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Feast of the Serpent Lord	By : Bahamut-626 Category: 1 through F > Conan the Barbarian (1982) > Conan the Barbarian (1982) Views: 2258 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Conan the Barbarian (1982). I make no money from the writing of this Story.

Chapter List
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The Mountain of Power. A fortress literally built into the Northern mountain range of the Vilayet Sea, and the Heart of the Cult of Set. From the outside there wasn’t much to see, some large gardens, marble walls and walkways, large gathering areas. What lay hidden within the rock was a labyrinth of natural caves and caverns, enhanced, enlarged, smoothed, and furnished to suit the purposes of those who resided within.
On this day, as the Sun passed its peak and began its long downward arc, there was one set of caverns bustling with activity. Far from the main entrance and essentially off-limits to all but the selected few, only a few small tunnels connecting it directly to the outside world, and even then such access would be dangerous at best. These caverns formed the kitchens within the Mountain of Power where each and every meal for the Faithful was prepared.
And in one, set apart from the others, the best were at work. Smooth marble in favour of the rough stone and wood the other kitchens made do with, deep wide fires for a strong thorough cooking, regularly cleaned utensils, and good ventilation.
“Why so soon?” One complained. “There’s still half the day left.”
“Because.” His immediate superior reminded him for the second time that day. “Our Lord, Thulsa Doom’s instructions were explicit. It’s all to be cooked long and slow to suit his tastes. And those of the others.”
“That may be.” The first grunted as he worked the bellows to increase the strength of the fire, its inferno enough to not only roast the metal plate atop it, but even with the ventilation, make the room a sweltering sauna. Hence why they were rotating to keep from collapsing. “But you’d think they’d permit to a later start, this heat is cooking me.”
“And if you persist in your complaints, it will most certainly cook you. After you’ve been, properly prepared.” He found himself warned coldly. “Must I remind you what became of those before?”
Yes. Enemies of Doom, those who raised doubt and objection, even those whom he found to be an obstacle to his goals. All had seen their turn in these fires, the cauldrons, the grills. Dinner for the Cult. Battening down his complaints, he resumed feeding the fire as the first pieces for cooking were delivered.
Long strips and wide slabs ready to be further scraped of unwanted parts, sorted by order of preparation and sliced to the desired size, sizzling within moments of being set atop the plates above the fires.
“You!” The head of this group instructed two of his underlings, auburn bearded face red from exertion and temperature. “Replenish the fire’s stockpile now!” The wood for the fires, the diminished pile held in a recessed store by the corner well away from them.
Once they had complied with his order, he turned his focus to the one left, the one who’d raised objection to the working conditions.
“And you will remain here, there is still much to be prepared.” His tone making clear that there would be no room for compromise.
[+]
At this time, there was activity elsewhere in the mountain fortress. Patrols along the perimeter, the gardens and walkways, the interior, the guards clad in armour of black leather and cold iron. Through the face-obscuring helmets, hard eyes ever watchful for the undesirables, intruders, the unfaithful, or those who sought to leave this place before they were caught, as they always were.
And for good reason.
The secrets of the Cult of Set. Those who knew, could not be permitted to leave lest they spread the word before the faithful were ready.
And in one particular pair of caverns, perhaps the greatest of them was busy.
To one side, taking up one entire wall (save for the door set into it that broke it’s monotony) and encroaching two more, from floor to ceiling was the massive bookcases filled to choking with the tomes, scrolls, books, artefacts and vials that had been collected over the years. Filled with the ancient knowledge of times long past. And between them were the two heavy oaken workbenches and seating, empty save for the candleholders that offered their dim light to this half of the room, and one single, solitary message.
The other half. A carnivorous open fire surrounded by an arc of long couches, high-backed seats and tables, a row of tables and benches behind them. Thick shagged carpeting rested atop the cool marble floor that stood out from the stone walls and ceiling.
The two who occupied this room, one with long dark brown hair held by a silver tiara that formed the two serpents. Her white dress so thin as to be somewhat translucent held to the waist by a silver band with golden intertwining snakes decorating its larger front. Small shoes and anklets the same gold finished with a medallion of the two snakes over the black moon, under the black sun around her neck. Yasimina. The Princess of Zamora. Daughter of King Osric, the Usurper.
The other, shed of his guise. Black boots that came to his knees, with a long robe of deepest blue-black ending just above the ankle held by a waistband appearing to be made of the green scales of a snake. A golden necklace of many snakes wrapped around each other plus a black headdress that came about his chest, rested too on the shoulder. Its frontal edge silver save for the red serpents and symbols that decorated it. But what would make one stand and take notice was the face that sat within it.
Tan scales striped with brown pattern. A wide splayed nose almost merged with the elongated snout that held it, a long thin, and forked tongue that flicked out to taste the air. Green-gold eyes whose pupils were slits. The scales ran to the open hands, tipped with black nails sharpened almost to the point of claws.
The true face of Thulsa Doom. High Priest of the Cult of Set. One of an ancient race of Serpent-Men that despite being driven close to extinction, had seen their numbers grow again, slowly, but surely, reclaiming their hold on the world.
And tonight, he had cause for pleasure. The arrival of one very particular individual whose actions had seen the Cult of Set secure its grip on new ground.
“Doom. My Lord.” The Princess began, careful to not sour his mood. “Rexor reports that Jeesala, sorry, Queen Jeesala, and her entourage have been spotted approaching, that they should be here by late afternoon.”
“The Honour Guard I take it?” His words, calm and well-mannered, but with a hint of disapproval for breaking his train of thought.
“A half-dozen on horseback, Queen Jeesala herself, and…”
“That’s enough.” He raised a scaled hand to halt her as he took in this information.
The ‘Honour Guard’, Rexor and Thorgrim would see to them in good time. The ‘King’, he had something special planned for him. After which his own people would be placed into the key positions, and he would effectively have complete control over Shem.
“How go the preparations?” He directed his next question to Yasimina.
“Thorgrim says they all go smoothly, and in good time My Lord.”
“Good.” His simple reply, a hand reaching the tip of his jaw when a thought came to mind. “We have some time then.” He took her by the waist, a slight gasp escaping her from the cool touch as he brought them to one of the long couches.
Gently, but his eyes indicating a lack of choice, he lowered her to her knees while he settled himself on the thick cushion. Slowly parting first one side, then the other of his robe to reveal that even a loincloth had been neglected. The scales coating his thickening cock thinner than on the legs.
“And remember what you are not to do.” The threat itself the order that brought Yasimina’s hands around the lengthening shaft.
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Feast of the Serpent Lord