey feel of the things buly, bulk.  The Nautous
 sucking sound became louder, and Grignr felt the blood
 being drawn from his body.  With each hiss of hideous
 pucker the thing increased in size.

     Grignr shook his foot about madly in an attempt to
 dislodge the blob, but it clung like a leech, still
 feeding upon his rapidly draining life fluid.  He grasped
 with his hands trying to rip it off, but only found his
 hands entangled in a sickly glue- like substance.  The
 slimey thing continued its puckering ; now having grown
 the size of Grignr's leg from its vampiric feast.

     Grignr began to reel and stagger under the blob, his
 chalk white face and faltering muscles attesting to the
 gigantic loss of blood.  Carthena slipped from Grignr in a
 death-like faint, a morrow chilling scream upon her red
 rubish lips.  In final desperation Grignr grasped the
 smoldering torch upon the ground and plunged it into the
 reeking maw of the travestry. A shudder passed through the
 thing.  Grignr felt the blackness closing upon his eyes,
 but held on with the last ebb of his rapidly waning
 vitality.  He could feel its grip lessoning as a hideous
 gurgling sound erupted from the writhing maw.  The jelly
 like mass began to bubble like a vat of boiling tar as
 quavers passed up and down its entire form.


                     -END OF STORY-

Transcriber's note:

     No mere transcription can give the true flavor of the
 original printing of The Eye of Argon.  It was
 mimeographed with stencils cut on an elite manual
 typewriter.  Many letters were so faint as to be barely
 readable, others were overstruck, and some that were to be
 removed never got painted out with correction fluid.
 Usually, only one space separated sentences, while
 paragraphs were separated by a blank line and were
 indented ten spaces.  Many words were grotesquely
 hyphenated.  And there were illustrations. I cannot do
 them justice in mere words, but they were a match for the
 text.  These are the major losses of this version (#02) of
 TEoA.

     Otherwise, all effort has been made to retain the
 full and correct text, preserving even mis-spellings and
 dropped spaces.  An excellent proofreader has checked it
 for errors both ommitted and committed.  What mis-matches
 remain are mine.

     I shall endeavor to keep a copy of the original
 available for viewing, so it may be appreciated in all its
 fullness.  But as a labor of love for those whose
 3rd-generation copies have now succumbed to the bitter
 vicissitudes of time and entropy, worn away by the ravages
 of countless re-readings before enthralled audiences, yet
 who have found that the heady flavor of its stylistic
 paragraphs has seeped into their soul and still grips it
 with a fervid grasp, I dedicate this machine-readable
 version of the inimitable The Eye of Argon.