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a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet.

What was the name of Olivia's former master that she was escaping from?

Shah Amurath

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What were the ancient ruins decorated with on the deserted island where Conan and Olivia slept?

Statues

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to

Who frees Conan from the pirates who knocked him unconscious?

Olivia

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What is the name of the city Olivia is escaping from?

Akif

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair.

What do Conan and Olivia use to flee the deserted island?

Pirate ship

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, his black mane tossing in the dawn wind. 'Stand!' he ordered. 'Come no nearer. What would you have, dogs?' 'Let us come aboard!' croaked a hairy rogue fingering a bloody stump of ear. 'We'd be gone from this devil's island.' 'The first man who tries to climb over the side, I'll split his skull,' promised Conan. They were forty-four to one, but he held the whip-hand. The fight had been hammered out of them. 'Let us come aboard, good Conan,' whined a red-sashed Zamorian, glancing fearfully over his shoulder at the silent woods. 'We have been so mauled, bitten, scratched and rended, and are so weary from fighting and running, that not one of us can lift a sword.' 'Where is that dog Aratus?' demanded Conan. 'Dead, with the others! It was devils fell upon us! They were rending us to pieces before we could awake--a dozen good rovers died in their sleep. The ruins were full of flame-eyed shadows, with tearing fangs and sharp talons.' 'Aye!' put in another corsair. 'They were the demons of the isle, which took the forms of molten images, to befool us. Ishtar! We lay down to sleep among them. We are no cowards. We fought them as long as mortal man may strive against the powers of darkness. Then we broke away and left them tearing at the corpses like jackals. But surely they'll pursue us.' 'Aye, let us come aboard!' clamored a lean Shemite. 'Let us come in peace, or we must come sword in hand, and though we be so weary you will doubtless slay many of us, yet you can not prevail against us many.' 'Then I'll knock a hole in the planks and sink her,' answered Conan grimly. A frantic chorus of expostulation rose, which Conan silenced with a from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will

What happens to the Captain of the pirate ship that docks on the deserted island?

Conan slays him.

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair.

As they leave the island, what does Conan say he will make Olivia?

Queen of the Blue Sea

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

Who else is on the the ship as Conan and Olivia depart the deserted island?

pirates from the ship

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

Where was Conan hiding out when he found Olivia?

Marshes

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to in with a rush, quick on his feet as a giant cat, for all his bulk. Curses hissed between his clenched teeth as he lustily swung and parried. Conan fought in silence, his eyes slits of blue bale-fire. The Kothian ceased his oaths to save his breath. The only sounds were the quick scuff of feet on the sward, the panting of the pirate, the ring and clash of steel. The swords flashed like white fire in the early sun, wheeling and circling. They seemed to recoil from each other's contact, then leap together again instantly. Sergius was giving back; only his superlative skill had saved him thus far from the blinding speed of the Cimmerian's onslaught. A louder clash of steel, a sliding rasp, a choking cry--from the pirate horde a fierce yell split the morning as Conan's sword plunged through their captain's massive body. The point quivered an instant from between Sergius's shoulders, a hand's breadth of white fire in the sunlight; then the Cimmerian wrenched back his steel and the pirate chief fell heavily, face down, and lay in a widening pool of blood, his broad hands twitching for an instant. Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs. 'Well, you dogs!' he roared. 'I've sent your chief to hell. What says the law of the Red Brotherhood?' Before any could answer, a rat-faced Brythunian, standing behind his fellows, whirled a sling swiftly and deadly. Straight as an arrow sped the stone to its mark, and Conan reeled and fell as a tall tree falls to the woodsman's ax. Up on the cliff Olivia caught at the boulders for support. The scene swam dizzily before her eyes; all she could see was the Cimmerian lying limply on the sward, blood oozing from his head. The rat-faced one yelped in

What do the pirates nickname the island?

"Devil Island"

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like see,' he answered. 'Nothing to fear. They are statues.' 'But how life-like--and how evil!' she whispered, drawing close to him. They stood in a great hall, whose floor was of polished stone, littered with dust and broken stones, which had fallen from the ceiling. Vines, growing between the stones, masked the apertures. The lofty roof, flat and undomed, was upheld by thick columns, marching in rows down the sides of the walls. And in each space between these columns stood a strange figure. They were statues, apparently of iron, black and shining as if continually polished. They were life-sized, depicting tall, lithely powerful men, with cruel hawk-like faces. They were naked, and every swell, depression and contour of joint and sinew was represented with incredible realism. But the most life-like feature was their proud, intolerant faces. These features were not cast in the same mold. Each face possessed its own individual characteristics, though there was a tribal likeness between them all. There was none of the monotonous uniformity of decorative art, in the faces at least. 'They seem to be listening--and waiting!' whispered the girl uneasily. Conan rang his hilt against one of the images. 'Iron,' he pronounced. 'But Crom! In what molds were they cast?' He shook his head and shrugged his massive shoulders in puzzlement. Olivia glanced timidly about the great silent hall. Only the ivy-grown stones, the tendril-clasped pillars, with the dark figures brooding between them, met her gaze. She shifted uneasily and wished to be gone, but the images held a strange fascination for her companion. He examined them in detail, and barbarian-like, tried to break off their limbs. But their material resisted his best efforts. He could neither disfigure nor dislodge from its niche a single image. At last he desisted, swearing in his wonder. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What was the title of the story?

Shadows in the Moonlight

By Robert E. Howard A swift crashing of horses through the tall reeds; a heavy fall, a despairing cry. From the dying steed there staggered up its rider, a slender girl in sandals and girdled tunic. Her dark hair fell over her white shoulders, her eyes were those of a trapped animal. She did not look at the jungle of reeds that hemmed in the little clearing, nor at the blue waters that lapped the low shore behind her. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed in agonized intensity on the horseman who pushed through the reedy screen and dismounted before her. He was a tall man, slender, but hard as steel. From head to heel he was clad in light silvered mesh-mail that fitted his supple form like a glove. From under the dome-shaped, gold-chased helmet his brown eyes regarded her mockingly. 'Stand back!' her voice shrilled with terror. 'Touch me not, Shah Amurath, or I will throw myself into the water and drown!' He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword sliding from a silken sheath. 'No, you will not drown, Olivia, daughter of confusion, for the marge is too shallow, and I can catch you before you can reach the deeps. You gave me a merry chase, by the gods, and all my men are far behind us. But there is no horse west of Vilayet that can distance Irem for long.' He nodded at the tall, slender-legged desert stallion behind him. 'Let me go!' begged the girl, tears of despair staining her face. 'Have I not suffered enough? Is there any humiliation, pain or degradation you have not heaped on me? How long must my torment last?' 'As long as I find pleasure in your whimperings, your pleas, tears and writhings,' he answered with far to the northwest, beyond the farthest boundaries of the different kingdoms of her race. 'I am a daughter of the King of Ophir,' she said. 'My father sold me to a Shemite chief, because I would not marry a prince of Koth.' The Cimmerian grunted in surprize. Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. 'Aye, civilized men sell their children as slaves to savages, sometimes. They call your race barbaric, Conan of Cimmeria.' 'We do not sell our children,' he growled, his chin jutting truculently. 'Well--I was sold. But the desert man did not misuse me. He wished to buy the good will of Shah Amurath, and I was among the gifts he brought to Akif of the purple gardens. Then--' She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. 'I should be lost to all shame,' she said presently. 'Yet each memory stings me like a slaver's whip. I abode in Shah Amurath's palace, until some weeks agone he rode out with his hosts to do battle with a band of invaders who were ravaging the borders of Turan. Yesterday he returned in triumph, and a great fete was made to honor him. In the drunkenness and rejoicing, I found an opportunity to steal out of the city on a stolen horse. I had thought to escape--but he followed, and about midday came up with me. I outran his vassals, but him I could not escape. Then you came.' 'I was lying hid in the reeds,' grunted the barbarian. 'I was one of those dissolute rogues, the Free Companions, who burned and looted along the borders. There were five thousand of us, from a score of races and tribes. We had been serving as mercenaries for a rebel prince in eastern Koth, most of us, and when he half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped

Who Fled the city of Akif?

Olivia

By Robert E. Howard A swift crashing of horses through the tall reeds; a heavy fall, a despairing cry. From the dying steed there staggered up its rider, a slender girl in sandals and girdled tunic. Her dark hair fell over her white shoulders, her eyes were those of a trapped animal. She did not look at the jungle of reeds that hemmed in the little clearing, nor at the blue waters that lapped the low shore behind her. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed in agonized intensity on the horseman who pushed through the reedy screen and dismounted before her. He was a tall man, slender, but hard as steel. From head to heel he was clad in light silvered mesh-mail that fitted his supple form like a glove. From under the dome-shaped, gold-chased helmet his brown eyes regarded her mockingly. 'Stand back!' her voice shrilled with terror. 'Touch me not, Shah Amurath, or I will throw myself into the water and drown!' He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword sliding from a silken sheath. 'No, you will not drown, Olivia, daughter of confusion, for the marge is too shallow, and I can catch you before you can reach the deeps. You gave me a merry chase, by the gods, and all my men are far behind us. But there is no horse west of Vilayet that can distance Irem for long.' He nodded at the tall, slender-legged desert stallion behind him. 'Let me go!' begged the girl, tears of despair staining her face. 'Have I not suffered enough? Is there any humiliation, pain or degradation you have not heaped on me? How long must my torment last?' 'As long as I find pleasure in your whimperings, your pleas, tears and writhings,' he answered with slender white-skinned youth, with a cluster of golden curls about his alabaster brow. His beauty was not altogether human--like the dream of a god, chiseled out of living marble. The black warriors laughed at him, jeered and taunted in a strange tongue. The lithe naked form writhed beneath their cruel hands. Blood trickled down the ivory thighs to spatter on the polished floor. The screams of the victim echoed through the hall; then lifting his head toward the ceiling and the skies beyond, he cried out a name in an awful voice. A dagger in an ebon hand cut short his cry, and the golden head rolled on the ivory breast. As if in answer to that desperate cry, there was a rolling thunder as of celestial chariot-wheels, and a figure stood before the slayers, as if materialized out of empty air. The form was of a man, but no mortal man ever wore such an aspect of inhuman beauty. There was an unmistakable resemblance between him and the youth who dropped lifeless in his chains, but the alloy of humanity that softened the godliness of the youth was lacking in the features of the stranger, awful and immobile in their beauty. The blacks shrank back before him, their eyes slits of fire. Lifting a hand, he spoke, and his tones echoed through the silent halls in deep rich waves of sound. Like men in a trance the black warriors fell back until they were ranged along the walls in regular lines. Then from the stranger's chiseled lips rang a terrible invocation and command: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' At the blast of that awful cry, the black figures stiffened and froze. Over their limbs crept a curious rigidity, an unnatural petrification. The stranger touched the limp body of the youth, a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming

Why was the newcomer nearly mad?

He hidden in the reeds for so long

for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

Where did they stay the first night?

In some ruins

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What was Conan more concerned about?

Something lurking in the jungle

for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to missile that had so narrowly missed them, and grunted incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge block of greenish stone which lay on the sward at the foot of the tree, whose wood its impact had splintered. 'A strange stone to find on an uninhabited island,' growled Conan. Olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder. The stone was a symmetrical block, indisputably cut and shaped by human hands. And it was astonishingly massive. The Cimmerian grasped it with both hands, and with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him, exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of him. Conan swore. 'No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for siege engines. Yet here there are no mangonels or ballistas.' 'Perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from afar,' she suggested. He shook his head. 'It didn't fall from above. It came from yonder thicket. See how the twigs are broken? It was thrown as a man might throw a pebble. But who? What? Come!' She hesitantly followed him into the thicket. Inside the outer ring of leafy brush, the undergrowth was less dense. Utter silence brooded over all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint. Yet from this mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder, swift and deadly. Conan bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof above their heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves and interwoven arches. And he froze suddenly. Then rising, sword in hand, he began to back away, thrusting Olivia behind him. 'Out of here, quick!' he urged in a whisper that congealed the girl's blood. 'What is it? What do you see?' 'Nothing,' he answered guardedly, not halting his wary retreat. 'But what is it, then? What lurks in this thicket?' 'Death!' he answered, his gaze still fixed on the brooding jade arches that shut out the sky. Once out of the thicket, he took her hand and led her swiftly through the thinning trees, until they mounted a grassy slope, sparsely treed, and emerged upon a low plateau, where the grass grew taller and the trees were few and scattered. And in the midst of that plateau rose a long broad structure of crumbling greenish stone. They gazed in wonder. No legends named such a building on any island of Vilayet. They approached it warily, seeing that moss and lichen crawled over the stones, and the broken roof gaped to the sky. On all sides lay bits and shards of masonry, half hidden in the waving grass, giving the impression that once many buildings rose there, perhaps a whole town. But now only the long hall-like structure rose against the sky, and its walls leaned drunkenly among the crawling vines. Whatever doors had once guarded its portals had long rotted away. Conan and his companion stood in the broad entrance and stared inside. Sunlight streamed in through gaps in the walls and roof, making the interior a dim weave of light and shadow. Grasping his sword firmly, Conan entered, with the slouching gait of a hunting panther, sunken head and noiseless feet. Olivia tiptoed after him. Once within, Conan grunted in surprize, and Olivia stifled a scream. 'Look! Oh, look!' 'I The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed

What comes into port on the island?

A pirate ship

far to the northwest, beyond the farthest boundaries of the different kingdoms of her race. 'I am a daughter of the King of Ophir,' she said. 'My father sold me to a Shemite chief, because I would not marry a prince of Koth.' The Cimmerian grunted in surprize. Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. 'Aye, civilized men sell their children as slaves to savages, sometimes. They call your race barbaric, Conan of Cimmeria.' 'We do not sell our children,' he growled, his chin jutting truculently. 'Well--I was sold. But the desert man did not misuse me. He wished to buy the good will of Shah Amurath, and I was among the gifts he brought to Akif of the purple gardens. Then--' She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. 'I should be lost to all shame,' she said presently. 'Yet each memory stings me like a slaver's whip. I abode in Shah Amurath's palace, until some weeks agone he rode out with his hosts to do battle with a band of invaders who were ravaging the borders of Turan. Yesterday he returned in triumph, and a great fete was made to honor him. In the drunkenness and rejoicing, I found an opportunity to steal out of the city on a stolen horse. I had thought to escape--but he followed, and about midday came up with me. I outran his vassals, but him I could not escape. Then you came.' 'I was lying hid in the reeds,' grunted the barbarian. 'I was one of those dissolute rogues, the Free Companions, who burned and looted along the borders. There were five thousand of us, from a score of races and tribes. We had been serving as mercenaries for a rebel prince in eastern Koth, most of us, and when he a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this slender white-skinned youth, with a cluster of golden curls about his alabaster brow. His beauty was not altogether human--like the dream of a god, chiseled out of living marble. The black warriors laughed at him, jeered and taunted in a strange tongue. The lithe naked form writhed beneath their cruel hands. Blood trickled down the ivory thighs to spatter on the polished floor. The screams of the victim echoed through the hall; then lifting his head toward the ceiling and the skies beyond, he cried out a name in an awful voice. A dagger in an ebon hand cut short his cry, and the golden head rolled on the ivory breast. As if in answer to that desperate cry, there was a rolling thunder as of celestial chariot-wheels, and a figure stood before the slayers, as if materialized out of empty air. The form was of a man, but no mortal man ever wore such an aspect of inhuman beauty. There was an unmistakable resemblance between him and the youth who dropped lifeless in his chains, but the alloy of humanity that softened the godliness of the youth was lacking in the features of the stranger, awful and immobile in their beauty. The blacks shrank back before him, their eyes slits of fire. Lifting a hand, he spoke, and his tones echoed through the silent halls in deep rich waves of sound. Like men in a trance the black warriors fell back until they were ranged along the walls in regular lines. Then from the stranger's chiseled lips rang a terrible invocation and command: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' At the blast of that awful cry, the black figures stiffened and froze. Over their limbs crept a curious rigidity, an unnatural petrification. The stranger touched the limp body of the youth, half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped

Who was the dark figure?

A giant man ape

for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What was happening back at the ruins?

Conan is held captive by drunk pirates

for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had missile that had so narrowly missed them, and grunted incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge block of greenish stone which lay on the sward at the foot of the tree, whose wood its impact had splintered. 'A strange stone to find on an uninhabited island,' growled Conan. Olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder. The stone was a symmetrical block, indisputably cut and shaped by human hands. And it was astonishingly massive. The Cimmerian grasped it with both hands, and with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him, exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of him. Conan swore. 'No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for siege engines. Yet here there are no mangonels or ballistas.' 'Perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from afar,' she suggested. He shook his head. 'It didn't fall from above. It came from yonder thicket. See how the twigs are broken? It was thrown as a man might throw a pebble. But who? What? Come!' She hesitantly followed him into the thicket. Inside the outer ring of leafy brush, the undergrowth was less dense. Utter silence brooded over all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint. Yet from this mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder, swift and deadly. Conan bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof above their heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves and interwoven ears, and creeping to the southern edge of the cliffs, they saw a motley horde emerge from the fringe of trees along the western rim of the plateau, and stand there a space in debate. There was much flourishing of arms, brandishing of swords, and loud rough argument. Then the whole band started across the plateau toward the ruins, at a slant that would take them close by the foot of the cliffs. 'Pirates!' whispered Conan, a grim smile on his thin lips. 'It's an Hyrkanian galley they've captured. Here--crawl among these rocks. 'Don't show yourself unless I call to you,' he instructed, having secreted her to his satisfaction among a tangle of boulders along the crest of the cliffs. 'I'm going to meet these dogs. If I succeed in my plan, all will be well, and we'll sail away with them. If I don't succeed--well, hide yourself in the rocks until they're gone, for no devils on this island are as cruel as these sea-wolves.' And tearing himself from her reluctant grasp, he swung quickly down the cliffs. Looking fearfully from her eyrie, Olivia saw the band had neared the foot of the cliffs. Even as she looked, Conan stepped out from among the boulders and faced them, sword in hand. They gave back with yells of menace and surprize; then halted uncertainly to glare at this figure which had appeared so suddenly from the rocks. There were some seventy of them, a wild horde made up of men from many nations: Kothians, Zamorians, Brythunians, Corinthians, Shemites. Their features reflected the wildness of their natures. Many bore the scars of the lash or the branding-iron. There were cropped ears, slit noses, gaping eye-sockets, stumps of wrists--marks of the hangman as well as scars of battle. Most of them were Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What was the island called?

Devil Island

By Robert E. Howard A swift crashing of horses through the tall reeds; a heavy fall, a despairing cry. From the dying steed there staggered up its rider, a slender girl in sandals and girdled tunic. Her dark hair fell over her white shoulders, her eyes were those of a trapped animal. She did not look at the jungle of reeds that hemmed in the little clearing, nor at the blue waters that lapped the low shore behind her. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed in agonized intensity on the horseman who pushed through the reedy screen and dismounted before her. He was a tall man, slender, but hard as steel. From head to heel he was clad in light silvered mesh-mail that fitted his supple form like a glove. From under the dome-shaped, gold-chased helmet his brown eyes regarded her mockingly. 'Stand back!' her voice shrilled with terror. 'Touch me not, Shah Amurath, or I will throw myself into the water and drown!' He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword sliding from a silken sheath. 'No, you will not drown, Olivia, daughter of confusion, for the marge is too shallow, and I can catch you before you can reach the deeps. You gave me a merry chase, by the gods, and all my men are far behind us. But there is no horse west of Vilayet that can distance Irem for long.' He nodded at the tall, slender-legged desert stallion behind him. 'Let me go!' begged the girl, tears of despair staining her face. 'Have I not suffered enough? Is there any humiliation, pain or degradation you have not heaped on me? How long must my torment last?' 'As long as I find pleasure in your whimperings, your pleas, tears and writhings,' he answered with a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

Who was made "Queen of the Blue Sea"?

Olivia

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand,

At the start of story, what is Olivia escaping?

She is running from Shah Amurath, a sadistic rogue.

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand,

Who does the mad man who defeats Olivia's pursuer turn out to be?

Conan the Cimmerian.

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed

Where do Conan and Olivia seek refuge to take a rest?

Ancient ruins

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

When Conan and Olivia spend the night in the ancient ruins, what is Olivia concerned about?

That the statues were once men, and they will come to life and attack them.

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had arches. And he froze suddenly. Then rising, sword in hand, he began to back away, thrusting Olivia behind him. 'Out of here, quick!' he urged in a whisper that congealed the girl's blood. 'What is it? What do you see?' 'Nothing,' he answered guardedly, not halting his wary retreat. 'But what is it, then? What lurks in this thicket?' 'Death!' he answered, his gaze still fixed on the brooding jade arches that shut out the sky. Once out of the thicket, he took her hand and led her swiftly through the thinning trees, until they mounted a grassy slope, sparsely treed, and emerged upon a low plateau, where the grass grew taller and the trees were few and scattered. And in the midst of that plateau rose a long broad structure of crumbling greenish stone. They gazed in wonder. No legends named such a building on any island of Vilayet. They approached it warily, seeing that moss and lichen crawled over the stones, and the broken roof gaped to the sky. On all sides lay bits and shards of masonry, half hidden in the waving grass, giving the impression that once many buildings rose there, perhaps a whole town. But now only the long hall-like structure rose against the sky, and its walls leaned drunkenly among the crawling vines. Whatever doors had once guarded its portals had long rotted away. Conan and his companion stood in the broad entrance and stared inside. Sunlight streamed in through gaps in the walls and roof, making the interior a dim weave of light and shadow. Grasping his sword firmly, Conan entered, with the slouching gait of a hunting panther, sunken head and noiseless feet. Olivia tiptoed after him. Once within, Conan grunted in surprize, and Olivia stifled a scream. 'Look! Oh, look!' 'I in with a rush, quick on his feet as a giant cat, for all his bulk. Curses hissed between his clenched teeth as he lustily swung and parried. Conan fought in silence, his eyes slits of blue bale-fire. The Kothian ceased his oaths to save his breath. The only sounds were the quick scuff of feet on the sward, the panting of the pirate, the ring and clash of steel. The swords flashed like white fire in the early sun, wheeling and circling. They seemed to recoil from each other's contact, then leap together again instantly. Sergius was giving back; only his superlative skill had saved him thus far from the blinding speed of the Cimmerian's onslaught. A louder clash of steel, a sliding rasp, a choking cry--from the pirate horde a fierce yell split the morning as Conan's sword plunged through their captain's massive body. The point quivered an instant from between Sergius's shoulders, a hand's breadth of white fire in the sunlight; then the Cimmerian wrenched back his steel and the pirate chief fell heavily, face down, and lay in a widening pool of blood, his broad hands twitching for an instant. Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs. 'Well, you dogs!' he roared. 'I've sent your chief to hell. What says the law of the Red Brotherhood?' Before any could answer, a rat-faced Brythunian, standing behind his fellows, whirled a sling swiftly and deadly. Straight as an arrow sped the stone to its mark, and Conan reeled and fell as a tall tree falls to the woodsman's ax. Up on the cliff Olivia caught at the boulders for support. The scene swam dizzily before her eyes; all she could see was the Cimmerian lying limply on the sward, blood oozing from his head. The rat-faced one yelped in

What does Conan do before he is captured by pirates?

Kill the pirate captain.

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What do the pirates do with Conan after they tie him up?

take him to ruins

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

Who frees Conan from the pirates?

Olivia frees Conan from the pirates.

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What followed Olivia through the jungle and back to the ruins?

A giant man-ape.

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

After the man-ape is defeated, where do Olivia and Conan go?

back to pirate ship

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What happens when Conan is confronted by the pirates at the end of the story?

He challenges them, and they accept him as captain

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will

Where was Olivia held captive at?

Akif

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed

What body of water is Olivia corned in a marsh near?

Vilayet Sea

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will

What is the newcomers' name that Olivia meets?

Conan

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand,

Where does Olivia and Conan hide after fleeing Shuh Amurath?

In a boat

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. the girl lightly to one side and behind him. Rising to her knees on the soft sward, she screamed at what she saw. Out of the shadows of the cliffs moved a monstrous shambling bulk--an anthropomorphic horror, a grotesque travesty of creation. In general outline it was not unlike a man. But its face, limned in the bright moonlight, was bestial, with close-set ears, flaring nostrils, and a great flabby-lipped mouth in which gleamed white tusk-like fangs. It was covered with shaggy grayish hair, shot with silver which shone in the moonlight, and its great misshapen paws hung nearly to the earth. Its bulk was tremendous; as it stood on its short bowed legs, its bullet-head rose above that of the man who faced it; the sweep of the hairy breast and giant shoulders was breathtaking; the huge arms were like knotted trees. The moonlight scene swam, to Olivia's sight. This, then, was the end of the trail--for what human being could withstand the fury of that hairy mountain of thews and ferocity? Yet as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the bronzed figure facing the monster, she sensed a kinship in the antagonists that was almost appalling. This was less a struggle between man and beast than a conflict between two creatures of the wild, equally merciless and ferocious. With a flash of white tusks, the monster charged. The mighty arms spread wide as the beast plunged, stupefyingly quick for all his vast bulk and stunted legs. Conan's action was a blur of speed Olivia's eye could not follow. She only saw that he evaded that deadly grasp, and his sword, flashing like a jet of white lightning, sheared through one of those massive arms between shoulder and elbow. A great spout of blood deluged the sward as the left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What does Olivia think of the statues in the moonlight?

That they will come to life

'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will missile that had so narrowly missed them, and grunted incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge block of greenish stone which lay on the sward at the foot of the tree, whose wood its impact had splintered. 'A strange stone to find on an uninhabited island,' growled Conan. Olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder. The stone was a symmetrical block, indisputably cut and shaped by human hands. And it was astonishingly massive. The Cimmerian grasped it with both hands, and with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him, exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of him. Conan swore. 'No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for siege engines. Yet here there are no mangonels or ballistas.' 'Perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from afar,' she suggested. He shook his head. 'It didn't fall from above. It came from yonder thicket. See how the twigs are broken? It was thrown as a man might throw a pebble. But who? What? Come!' She hesitantly followed him into the thicket. Inside the outer ring of leafy brush, the undergrowth was less dense. Utter silence brooded over all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint. Yet from this mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder, swift and deadly. Conan bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof above their heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves and interwoven left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What shows up at the deserted island?

Pirate ship

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had Whatever her forebodings, Conan did not share them. The Cimmerian sat down near her, his back against a pillar, his sword across his knees. His eyes gleamed like a panther's in the dusk. 'Sleep, girl,' said he. 'My slumber is light as a wolf's. Nothing can enter this hall without awaking me.' Olivia did not reply. From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. How strange, to move in fellowship with a barbarian, to be cared for and protected by one of a race, tales of which had frightened her as a child! He came of a people bloody, grim and ferocious. His kinship to the wild was apparent in his every action; it burned in his smoldering eyes. Yet he had not harmed her, and her worst oppressor had been a man the world called civilized. As a delicious languor stole over her relaxing limbs and she sank into foamy billows of slumber, her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the firm touch of Conan's fingers on her soft flesh. Olivia dreamed, and through her dreams crawled a suggestion of lurking evil, like a black serpent writhing through flower gardens. Her dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern, until they crystalized into a scene of horror and madness, etched against a background of cyclopean stones and pillars. She saw a great hall, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by stone columns marching in even rows along the massive walls. Among these pillars fluttered great green and scarlet parrots, and the hall was thronged with black-skinned, hawk-faced warriors. They were not negroes. Neither they nor their garments nor weapons resembled anything of the world the dreamer knew. They were pressing about one bound to a pillar: a

What does Olivia escape away from when going to the ruins?

Dark Figure

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to in with a rush, quick on his feet as a giant cat, for all his bulk. Curses hissed between his clenched teeth as he lustily swung and parried. Conan fought in silence, his eyes slits of blue bale-fire. The Kothian ceased his oaths to save his breath. The only sounds were the quick scuff of feet on the sward, the panting of the pirate, the ring and clash of steel. The swords flashed like white fire in the early sun, wheeling and circling. They seemed to recoil from each other's contact, then leap together again instantly. Sergius was giving back; only his superlative skill had saved him thus far from the blinding speed of the Cimmerian's onslaught. A louder clash of steel, a sliding rasp, a choking cry--from the pirate horde a fierce yell split the morning as Conan's sword plunged through their captain's massive body. The point quivered an instant from between Sergius's shoulders, a hand's breadth of white fire in the sunlight; then the Cimmerian wrenched back his steel and the pirate chief fell heavily, face down, and lay in a widening pool of blood, his broad hands twitching for an instant. Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs. 'Well, you dogs!' he roared. 'I've sent your chief to hell. What says the law of the Red Brotherhood?' Before any could answer, a rat-faced Brythunian, standing behind his fellows, whirled a sling swiftly and deadly. Straight as an arrow sped the stone to its mark, and Conan reeled and fell as a tall tree falls to the woodsman's ax. Up on the cliff Olivia caught at the boulders for support. The scene swam dizzily before her eyes; all she could see was the Cimmerian lying limply on the sward, blood oozing from his head. The rat-faced one yelped in

According to the pirates, what is the name of the island?

Devil Island

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to

Who made Conan a captain?

Pirates

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair.

What did Conan say he will do to Olivia?

Make her "Queen of the Blue Sea"

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What city has Olivia fled from?

Akif

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

Who is chasing and pursuing olivia?

Shah Amurath is chasing Olivia.

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had the girl lightly to one side and behind him. Rising to her knees on the soft sward, she screamed at what she saw. Out of the shadows of the cliffs moved a monstrous shambling bulk--an anthropomorphic horror, a grotesque travesty of creation. In general outline it was not unlike a man. But its face, limned in the bright moonlight, was bestial, with close-set ears, flaring nostrils, and a great flabby-lipped mouth in which gleamed white tusk-like fangs. It was covered with shaggy grayish hair, shot with silver which shone in the moonlight, and its great misshapen paws hung nearly to the earth. Its bulk was tremendous; as it stood on its short bowed legs, its bullet-head rose above that of the man who faced it; the sweep of the hairy breast and giant shoulders was breathtaking; the huge arms were like knotted trees. The moonlight scene swam, to Olivia's sight. This, then, was the end of the trail--for what human being could withstand the fury of that hairy mountain of thews and ferocity? Yet as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the bronzed figure facing the monster, she sensed a kinship in the antagonists that was almost appalling. This was less a struggle between man and beast than a conflict between two creatures of the wild, equally merciless and ferocious. With a flash of white tusks, the monster charged. The mighty arms spread wide as the beast plunged, stupefyingly quick for all his vast bulk and stunted legs. Conan's action was a blur of speed Olivia's eye could not follow. She only saw that he evaded that deadly grasp, and his sword, flashing like a jet of white lightning, sheared through one of those massive arms between shoulder and elbow. A great spout of blood deluged the sward as the from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed

What is being lobbed at Olivia from the jungle?

Giant boulders are being lobbed at Olivia.

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. severed member fell, twitching horribly, but even as the sword bit through, the other malformed hand locked in Conan's black mane. Only the iron neck-muscles of the Cimmerian saved him from a broken neck that instant. His left hand darted out to clamp on the beast's squat throat, his left knee was jammed hard against the brute's hairy belly. Then began a terrific struggle, which lasted only seconds, but which seemed like ages to the paralyzed girl. The ape maintained his grasp in Conan's hair, dragging him toward the tusks that glistened in the moonlight. The Cimmerian resisted this effort, with his left arm rigid as iron, while the sword in his right hand, wielded like a butcher-knife, sank again and again into the groin, breast and belly of his captor. The beast took its punishment in awful silence, apparently unweakened by the blood that gushed from its ghastly wounds. Swiftly the terrible strength of the anthropoid overcame the leverage of braced arm and knee. Inexorably Conan's arm bent under the strain; nearer and nearer he was drawn to the slavering jaws that gaped for his life. Now the blazing eyes of the barbarian glared into the bloodshot eyes of the ape. But as Conan tugged vainly at his sword, wedged deep in the hairy body, the frothing jaws snapped spasmodically shut, an inch from the Cimmerian's face, and he was hurled to the sward by the dying convulsions of the monster. Olivia, half fainting, saw the ape heaving, thrashing and writhing, gripping, man-like, the hilt that jutted from its body. A sickening instant of this, then the great bulk quivered and lay still. Conan rose and limped over to the corpse. The Cimmerian breathed heavily, and walked like a man whose joints and muscles have been wrenched and twisted missile that had so narrowly missed them, and grunted incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge block of greenish stone which lay on the sward at the foot of the tree, whose wood its impact had splintered. 'A strange stone to find on an uninhabited island,' growled Conan. Olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder. The stone was a symmetrical block, indisputably cut and shaped by human hands. And it was astonishingly massive. The Cimmerian grasped it with both hands, and with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him, exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of him. Conan swore. 'No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for siege engines. Yet here there are no mangonels or ballistas.' 'Perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from afar,' she suggested. He shook his head. 'It didn't fall from above. It came from yonder thicket. See how the twigs are broken? It was thrown as a man might throw a pebble. But who? What? Come!' She hesitantly followed him into the thicket. Inside the outer ring of leafy brush, the undergrowth was less dense. Utter silence brooded over all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint. Yet from this mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder, swift and deadly. Conan bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof above their heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves and interwoven

What knocks Conan unconscious?

A stone from a ling knocks him unconscious.

half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had in with a rush, quick on his feet as a giant cat, for all his bulk. Curses hissed between his clenched teeth as he lustily swung and parried. Conan fought in silence, his eyes slits of blue bale-fire. The Kothian ceased his oaths to save his breath. The only sounds were the quick scuff of feet on the sward, the panting of the pirate, the ring and clash of steel. The swords flashed like white fire in the early sun, wheeling and circling. They seemed to recoil from each other's contact, then leap together again instantly. Sergius was giving back; only his superlative skill had saved him thus far from the blinding speed of the Cimmerian's onslaught. A louder clash of steel, a sliding rasp, a choking cry--from the pirate horde a fierce yell split the morning as Conan's sword plunged through their captain's massive body. The point quivered an instant from between Sergius's shoulders, a hand's breadth of white fire in the sunlight; then the Cimmerian wrenched back his steel and the pirate chief fell heavily, face down, and lay in a widening pool of blood, his broad hands twitching for an instant. Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs. 'Well, you dogs!' he roared. 'I've sent your chief to hell. What says the law of the Red Brotherhood?' Before any could answer, a rat-faced Brythunian, standing behind his fellows, whirled a sling swiftly and deadly. Straight as an arrow sped the stone to its mark, and Conan reeled and fell as a tall tree falls to the woodsman's ax. Up on the cliff Olivia caught at the boulders for support. The scene swam dizzily before her eyes; all she could see was the Cimmerian lying limply on the sward, blood oozing from his head. The rat-faced one yelped in 'If the mind could conceive of the offspring of a union of divinity with humanity, it would picture that youth. The gods of old times mated sometimes with mortal women, our legends tell us.' 'What gods?' he muttered. 'The nameless, forgotten ones. Who knows? They have gone back into the still waters of the lakes, the quiet hearts of the hills, the gulfs beyond the stars. Gods are no more stable than men.' 'But if these shapes were men, blasted into iron images by some god or devil, how can they come to life?' 'There is witchcraft in the moon,' she shuddered. '_He_ pointed at the moon; while the moon shines on them, they live. So I believe.' 'But we were not pursued,' muttered Conan, glancing toward the brooding ruins. 'You might have dreamed they moved. I am of a mind to return and see.' 'No, no!' she cried, clutching him desperately. 'Perhaps the spell upon them holds them in the hall. Do not go back! They will rend you limb from limb! Oh, Conan, let us go into our boat and flee this awful island! Surely the Hyrkanian ship has passed us now! Let us go!' So frantic was her pleading that Conan was impressed. His curiosity in regard to the images was balanced by his superstition. Foes of flesh and blood he did not fear, however great the odds, but any hint of the supernatural roused all the dim monstrous instincts of fear that are the heritage of the barbarian. He took the girl's hand and they went down the slope and plunged into the dense woods, where the leaves whispered, and nameless night-birds murmured drowsily. Under the trees the shadows clustered thick, and Conan swerved to avoid the denser patches. His eyes roved continuously from side to

What nickname do the pirates give the island?

Devil Island.

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand,

Who kills the captain of the pirate ship?

Conan

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming for you must have been great, to have driven him to attack us finally in the open. What--' He started and wheeled back toward the way they had come. The night had been split by an awful scream. It came from the ruins. Instantly there followed a mad medley of yells, shrieks and cries of blasphemous agony. Though accompanied by a ringing of steel, the sounds were of massacre rather than battle. Conan stood frozen, the girl clinging to him in a frenzy of terror. The clamor rose to a crescendo of madness, and then the Cimmerian turned and went swiftly toward the rim of the plateau, with its fringe of moon-limned trees. Olivia's legs were trembling so that she could not walk; so he carried her, and her heart calmed its frantic pounding as she nestled into his cradling arms. They passed under the shadowy forest, but the clusters of blackness held no terrors, the rifts of silver discovered no grisly shape. Night-birds murmured slumberously. The yells of slaughter dwindled behind them, masked in the distance to a confused jumble of sound. Somewhere a parrot called, like an eery echo: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' So they came to the tree-fringed water's edge and saw the galley lying at anchor, her sail shining white in the moonlight. Already the stars were paling for dawn. In the ghastly whiteness of dawn a handful of tattered, blood-stained figures staggered through the trees and out on to the narrow beach. There were forty-four of them, and they were a cowed and demoralized band. With panting haste they plunged into the water and began to wade toward the galley, when a stern challenge brought them up standing. Etched against the whitening sky they saw Conan the Cimmerian standing in the bows, sword in hand, The cords fell from Conan's arms, and taking the dagger from her, he ripped the bonds from his legs with a single quick slash. He stepped out from the pillar, flexing his limbs, stoically enduring the agony of returning circulation. Olivia crouched against him, shaking like a leaf. Was it some trick of the moonlight that touched the eyes of the black figures with fire, so that they glimmered redly in the shadows? Conan moved with the abruptness of a jungle cat. Catching up his sword from where it lay in a stack of weapons near by, he lifted Olivia lightly from her feet and glided through an opening that gaped in the ivy-grown wall. No word passed between them. Lifting her in his arms he set off swiftly across the moon-bathed sward. Her arms about his iron neck, the Ophirean closed her eyes, cradling her dark curly head against his massive shoulder. A delicious sense of security stole over her. In spite of his burden, the Cimmerian crossed the plateau swiftly, and Olivia, opening her eyes, saw that they were passing under the shadow of the cliffs. 'Something climbed the cliffs,' she whispered. 'I heard it scrambling behind me as I came down.' 'We'll have to chance it,' he grunted. 'I am not afraid--now,' she sighed. 'You were not afraid when you came to free me, either,' he answered. 'Crom, what a day it has been! Such haggling and wrangling I never heard. I'm nearly deaf. Aratus wished to cut out my heart, and Ivanos refused, to spite Aratus, whom he hates. All day long they snarled and spat at one another, and the crew quickly grew too drunk to vote either way--' He halted suddenly, an image of bronze in the moonlight. With a quick gesture he tossed from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will

Who becomes the new captain of the pirate ship?

Conan becomes the new captain.

jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded the invaders with glittering eyes of jet. 'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?' Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows. Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding touch her supple spine. 'What did it say?' she whispered. 'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't say.' 'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered slightly, without knowing why. 'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo. We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.' So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the dangerous aspect of feature were not altered. Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him, and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread. Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like half naked, but the garments they wore were fine; gold-braided jackets, satin girdles, silken breeches, tattered, stained with tar and blood, vied with pieces of silver-chased armor. Jewels glittered in nose-rings and ear-rings, and in the hilts of their daggers. Over against this bizarre mob stood the tall Cimmerian in strong contrast with his hard bronzed limbs and clean-cut vital features. 'Who are you?' they roared. 'Conan the Cimmerian!' His voice was like the deep challenge of a lion. 'One of the Free Companions. I mean to try my luck with the Red Brotherhood. Who's your chief?' 'I, by Ishtar!' bellowed a bull-like voice, as a huge figure swaggered forward: a giant, naked to the waist, where his capacious belly was girdled by a wide sash that upheld voluminous silken pantaloons. His head was shaven except for a scalp-lock, his mustaches dropped over a rat-trap mouth. Green Shemitish slippers with upturned toes were on his feet, a long straight sword in his hand. Conan stared and glared. 'Sergius of Khrosha, by Crom!' 'Aye, by Ishtar!' boomed the giant, his small black eyes glittering with hate. 'Did you think I had forgot? Ha! Sergius never forgets an enemy. Now I'll hang you up by the heels and skin you alive. At him, lads!' 'Aye, send your dogs at me, big-belly,' sneered Conan with bitter scorn. 'You were always a coward, you Kothic cur.' 'Coward! To me?' The broad face turned black with passion. 'On guard, you northern dog! I'll cut out your heart!' In an instant the pirates had formed a circle about the rivals, their eyes blazing, their breath sucking between their teeth in bloodthirsty enjoyment. High up among the crags Olivia watched, sinking her nails into her palms in her painful excitement. Without formality the combatants engaged, Sergius coming a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. apparition in a barbarous accent. 'The devils of vengeance have brought you here!' '_Kozak!_' ejaculated Shah Amurath, recoiling. 'I did not know a dog of you escaped! I thought you all lay stiff on the steppe, by Ilbars River.' 'All but me, damn you!' cried the other. 'Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or crouched in the mire up to my mouth--I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods of Hell, how I have yearned for this!' The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth appeared on his blackened lips. 'Keep back!' ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly. 'Ha!' It was like the bark of a timber wolf. 'Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn you, how I love the sight of you--you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them--_ai_, you dog, you filthy dog!' His voice rose to a maddened scream, and he charged. In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of Akif? There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped

What kind of queen does Olivia become?

Queen of the Blue Sea.

a smile that would have seemed gentle to a stranger. 'You are strangely virile, Olivia. I wonder if I shall ever weary of you, as I have always wearied of women before. You are ever fresh and unsullied, in spite of me. Each new day with you brings a new delight. 'But come--let us return to Akif, where the people are still feting the conqueror of the miserable _kozaki_; while he, the conqueror, is engaged in recapturing a wretched fugitive, a foolish, lovely, idiotic runaway!' 'No!' She recoiled, turning toward the waters lapping bluely among the reeds. 'Yes!' His flash of open anger was like a spark struck from flint. With a quickness her tender limbs could not approximate, he caught her wrist, twisting it in pure wanton cruelty until she screamed and sank to her knees. 'Slut! I should drag you back to Akif at my horse's tail, but I will be merciful and carry you on my saddle-bow, for which favor you shall humbly thank me, while--' He released her with a startled oath and sprang back, his saber flashing out, as a terrible apparition burst from the reedy jungle sounding an inarticulate cry of hate. Olivia, staring up from the ground, saw what she took to be either a savage or a madman advancing on Shah Amurath in an attitude of deadly menace. He was powerfully built, naked but for a girdled loincloth, which was stained with blood and crusted with dried mire. His black mane was matted with mud and clotted blood; there were streaks of dried blood on his chest and limbs, dried blood on the long straight sword he gripped in his right hand. From under the tangle of his locks, bloodshot eyes glared like coals of blue fire. 'You Hyrkanian dog!' mouthed this a distant glow rising through the trees. The moon was rising! With a gasp she rose and hurried toward the ruins. Her flesh crawled as she tiptoed among the drunken shapes that sprawled beside the gaping portal. Inside were many more; they shifted and mumbled in their besotted dreams, but none awakened as she glided among them. A sob of joy rose to her lips as she saw Conan. The Cimmerian was wide awake, bound upright to a pillar, his eyes gleaming in the faint reflection of the waning fire outside. Picking her way among the sleepers, she approached him. Lightly as she had come, he had heard her; had seen her when first framed in the portal. A faint grin touched his hard lips. She reached him and clung to him an instant. He felt the quick beating of her heart against his breast. Through a broad crevice in the wall stole a beam of moonlight, and the air was instantly supercharged with subtle tension. Conan felt it and stiffened. Olivia felt it and gasped. The sleepers snored on. Bending quickly, she drew a dagger from its senseless owner's belt, and set to work on Conan's bonds. They were sail cords, thick and heavy, and tied with the craft of a sailor. She toiled desperately, while the tide of moonlight crept slowly across the floor toward the feet of the crouching black figures between the pillars. Her breath came in gasps; Conan's wrists were free, but his elbows and legs were still bound fast. She glanced fleetingly at the figures along the walls--waiting, waiting. They seemed to watch her with the awful patience of the undead. The drunkards beneath her feet began to stir and groan in their sleep. The moonlight crept down the hall, touching the black feet. from his nerveless fingers. 'Quarter!' he gasped. 'Quarter?' There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. 'Quarter such as you gave us, you swine!' Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, massacre, torture, and fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased. She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood. He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action. 'Oh, wait!' she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. 'Do not leave me! Take me with you!' He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I am called Olivia. I was _his_ captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here. Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will our way.' 'Then we must spend the night here?' she shivered. 'It's safest.' 'Then let us sleep here, on the crags,' she urged. He shook his head, glancing at the stunted trees, at the marching woods below, a green mass which seemed to send out tendrils straggling up the sides of the cliffs. 'Here are too many trees. We'll sleep in the ruins.' She cried out in protest. 'Nothing will harm you there,' he soothed. 'Whatever threw the stone at us did not follow us out of the woods. There was nothing to show that any wild thing lairs in the ruins. Besides, you are soft-skinned, and used to shelter and dainties. I could sleep naked in the snow and feel no discomfort, but the dew would give you cramps, were we to sleep in the open.' Olivia helplessly acquiesced, and they descended the cliffs, crossed the plateau and once more approached the gloomy, age-haunted ruins. By this time the sun was sinking below the plateau rim. They had found fruit in the trees near the cliffs, and these formed their supper, both food and drink. The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars, and Conan entered the shadowy ruins, drawing the reluctant Olivia after him. She shivered at the sight of those tense black shadows in their niches along the walls. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she could not make out their outlines; she could only sense their attitude of waiting--waiting as they had waited for untold centuries. Conan had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her, and she lay upon it, with a curious sensation as of one lying down to sleep in a serpent's lair. left where it had fallen; a sprawling, unlovely shape on the sun-washed sward. Up among the rocks, Olivia lay stunned by the disaster. She was incapable of speech or action, and could only lie there and stare with horrified eyes as the brutal horde dragged her protector away. How long she lay there, she did not know. Across the plateau she saw the pirates reach the ruins and enter, dragging their captive. She saw them swarming in and out of the doors and crevices, prodding into the heaps of debris, and clambering about the walls. After awhile a score of them came back across the plateau and vanished among the trees on the western rim, dragging the body of Sergius after them, presumably to cast into the sea. About the ruins the others were cutting down trees and securing material for a fire. Olivia heard their shouts, unintelligible in the distance, and she heard the voices of those who had gone into the woods, echoing among the trees. Presently they came back into sight, bearing casks of liquor and leathern sacks of food. They headed for the ruins, cursing lustily under their burdens. Of all this Olivia was but mechanically cognizant. Her overwrought brain was almost ready to collapse. Left alone and unprotected, she realized how much the protection of the Cimmerian had meant to her. There intruded vaguely a wonderment at the mad pranks of Fate, that could make the daughter of a king the companion of a red-handed barbarian. With it came a revulsion toward her own kind. Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering. She had never encountered any civilized man who treated her with kindness unless there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. Conan had

What does Olivia see in her dream?

A band of men turned into statues.

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing

How long did Crash play in the majors?

21 days

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE

How long did Crash play in the minor league?

12 years

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo".

Who does Annie have a relationship with in the beginning of the story?

Ebby/Nuke

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The huge bat in an elegant follow-through... We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent. PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up. ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders. She's cosmic. ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps. She sits on a bench and ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up her calves as she does. SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side. Like a little girl showing off her new shoes. ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick. ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly, in her cleavage. ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses. Stylish and slightly mad. ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic, old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head. People are arriving on foot from all around... "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air. CLOSE ON A BASEBALL

What nickname does Annie give Ebby?

Nuke

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing

What nickname does Crash give Ebby?

Meat

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

What is Crash trying to teach Ebby regarding his pitching?

To control his fastball

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

What does Crash do when Ebby refuses the calls he's made?

He tells the batter what's coming

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing

What is Crash trying to teach Ebby by letting the batter make the pitching calls?

Not to think

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing

What happens to Nuke at the end of the story?

He gets called up to the majors

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing note. Jackson looks at the note uneasily, then reads -- ANNIE SWINGS -- Lashes out a line drive. Crash smiles. ANNIE FOULS ONE OFF and digs in gamely. CRASH STEPS IN TO HIT -- He takes his familiar stance. The pitch comes. Crash drills it. The pitching machine arm flaps. Empty. Silence. Crash puts the bat down, heads out the gate. She follows. A LITTLE LEAGUE TEAM ARRIVES -- Twenty-five 10 year olds in uniform with a couple PARENT COACHES. SUDDENLY A VOICE -- Nuke pulls up, gets out of his Porsche. And suddenly Nuke is swept up into a sea of Little Leaguers. Crash smiles as he turns Annie and the kids over to Nuke. Crash leaves Annie with Nuke and 25 Little Leaguers. ANNIE BITES HER FIST watching Crash leave. Several beats of silence. He flips on a lamp near the bed. Nuke considers this fabulous logic. Nuke sighs; and lets his head sink in the pillow. Nuke rests his head on Annie's shoulder. His eyes are wide open and full of nervous energy. THE MAYOR STEPS to the mike. A classic Southern mayor. As the honorable Mutt Clark drones on -- we INTERCUT: A MANGY DOG EATS FROM A DISH provided by the players. A couple kids sit with the players. JOSE FASHIONS A SMALL CROSS OUT OF CHICKEN BONES and rubs it on his bat. Bobby notices this. BOBBY HOLDS OUT HIS BAT for Jose to rub with the cross. The night sky fills with fluttering money THE ROPE IS DROPPED -- THREE HUNDRED LITTLE LEAGUERS charge across the infield to the falling money, scooping it up wildly, brawling, shoving, clawing for the cash. As the money flutters down... Puffs of rosin "smoke". Nuke is on the mound. NUKE NERVOUSLY WALKS AROUND THE MOUND --

What record does Crash break ?

Minor league record for career home runs

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

Why is Crash brought to the Durham Bulls?

To coach Ebby Calvin Laloosh about becoming a major leaguer.

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small opening bars on the National Anthem -- "Oh Say Can You See" And Max roars off through the rolling green-landscape... Hit Hank Williams music to play over: A WINSTON-SALEM BATTER lines a double off the wall. HIS ASSISTANT (P.A. ANNOUNCER FROM THE BALLPARK) has a phone to her ear, and writes down each play on a piece of paper, holding it up for Teddy who enhances shamelessly in his ON THE AIR "play by play". CLOSE ON PAPER -- His assistant writes "DOUBLE TO LEFT". TEDDY HITS A TINY MALLET against a jar. Thunk. The sound of ball hitting bat. He punches one of several tape cassettes cued up. A crowd roars. An array of special effects is at his fingertips. THUNK -- The mallet strikes. THUNK THUNK THUNK -- A rapid sequence of the mallet striking the percussive box, and: The voice of Teddy an the air, editorializing shamelessly. NUKE STARTS TO PUT ON THE RED PANTIES -- Changes his mind, and hides them again. THE TEAM BUS rolling across North Carolina. THE TEAM BUS at a drive through hamburger stand somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Sack after sack of fast food is passed through the window to Skip. THE TEAM BUS PULLS INTO YET ANOTHER HOTEL and this time, a Bus with a sign -- "Holiday on Ice" pulls in next to them. P.O.V. HOLIDAY ON ICE GIRLS getting off the bus. Crash turns several handles with an iron bar, and... THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM COMES TO LIFE -- And suddenly the field is covered with the clicking of rain-bird sprinklers, throwing long slow arcs of water across the entire field. The General Manager studies the field. Hopeless. He looks up at the sky. Cloudless, sunny. Organ music -- "The Blue Danube Waltz". TEN OF THE DURHAM

For whom's affection do Ebby and Crash vie?

Annie

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE

What team does Crash join after being released from the Durham Bulls?

The Asheville Tourists

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

What do Crash and Annie realize once Ebby becomes a better baseball player?

That they're in love

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The huge bat in an elegant follow-through... We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent. PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up. ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders. She's cosmic. ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps. She sits on a bench and ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up her calves as she does. SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side. Like a little girl showing off her new shoes. ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick. ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly, in her cleavage. ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses. Stylish and slightly mad. ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic, old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head. People are arriving on foot from all around... "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air. CLOSE ON A BASEBALL underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

What is Crash's initial reaction to Ebby getting called up to "The Show"?

Crash is jealous

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. opening bars on the National Anthem -- "Oh Say Can You See" And Max roars off through the rolling green-landscape... Hit Hank Williams music to play over: A WINSTON-SALEM BATTER lines a double off the wall. HIS ASSISTANT (P.A. ANNOUNCER FROM THE BALLPARK) has a phone to her ear, and writes down each play on a piece of paper, holding it up for Teddy who enhances shamelessly in his ON THE AIR "play by play". CLOSE ON PAPER -- His assistant writes "DOUBLE TO LEFT". TEDDY HITS A TINY MALLET against a jar. Thunk. The sound of ball hitting bat. He punches one of several tape cassettes cued up. A crowd roars. An array of special effects is at his fingertips. THUNK -- The mallet strikes. THUNK THUNK THUNK -- A rapid sequence of the mallet striking the percussive box, and: The voice of Teddy an the air, editorializing shamelessly. NUKE STARTS TO PUT ON THE RED PANTIES -- Changes his mind, and hides them again. THE TEAM BUS rolling across North Carolina. THE TEAM BUS at a drive through hamburger stand somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Sack after sack of fast food is passed through the window to Skip. THE TEAM BUS PULLS INTO YET ANOTHER HOTEL and this time, a Bus with a sign -- "Holiday on Ice" pulls in next to them. P.O.V. HOLIDAY ON ICE GIRLS getting off the bus. Crash turns several handles with an iron bar, and... THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM COMES TO LIFE -- And suddenly the field is covered with the clicking of rain-bird sprinklers, throwing long slow arcs of water across the entire field. The General Manager studies the field. Hopeless. He looks up at the sky. Cloudless, sunny. Organ music -- "The Blue Danube Waltz". TEN OF THE DURHAM underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

Why is Crash jealous when Ebby gets called up to the major leagues?

Crash thinks that Ebby doesn't appreciate his own talent

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small

Why do the Bulls release Crash?

The Bulls do not need him anymore once Ebby is called up to the major leagues

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE

What does Crash do once he retires?

Crash goes back to be with Annie

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing

What kind of relationship do Crash and Ebby have when they first meet?

Crash and Ebby do not start out on the best terms and are fighting over the same girl

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE

What is the nickname Crash gives to Ebby?

Meat

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE opening bars on the National Anthem -- "Oh Say Can You See" And Max roars off through the rolling green-landscape... Hit Hank Williams music to play over: A WINSTON-SALEM BATTER lines a double off the wall. HIS ASSISTANT (P.A. ANNOUNCER FROM THE BALLPARK) has a phone to her ear, and writes down each play on a piece of paper, holding it up for Teddy who enhances shamelessly in his ON THE AIR "play by play". CLOSE ON PAPER -- His assistant writes "DOUBLE TO LEFT". TEDDY HITS A TINY MALLET against a jar. Thunk. The sound of ball hitting bat. He punches one of several tape cassettes cued up. A crowd roars. An array of special effects is at his fingertips. THUNK -- The mallet strikes. THUNK THUNK THUNK -- A rapid sequence of the mallet striking the percussive box, and: The voice of Teddy an the air, editorializing shamelessly. NUKE STARTS TO PUT ON THE RED PANTIES -- Changes his mind, and hides them again. THE TEAM BUS rolling across North Carolina. THE TEAM BUS at a drive through hamburger stand somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Sack after sack of fast food is passed through the window to Skip. THE TEAM BUS PULLS INTO YET ANOTHER HOTEL and this time, a Bus with a sign -- "Holiday on Ice" pulls in next to them. P.O.V. HOLIDAY ON ICE GIRLS getting off the bus. Crash turns several handles with an iron bar, and... THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM COMES TO LIFE -- And suddenly the field is covered with the clicking of rain-bird sprinklers, throwing long slow arcs of water across the entire field. The General Manager studies the field. Hopeless. He looks up at the sky. Cloudless, sunny. Organ music -- "The Blue Danube Waltz". TEN OF THE DURHAM He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

Who chooses players from the Bulls to be her lover and student?

Annie

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The huge bat in an elegant follow-through... We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent. PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up. ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders. She's cosmic. ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps. She sits on a bench and ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up her calves as she does. SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side. Like a little girl showing off her new shoes. ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick. ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly, in her cleavage. ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses. Stylish and slightly mad. ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic, old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head. People are arriving on foot from all around... "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air. CLOSE ON A BASEBALL

What nickname does Annie give to Ebby?

Nuke

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND

Who is jealous of Ebby?

Crash

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The huge bat in an elegant follow-through... We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent. PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up. ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders. She's cosmic. ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps. She sits on a bench and ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up her calves as she does. SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side. Like a little girl showing off her new shoes. ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick. ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly, in her cleavage. ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses. Stylish and slightly mad. ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic, old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head. People are arriving on foot from all around... "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air. CLOSE ON A BASEBALL

Who did Annie date?

Ebby, then later Crash

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small

What new team does Crash join?

Asheville Tourists

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The huge bat in an elegant follow-through... We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent. PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up. ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty, knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern, National and International borders. She's cosmic. ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps. She sits on a bench and ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up her calves as she does. SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side. Like a little girl showing off her new shoes. ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick. ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly, in her cleavage. ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses. Stylish and slightly mad. ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic, old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head. People are arriving on foot from all around... "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air. CLOSE ON A BASEBALL CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small

What field position does Ebby play?

pitcher

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate doing his famous Bill Haley routine. A comic pitcher's windup full of twists and goofy choreography. ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and friend. A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women, dressed in tight pants, tight everything. Friendly, eager, innocent -- THEY WAVE TO ANNIE. FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives". LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly together. Larry examines it as they talk -- And shoves the giant chaw into his mouth. A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth. CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles, short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence, naivete and horniness of youth. Life is a party. A YOUNG WOMAN, MILLIE, 20, half nude, is dressing quickly. EBBY WHIRLS as Skip enters. As Skip starts to leave. Skip stares at him. He can't believe this guy. SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS BACK OUT TO THE FIELD -- And Ebby unperturbed, turns his attention back to Millie. ANNIE LOOKS THROUGH HER BINOCULARS -- Studying the players warming up casually on the sidelines as Patkin winds up his act. BACK TO MAX PATKIN -- He finishes his routine. Applause as Patkin takes his bows, leaves the field, shakes hands with a the BULL MASCOT LEADING THE He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small

Why was Crash let go from the Bulls?

He was no longer needed since Ebby went to the majors.

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". -- Fastball for a strike. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- An eye-popping fastball. The batter swings and misses. Strike three. P.O.V. NUKES FASTBALL SHATTERS A BAT -- THE HITTER hits a weak roller to third for the second out. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS A VICIOUS CURVEBALL -- A check swing dribbler to first for the third out. And the players run into the dugout. CRASH SMILES in his disarming way, and grabs a bat. CRASH RISES and heads to the plate. CRASH'S P.O.V. IN SLOW-MOTION -- The pitcher winds and delivers. And as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand-- CRASH UNLOADS ON THE PITCH -- Crushing a home run deep over the left field wall. THE NEXT BATTER POPS UP -- Crash circles into foul ground to make the catch, whipping the ball around the infield. THE BATTER STEPS OUT OF THE BOX nervously, muttering. CLOSE ON NUKE -- Smiles. Winds. Delivers. A change up. THE BATTER SWINGS TERRIBLY OFF STRIDE -- Strike three. Crash whips the ball around the infield. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE SIGN Cocky, full of himself. NUKE WINDS AND DELIVERS -- A hanging curveball. The batter takes an ungodly cut, and BLASTS a long home. THE BATTER STANDS AT THE PLATE watching the blast... until CRASH SHOVES HIM toward first with a sneer. For a moment it looks like there'll be a fight -- but the hitter backs off and takes the home run trot as: NUKE STARES AT THE OUTFIELD WALL as the batter circles the bases. Crash walks to the mound. NUKE HOLDS OUT HIS GLOVE -- Says nothing. Crash puts a new ball in the glove. Returns to the plate. NUKE GETS THE SIGN -- Winds. Delivers. Batter hits a weak one hopper back to the mound. Game's over. And we begin hearing opening bars on the National Anthem -- "Oh Say Can You See" And Max roars off through the rolling green-landscape... Hit Hank Williams music to play over: A WINSTON-SALEM BATTER lines a double off the wall. HIS ASSISTANT (P.A. ANNOUNCER FROM THE BALLPARK) has a phone to her ear, and writes down each play on a piece of paper, holding it up for Teddy who enhances shamelessly in his ON THE AIR "play by play". CLOSE ON PAPER -- His assistant writes "DOUBLE TO LEFT". TEDDY HITS A TINY MALLET against a jar. Thunk. The sound of ball hitting bat. He punches one of several tape cassettes cued up. A crowd roars. An array of special effects is at his fingertips. THUNK -- The mallet strikes. THUNK THUNK THUNK -- A rapid sequence of the mallet striking the percussive box, and: The voice of Teddy an the air, editorializing shamelessly. NUKE STARTS TO PUT ON THE RED PANTIES -- Changes his mind, and hides them again. THE TEAM BUS rolling across North Carolina. THE TEAM BUS at a drive through hamburger stand somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Sack after sack of fast food is passed through the window to Skip. THE TEAM BUS PULLS INTO YET ANOTHER HOTEL and this time, a Bus with a sign -- "Holiday on Ice" pulls in next to them. P.O.V. HOLIDAY ON ICE GIRLS getting off the bus. Crash turns several handles with an iron bar, and... THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM COMES TO LIFE -- And suddenly the field is covered with the clicking of rain-bird sprinklers, throwing long slow arcs of water across the entire field. The General Manager studies the field. Hopeless. He looks up at the sky. Cloudless, sunny. Organ music -- "The Blue Danube Waltz". TEN OF THE DURHAM APPLAUSE. EBBY ENTERS THE DUGOUT from the runway. Larry and Skip encourage their players running onto the field. Ebby is trying to get the zipper on his fly unstuck. He smiles broadly at Skip and Larry, and grabs his glove. EBBY CALVIN LALOOSH WINDS UP and fires. The pitch sails over the batter's head, over the catcher's head, over the backstop, and CRASHES INTO THE PRESS BOX. ANNIE'S BOX SEAT -- She turns to Jackson. JACKSON RUNS OFF with the note. Annie turns to Millie. EBBY UNLEASHES A WILD ONE -- And decks the Bull Mascot. EBBY STRIKES OUT a Peninsula batter. EBBY UNLEASHES ANOTHER WILD ONE and a batter hits the dirt. End "Rock Around the Clock" and -- A DURHAM PLAYER SITTING HALF DRESSED in front of his locker. A PICTURE OF JESUS hangs amidst his gear. The player, JIMMY, 25, has a Bible and prays softly to himself. DEKE WALKS BY, shaking Jimmy irreverently as he prays. THE DOOR OPENS -- A PLAYER ENTERS, in street clothes, carrying his suitcases. CRASH DAVIS, 30, older than the other players. And different. More than just opinions, he actually has a point of view. A career minor leaguer, hanging on wherever he can get a job. Unlike Ebby -- Crash knows a lot about the world without baseball. Also unlike Ebby -- he loves baseball desperately. Crash speaks slowly, with a trace of cynicism and pride, like an old warrior who knows he's just a hired gun. Beat. Skip looks out, half dressed, from his cubicle. CRASH RISES TO LEAVE -- Picks up his luggage, and turns to Skip and Larry before exiting. A deep breath Beat. They know, they share the inability to quit the game. They're all clinging to the Church of Baseball. He does. Remains standing. He

At the end of the story, in what town does Crash plan to go to be a manager?

Visalia

Just before the first batter. He picks up the rosin bag. Digs a slot for his lead foot to land. And CRASH APPROACHES, in full gear, mask tipped up on his head. CRASH TURNS AND HEADS TO THE PLATE and we hear the beginning of Nuke's interior monologue. CRASH TURNS AROUND HALF WAY TO THE PLATE and returns to the mound, as if he knows everything Nuke's thinking. CRASH SMILES -- And trots back to the plate. NUKE'S P.O.V. The first batter steps in. Crash gives the sign for the pitch. NUKE SHAKES OFF THE PITCH -- Here comes Crash back out to the mound before Nuke's thrown a pitch. CRASH RETURNS ONE MORE TIME to behind the plate. CRASH CROSSES THE PLATE, past the hitter. He speaks to the opposing leadoff batter. THE LEADOFF HITTER TEES OFF on the pitch and sends a line shot over the right field fence. CLOSE ON BILLBOARD -- "Hit Cow, Win Steak" sign, The home run hits the cow on a target painted on the cow's rump. THE BATTER STANDS AND WATCHES the home run, admiring the shot, enjoying the moment. CRASH GETS IN HIS FACE instantly -- and gets very tough. AND CRASH HEADS TO THE MOUND where Nuke watches the Mooing Cow and the circling batter with dismay. Crash smiles. CRASH SMILES -- Drops the mask, returns behind the plate. NUKE SIGHS -- Takes a deep breath. NUKE'S WINDUP AND DELIVERY -- A fastball. A powerful, clean, overwhelming fastball. Strike one. NUKE WINDS UP AND DELIVERS HIS NEXT PITCH -- A monster. An Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh fastball. Twenty feet wide of the plate. THE BULL MASCOT DIVES FOR COVER -- The ball hits the bat rack. Bats go flying. NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to left. underwear off of a lampshade, pulls them on, and gets slowly out of bed. He staggers across the bedroom floor, stumbling a bit, into: THE LIVING ROOM -- He stumbles across the trashed room. Record album covers, more liquor bottles, pillows, cushions, pictures hanging crookedly on the wall. CRASH TAKES THE SKIPPING RECORD off the player and breathes a sigh of relief. He sees his pants lying on the floor and pulls them on. CRASH OPENS A DRAWER -- Pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. He starts writing... SHE SITS UP WITH A START and reads the note. SHE FINDS A BIT OF A JOINT on the floor as she's cleaning. She picks it up, sits on the floor under the table, and lights the tiny joint. THE BIG LEAGUE REPORTER nods attentively as Nuke knowingly delivers the clichés like a veteran. CRASH STEPS TO THE PLATE -- In a uniform we've never seen him in, of course. The Asheville Tourists. He picks up some dirt, rubs it on his hands. He's as intense as ever. Still playing for keeps. CRASH'S P.O.V. -- SLO-MO AS THE PITCHER WINDS AND delivers a fastball right down the pipe. And doesn't move. For several seconds he indulges himself uncharacteristically -- until... CRASH SMILES and takes the home run trot slowly. As he heads toward first, HE RAISES A CLINCHED FIST for a brief moment, a tiny gesture of triumph. And then, routinely, he just circles the bases. THE RAINS COME -- The players huddle-in the dugouts. THE GROUND CREW DRAGS TARPS over the mound and the plate. ANNIE AND JACKSON POP OPEN THEIR UMBRELLAS and walk out of the ballpark towards home. CLOSE ON ANNIE -- She hesitates, and smiles. ANNIE SITS DOWN on the porch owing next to Crash. A moment of silence over the significance of him quitting. He smiles slightly and takes her hand. He rises, takes her hand, and they head inside. And as the rains fall on Durham... The music -- Dave Frishberg sings "Van Lingle Mungo". He holds a drink on it. CLOSE ON EBBY -- His eyes full of fear and wonder. THE THREE OF THEM LEAVE the bar together. EBBY AND CRASH SIT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF HER COUCH -- Both men look around the room with wonder. Ebby is clearly more nervous than Crash, who's been in some strange rooms in his minor league career. Crash rises to leave, and heads for the door. Crash at the door. Annie's question is slightly taunting. He stops, and speaks with both aloofness and passion: Crash heads out into the night. Annie hurries to the-door while Ebby sits on the couch, bewildered. Ebby appears in the door. Crash walks out into the Durham night. Ebby and Annie stand in the doorway. She speaks softly to Ebby. She sits in a chair. Piaf sings. Ebby practically rips his shirt off, exposing a great upper body. Piaf sings. Annie listens. Ebby re-buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. It drops, revealing his back. Ebby drops his pants. Ebby considers this. Pulls his pants back up. Takes his socks off. Then his pants. CRASH TAKES HIS BATTING STANCE in front of the window, studying his reflection. He taken a "swing". And another. A GROUP OF OLD BLACK MEN stand in a doorway, watching. Annie calmly drags a chair over and sits down. Annie opens a book and begins reading as Piaf sings softly. CLOSE ON EBBY'S FACE -- Intrigued, aroused, frightened. CLOSE ON CRASH'S EYES -- Studying the "pitches" with intense concentration, endlessly working on his game. BOBBY, 25, smooths the creases of his uniform, preening. All heads turn as: Lots of teasing from around the clubhouse. EBBY GOES TO HIS LOCKER and starts undressing. Crash sits next to him, looking straight ahead. Bobby nearby. Crash studies Ebby. CRASH RISES AND opening bars on the National Anthem -- "Oh Say Can You See" And Max roars off through the rolling green-landscape... Hit Hank Williams music to play over: A WINSTON-SALEM BATTER lines a double off the wall. HIS ASSISTANT (P.A. ANNOUNCER FROM THE BALLPARK) has a phone to her ear, and writes down each play on a piece of paper, holding it up for Teddy who enhances shamelessly in his ON THE AIR "play by play". CLOSE ON PAPER -- His assistant writes "DOUBLE TO LEFT". TEDDY HITS A TINY MALLET against a jar. Thunk. The sound of ball hitting bat. He punches one of several tape cassettes cued up. A crowd roars. An array of special effects is at his fingertips. THUNK -- The mallet strikes. THUNK THUNK THUNK -- A rapid sequence of the mallet striking the percussive box, and: The voice of Teddy an the air, editorializing shamelessly. NUKE STARTS TO PUT ON THE RED PANTIES -- Changes his mind, and hides them again. THE TEAM BUS rolling across North Carolina. THE TEAM BUS at a drive through hamburger stand somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Sack after sack of fast food is passed through the window to Skip. THE TEAM BUS PULLS INTO YET ANOTHER HOTEL and this time, a Bus with a sign -- "Holiday on Ice" pulls in next to them. P.O.V. HOLIDAY ON ICE GIRLS getting off the bus. Crash turns several handles with an iron bar, and... THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM COMES TO LIFE -- And suddenly the field is covered with the clicking of rain-bird sprinklers, throwing long slow arcs of water across the entire field. The General Manager studies the field. Hopeless. He looks up at the sky. Cloudless, sunny. Organ music -- "The Blue Danube Waltz". TEN OF THE DURHAM NUKE PITCHES AGAIN -- The batter lines a single to right. NUKE'S P.O.V. -- THE MANAGER comes out to the mound to talk. SKIP SLAPS NUKE ON THE ASS in a gruff, reassuring way, and returns to the dugout. Leaving Nuke and Crash. CRASH SMILES -- And as he returns to the plate... Hit Professor Longhair rock and roll... and: DURHAM AT BAT -- DUGOUT -- Crash lets Jose rub his bat with a chicken bone cross. Then steps to the plate and -- CRASH HITS A LONG HOME RUN -- And circles the bases. NUKE DELIVERS -- A line drive nearly undresses him. Runners circle the bases. SUDDENLY SKIP STEPS INTO THE SHOWER in his uniform and angrily throws an armload of bats into the shower. THE SHOWER EMPTIES in seconds. Players grab a seat, and: SKIP PICKS UP A CHAIR AND FIRES IT AT WHITEY -- The chair crashes into a locker. Whitey hurries out. A couple snickers from the players. Skip whirls. The Durham Bulls sit and stand quietly. SKIP FLASHES THROUGH A SEQUENCE of signs. Hand to face, hand to belt, hand brushes letters, etc. SKIP FLASHES QUICKLY ANOTHER SEQUENCE -- Hand to face, hands to hands. He speaks rapidly -- a private language. The long-suffering women try to calm the kids. SKIP HEADS BACK INSIDE his little office with Larry. The nearly naked 25 year old man pleads helplessly -- his career is over. -- P.O.V. BOBBY COMING OUT OF THE CLUBHOUSE -- Another player has his arm around Bobby, consoling him. The wife knows. ANNIE BIDS NUKE GOODBYE -- Off to the side. She pulls something from her handbag and hands it to Nuke. A pair of WOMEN'S RED PANTIES, with lace and frills. NUKE STUFFS THE PANTIES in his pocket, bewildered. A small

Where did Crash live for the 21 greatest days of his life?

Major League Baseball

his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The B-9 sits. Data goes. Geordi watches him go. Worf, at tactical, slowly stretches his neck. Trying to release the tension. It cracks. Deanna jumps a bit. Picard stands and walks to the viewscreen. He gazes at Romulus below and the black infinity of space beyond. They're out there, Waiting. And on the viewscreen. Shinzon's magnificent Reman Warbird, the SCIMITAR, decloaks directly before the Enterprise. Shinzon's vessel combines the clean lines of the traditional Romulan Warbird with unique weaponry and styling. It is huge, easily twice as large as the Enterprise. And it is aggressive. Awesome in its power. And the image on the viewscreen transforms to: Shinzon's Viceroy. He stands on the Scimitar's bridge. The bridge is as unique as the rest of Shinzon's ship. Instead of the usual mechanical clutter, this bridge is designed with an almost Asian simplicity. Like the rest of Reman design, it is spare and elegant. Since the Remans are more comfortable in the darkness, most of the light comes from the three steadily pulsing warp core relays which dramatically soar up through the floor of the bridge. The crew gazes at the bridge and the monstrous features of the viceroy. The transmission ends abruptly. The Scimitar reappears on the viewscreen. Picard, Riker, Deanna, Worf and Data head toward the turbolift, energized now that the endless waiting is over. It is a huge, empty chamber. No furniture. A simple Reman mat on the floor is the only decoration. At the very top of the room there is a large, etched glass dome. It is very dark. They turn when Shinzon speaks from the shadows: Shinzon moves toward them a bit, becoming slightly more illuminated, the low light shining off at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi Stands. Shinzon slams his command chair in fury. The Viceroy watches him carefully. A beat. Shinzon regains his composure. He sits again in his command chair. Shinzon leans back, satisfied. And looks at the viewscreen. The image on the viewscreen is shocking. The Enterprise only a few hundred yards away. Completely unaware of the predator directly above it. The images before them quickly change to show another sector and a blip representing the Enterprise. The images before them change to show sector 3274. We see blips denoting Starfleet ships moving into position. Picard gazes at the projection of stars before them for a moment. Picard's words linger in the air for a moment. Then the projections before them sputter with static for a moment. Flickering. The ship QUAKES -- a photon torpedo blast -- the Enterprise is under attack! The Bassen Rift is a strange area of electromagnetic distortion. Energy patterns crackle through space. On the viewscreen, we see disruptor blasts streaking from the Scimitar -- slicing into the Enterprise. The ship SHUDDERS again -- The ship ROCKS again. And the Scimitar's shape is momentarily illuminated as one of its shields is hit. Photon torpedoes immediately shoot from the Enterprise -- but pass harmlessly through the area where the Scimitar's shields were momentarily illuminated. A few lucky phaser shots from the bottom of the Enterprise -- now shooting upward -- manage to momentarily illuminate the bottom shields of the Scimitar as it sweeps past above. Shinzon appears on the viewscreen. He is on the bridge of the Scimitar. Picard looks at him deeply, relentlessly refusing to give up. Picard steps toward him. Shinzon slowly backs away as Picard continues to move toward him relentlessly. Shinzon is in turmoil. Picard senses this.

Where is the Enterprise ambushed by the Scimitar?

In Federation space.

He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi Stands. Shinzon slams his command chair in fury. The Viceroy watches him carefully. A beat. Shinzon regains his composure. He sits again in his command chair. Shinzon leans back, satisfied. And looks at the viewscreen. The image on the viewscreen is shocking. The Enterprise only a few hundred yards away. Completely unaware of the predator directly above it. The images before them quickly change to show another sector and a blip representing the Enterprise. The images before them change to show sector 3274. We see blips denoting Starfleet ships moving into position. Picard gazes at the projection of stars before them for a moment. Picard's words linger in the air for a moment. Then the projections before them sputter with static for a moment. Flickering. The ship QUAKES -- a photon torpedo blast -- the Enterprise is under attack! The Bassen Rift is a strange area of electromagnetic distortion. Energy patterns crackle through space. On the viewscreen, we see disruptor blasts streaking from the Scimitar -- slicing into the Enterprise. The ship SHUDDERS again -- The ship ROCKS again. And the Scimitar's shape is momentarily illuminated as one of its shields is hit. Photon torpedoes immediately shoot from the Enterprise -- but pass harmlessly through the area where the Scimitar's shields were momentarily illuminated. A few lucky phaser shots from the bottom of the Enterprise -- now shooting upward -- manage to momentarily illuminate the bottom shields of the Scimitar as it sweeps past above. Shinzon appears on the viewscreen. He is on the bridge of the Scimitar. Picard looks at him deeply, relentlessly refusing to give up. Picard steps toward him. Shinzon slowly backs away as Picard continues to move toward him relentlessly. Shinzon is in turmoil. Picard senses this. B-9 sits. Data goes. Geordi watches him go. Worf, at tactical, slowly stretches his neck. Trying to release the tension. It cracks. Deanna jumps a bit. Picard stands and walks to the viewscreen. He gazes at Romulus below and the black infinity of space beyond. They're out there, Waiting. And on the viewscreen. Shinzon's magnificent Reman Warbird, the SCIMITAR, decloaks directly before the Enterprise. Shinzon's vessel combines the clean lines of the traditional Romulan Warbird with unique weaponry and styling. It is huge, easily twice as large as the Enterprise. And it is aggressive. Awesome in its power. And the image on the viewscreen transforms to: Shinzon's Viceroy. He stands on the Scimitar's bridge. The bridge is as unique as the rest of Shinzon's ship. Instead of the usual mechanical clutter, this bridge is designed with an almost Asian simplicity. Like the rest of Reman design, it is spare and elegant. Since the Remans are more comfortable in the darkness, most of the light comes from the three steadily pulsing warp core relays which dramatically soar up through the floor of the bridge. The crew gazes at the bridge and the monstrous features of the viceroy. The transmission ends abruptly. The Scimitar reappears on the viewscreen. Picard, Riker, Deanna, Worf and Data head toward the turbolift, energized now that the endless waiting is over. It is a huge, empty chamber. No furniture. A simple Reman mat on the floor is the only decoration. At the very top of the room there is a large, etched glass dome. It is very dark. They turn when Shinzon speaks from the shadows: Shinzon moves toward them a bit, becoming slightly more illuminated, the low light shining off

What comes to Enterprise's aid?

Two Romulan Warbirds.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. watches, amazed, as the box begins to slowly fold open. Then "legs" appear. The box unfolds like a spider, standing on its legs. Then it is still for a moment. The Senator looks at it, puzzled. Suddenly -- a bright beam of green light shoots up from the spider -- the Senators are stunned -- the beam shoots to the high domed ceiling of the chamber and then cascades around the interior of the room, enveloping everything in a glowing shroud of green energy. In a way, it is bizarrely beautiful. And then just as suddenly the light disappears. A moment of silence. The Praetor and Senators are baffled. A plant behind the Praetor begins to shrivel... The Praetor stops suddenly -- as the flesh begins to melt from his face. Every bit of organic matter in the chamber decays. Flesh melts from bones while the Senators scream in agony. Every living thing in the chamber is dead within ten seconds. A stunning moment of silence as we take in the carnage. Then a transporter effect ripples around the spider-weapon. It disappears. And the Romulan Senate is no more. We fade to... His face is resolute and set. Even stern. His white dress uniform is buttoned tightly to the neck. He looks at us evenly and then utters the word that has been the watch cry for his entire life as a Starfleet officer. He lets the word resonate and then continues. Uproarious laughter. We pull back to reveal the wedding reception of WILL RIKER and DEANNA TROI. The Enterprise CREW is gathered with invited GUESTS, some from other "Star Trek" series. Riker and Deanna sit at the center of a long table. Deanna nods down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

What does Shinzon do to the two Romulan Warbirds?

he destroys and disables them

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The watches, amazed, as the box begins to slowly fold open. Then "legs" appear. The box unfolds like a spider, standing on its legs. Then it is still for a moment. The Senator looks at it, puzzled. Suddenly -- a bright beam of green light shoots up from the spider -- the Senators are stunned -- the beam shoots to the high domed ceiling of the chamber and then cascades around the interior of the room, enveloping everything in a glowing shroud of green energy. In a way, it is bizarrely beautiful. And then just as suddenly the light disappears. A moment of silence. The Praetor and Senators are baffled. A plant behind the Praetor begins to shrivel... The Praetor stops suddenly -- as the flesh begins to melt from his face. Every bit of organic matter in the chamber decays. Flesh melts from bones while the Senators scream in agony. Every living thing in the chamber is dead within ten seconds. A stunning moment of silence as we take in the carnage. Then a transporter effect ripples around the spider-weapon. It disappears. And the Romulan Senate is no more. We fade to... His face is resolute and set. Even stern. His white dress uniform is buttoned tightly to the neck. He looks at us evenly and then utters the word that has been the watch cry for his entire life as a Starfleet officer. He lets the word resonate and then continues. Uproarious laughter. We pull back to reveal the wedding reception of WILL RIKER and DEANNA TROI. The Enterprise CREW is gathered with invited GUESTS, some from other "Star Trek" series. Riker and Deanna sit at the center of a long table. Deanna nods at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi

Why does Shinzon activate the thalaron weapon?

to invade federation

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi watches, amazed, as the box begins to slowly fold open. Then "legs" appear. The box unfolds like a spider, standing on its legs. Then it is still for a moment. The Senator looks at it, puzzled. Suddenly -- a bright beam of green light shoots up from the spider -- the Senators are stunned -- the beam shoots to the high domed ceiling of the chamber and then cascades around the interior of the room, enveloping everything in a glowing shroud of green energy. In a way, it is bizarrely beautiful. And then just as suddenly the light disappears. A moment of silence. The Praetor and Senators are baffled. A plant behind the Praetor begins to shrivel... The Praetor stops suddenly -- as the flesh begins to melt from his face. Every bit of organic matter in the chamber decays. Flesh melts from bones while the Senators scream in agony. Every living thing in the chamber is dead within ten seconds. A stunning moment of silence as we take in the carnage. Then a transporter effect ripples around the spider-weapon. It disappears. And the Romulan Senate is no more. We fade to... His face is resolute and set. Even stern. His white dress uniform is buttoned tightly to the neck. He looks at us evenly and then utters the word that has been the watch cry for his entire life as a Starfleet officer. He lets the word resonate and then continues. Uproarious laughter. We pull back to reveal the wedding reception of WILL RIKER and DEANNA TROI. The Enterprise CREW is gathered with invited GUESTS, some from other "Star Trek" series. Riker and Deanna sit at the center of a long table. Deanna nods Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

Why is Shinzon aging rapidly?

Because he is a clone.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi words. PlCARD No. I was the first Picard to leave Earth. It caused quite a stir, In fact. But I had spent my whole life... They both reach for a carafe of water at the exact same instant. Stop. Picard smiles, pours a glass. A quiet beat. A tense beat. Picard is shocked. Picard goes. Data thinks for a moment. He and Geordi head out. Beverly returns to some medical displays showing Thalaron research, her expression deeply concerned. The door comm chirps. She sits, notes the picture of Young Jean Luc. He rises, goes to a window, gazes at the Scimitar in the distance. A beat. Data interrupts on comm: Shinzon stands across from her. He pushes her against the wall, with passion and almost violence. She forces herself to concentrate... to resist telepathically... it is a mighty effort... this Romulan is hot. And the world around her appears to be changing... bending... And she is momentarily in a cabin on the Scimitar. Although entirely a telepathic experience, it is as if she has actually traveled. She sees Shinzon kneeling over a small flame, she realizes she is looking through the Viceroy's eyes. On the Scimitar, Shinzon looks up at the Viceroy/Deanna: Then the world changes again... Deanna is on the turbolift. Shinzon is pressed against her, whispering: She forces him away from her and -- She is alone. She sinks to her knees. Overcome with emotion. A Reman officer interrupts on comm: He begins to go -- but suddenly stops, a wave of illness overtaking him. The Viceroy puts his hand on Shinzon's chest. A strange moment as the Viceroy shuts his eyes and feels Shinzon's chest. His mind... probing. Then the Viceroy looks up B-9 sits. Data goes. Geordi watches him go. Worf, at tactical, slowly stretches his neck. Trying to release the tension. It cracks. Deanna jumps a bit. Picard stands and walks to the viewscreen. He gazes at Romulus below and the black infinity of space beyond. They're out there, Waiting. And on the viewscreen. Shinzon's magnificent Reman Warbird, the SCIMITAR, decloaks directly before the Enterprise. Shinzon's vessel combines the clean lines of the traditional Romulan Warbird with unique weaponry and styling. It is huge, easily twice as large as the Enterprise. And it is aggressive. Awesome in its power. And the image on the viewscreen transforms to: Shinzon's Viceroy. He stands on the Scimitar's bridge. The bridge is as unique as the rest of Shinzon's ship. Instead of the usual mechanical clutter, this bridge is designed with an almost Asian simplicity. Like the rest of Reman design, it is spare and elegant. Since the Remans are more comfortable in the darkness, most of the light comes from the three steadily pulsing warp core relays which dramatically soar up through the floor of the bridge. The crew gazes at the bridge and the monstrous features of the viceroy. The transmission ends abruptly. The Scimitar reappears on the viewscreen. Picard, Riker, Deanna, Worf and Data head toward the turbolift, energized now that the endless waiting is over. It is a huge, empty chamber. No furniture. A simple Reman mat on the floor is the only decoration. At the very top of the room there is a large, etched glass dome. It is very dark. They turn when Shinzon speaks from the shadows: Shinzon moves toward them a bit, becoming slightly more illuminated, the low light shining off Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

Whose primary weapons were destroyed?

Shinzon's ship, The Scimitar's primary weapons are destroyed.

He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

Who kidnaps Picard from the Enterprise?

Shinzon.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi

Who is Shinzon a clone of?

Picard

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

Why was Shinzon created?

To plant a high ranking spy into the Federation.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS.

Who created Shinzon?

The Romulans.

CREDITS as we see a beautiful montage of futuristic medical technology. Through a microscope we see cells multiplying and gene strands exponentially increasing with the vibrancy of exploding flowers. We see laser splicing and biological manipulation on the molecular level. CREDITS continue as we fade to... We can't make out the words but there is no doubt what they are talking about. The three year old HUMAN BOY who stands before them. The boy is alone and frightened, lost in the sweeping grandeur of the massive chamber. CREDITS continue as we fade to... On a stark, desert planet with monolithic mountains and harsh crags shooting upward. The only light in this dark netherworld comes from the flames that accompany the hellish mining operations everywhere around us. The human boy gazes over this desolate vista and then he looks up for a moment... at the stars. Then a tall figure leads him firmly into one of the mines. The boy seems to disappear into this flaming crucible. CREDITS end as we go to... We slowly move down toward the most imposing building of the city. The Romulan Senate chamber. And then her eyes carefully cross the chamber to... PRAETOR HIREN -- the head of the Romulan government -- presiding over the Senate from a throne-like chair. He is a capable politician in his 50s. Senator Tal'Aura grunts slightly at the word "negotiations." Praetor Hiren glances to her. The Praetor nods. Tal'Aura stands and leaves the chamber... but she had left something behind on her desk. A small, silver box with unusual etchings on the surface. The discussion continues as we focus on the silver box... The Senator at the desk next to Tal'Aura's glances over. The silver box is moving. The Senator his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides clearly enjoys driving. He roars over the desert terrain at breakneck speed, having a hell of a good time. His comrades don't exactly appreciate his free-spirited driving panache. Worf clings on to the mounted phaser canon for dear life. Data steadies himself by grasping onto the rollbar Picard smiles and drives a little faster. They continue on. Before long they can see something on the level desert floor before them. They approach and stop to discover... An android arm. The fingers patiently drumming the ground. Worf climbs from the jeep and carefully approaches the arm. Gingerly picks it up. The arm responds to being picked up, the hand starts feeling around in the air like something from a horror movie. Worf shudders. He returns to the jeep. Quickly sets the arm down in the rear cargo area. Picard starts the jeep in motion. Time passes as they continue on... coming across another arm... a leg... a torso... another leg... various disassembled components of a Data-like android! Worf and Data climb up into the hills in pursuit of the final piece as Picard opens the jeep's hood and checks the engine. Worf pulls his phaser, ready. Then they see it. Data's head. Or the spitting image anyway. Lying inert in the dust before them. Then the head's eyes suddenly pop open. It looks up at them with a sort of blank, childlike wonder. Data gently picks up the head. Looks at it. The two identical faces gaze at each other. Then BLAM! -- a boulder near them explodes. Worf and Data spin to see... A nomadic tribe of desert ALIENS swarming toward them firing primitive plasma weapons -- Data and Worf race back down the canyon, toward the Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

What is the name of the Reman rebel leader?

Shinzon.

CREDITS as we see a beautiful montage of futuristic medical technology. Through a microscope we see cells multiplying and gene strands exponentially increasing with the vibrancy of exploding flowers. We see laser splicing and biological manipulation on the molecular level. CREDITS continue as we fade to... We can't make out the words but there is no doubt what they are talking about. The three year old HUMAN BOY who stands before them. The boy is alone and frightened, lost in the sweeping grandeur of the massive chamber. CREDITS continue as we fade to... On a stark, desert planet with monolithic mountains and harsh crags shooting upward. The only light in this dark netherworld comes from the flames that accompany the hellish mining operations everywhere around us. The human boy gazes over this desolate vista and then he looks up for a moment... at the stars. Then a tall figure leads him firmly into one of the mines. The boy seems to disappear into this flaming crucible. CREDITS end as we go to... We slowly move down toward the most imposing building of the city. The Romulan Senate chamber. And then her eyes carefully cross the chamber to... PRAETOR HIREN -- the head of the Romulan government -- presiding over the Senate from a throne-like chair. He is a capable politician in his 50s. Senator Tal'Aura grunts slightly at the word "negotiations." Praetor Hiren glances to her. The Praetor nods. Tal'Aura stands and leaves the chamber... but she had left something behind on her desk. A small, silver box with unusual etchings on the surface. The discussion continues as we focus on the silver box... The Senator at the desk next to Tal'Aura's glances over. The silver box is moving. The Senator carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away.

On what planet do Will Riker and Deanna Troi plan to marry?

Betazed.

CREDITS as we see a beautiful montage of futuristic medical technology. Through a microscope we see cells multiplying and gene strands exponentially increasing with the vibrancy of exploding flowers. We see laser splicing and biological manipulation on the molecular level. CREDITS continue as we fade to... We can't make out the words but there is no doubt what they are talking about. The three year old HUMAN BOY who stands before them. The boy is alone and frightened, lost in the sweeping grandeur of the massive chamber. CREDITS continue as we fade to... On a stark, desert planet with monolithic mountains and harsh crags shooting upward. The only light in this dark netherworld comes from the flames that accompany the hellish mining operations everywhere around us. The human boy gazes over this desolate vista and then he looks up for a moment... at the stars. Then a tall figure leads him firmly into one of the mines. The boy seems to disappear into this flaming crucible. CREDITS end as we go to... We slowly move down toward the most imposing building of the city. The Romulan Senate chamber. And then her eyes carefully cross the chamber to... PRAETOR HIREN -- the head of the Romulan government -- presiding over the Senate from a throne-like chair. He is a capable politician in his 50s. Senator Tal'Aura grunts slightly at the word "negotiations." Praetor Hiren glances to her. The Praetor nods. Tal'Aura stands and leaves the chamber... but she had left something behind on her desk. A small, silver box with unusual etchings on the surface. The discussion continues as we focus on the silver box... The Senator at the desk next to Tal'Aura's glances over. The silver box is moving. The Senator carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. her head and coos sympathetically. Hearty, wonderful LAUGHTER! Laughter, laughter, laughter! He looks to Riker and Deanna: He smiles and raises his glass, looks at them deeply. They head off toward Riker and Deanna. Meanwhile, GEORDI LA FORGE sits with his girlfriend. He kisses her gently as WORF comes to them. Poor Worf is still suffering a bit from the bachelor party. He plops down beside them, belches. He groans and rests his head on the table, acts like he's going to heave. Meanwhile, Riker and Deanna are talking to Picard and Beverly. Picard looks at him. Deanna laughs. Then the band stops playing. All turn. DATA stands with the band. Riker shoots an amused glance to Deanna. Conjugation? Data turns to the band leader. The band launches into a jaunty, swing version of the Irving Berlin standard "Blue Skies." The crowd is appreciative. Loves the song. Except Worf, he momentarily raises his head from the table. His heads thumps down again, is about ready to BARF! Meanwhile, Riker is anxious as a kid to join the band: Riker eagerly joins the band. Grabs the trombone and starts jamming with the orchestra. The song really swings. Meanwhile, Geordi leads Leah to the dance floor as well. Beverly goes to Worf. She pulls him to the dance floor as: They dance. Picard and Deanna sweep past them. And we pull up and away as Data continues to sing and the crew dances. It is a joyous celebration of these people. This family. A family we love. As always, the android's placid, neutral expression still somehow manages to convey his wonder, curiosity and idiosyncratic zest for life. Picard arrives with a very old bottle of wine. He

What is the name of android that resembles Data?

B-4.

his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

What is the name of Shinzon's flagship?

The Scimitar.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides watches, amazed, as the box begins to slowly fold open. Then "legs" appear. The box unfolds like a spider, standing on its legs. Then it is still for a moment. The Senator looks at it, puzzled. Suddenly -- a bright beam of green light shoots up from the spider -- the Senators are stunned -- the beam shoots to the high domed ceiling of the chamber and then cascades around the interior of the room, enveloping everything in a glowing shroud of green energy. In a way, it is bizarrely beautiful. And then just as suddenly the light disappears. A moment of silence. The Praetor and Senators are baffled. A plant behind the Praetor begins to shrivel... The Praetor stops suddenly -- as the flesh begins to melt from his face. Every bit of organic matter in the chamber decays. Flesh melts from bones while the Senators scream in agony. Every living thing in the chamber is dead within ten seconds. A stunning moment of silence as we take in the carnage. Then a transporter effect ripples around the spider-weapon. It disappears. And the Romulan Senate is no more. We fade to... His face is resolute and set. Even stern. His white dress uniform is buttoned tightly to the neck. He looks at us evenly and then utters the word that has been the watch cry for his entire life as a Starfleet officer. He lets the word resonate and then continues. Uproarious laughter. We pull back to reveal the wedding reception of WILL RIKER and DEANNA TROI. The Enterprise CREW is gathered with invited GUESTS, some from other "Star Trek" series. Riker and Deanna sit at the center of a long table. Deanna nods He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away.

What does Shinzon need in order to stop rapidly aging and save his life?

Picard's blood.

at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The

Who rescues Picard from Shinzon?

Data.

CREDITS as we see a beautiful montage of futuristic medical technology. Through a microscope we see cells multiplying and gene strands exponentially increasing with the vibrancy of exploding flowers. We see laser splicing and biological manipulation on the molecular level. CREDITS continue as we fade to... We can't make out the words but there is no doubt what they are talking about. The three year old HUMAN BOY who stands before them. The boy is alone and frightened, lost in the sweeping grandeur of the massive chamber. CREDITS continue as we fade to... On a stark, desert planet with monolithic mountains and harsh crags shooting upward. The only light in this dark netherworld comes from the flames that accompany the hellish mining operations everywhere around us. The human boy gazes over this desolate vista and then he looks up for a moment... at the stars. Then a tall figure leads him firmly into one of the mines. The boy seems to disappear into this flaming crucible. CREDITS end as we go to... We slowly move down toward the most imposing building of the city. The Romulan Senate chamber. And then her eyes carefully cross the chamber to... PRAETOR HIREN -- the head of the Romulan government -- presiding over the Senate from a throne-like chair. He is a capable politician in his 50s. Senator Tal'Aura grunts slightly at the word "negotiations." Praetor Hiren glances to her. The Praetor nods. Tal'Aura stands and leaves the chamber... but she had left something behind on her desk. A small, silver box with unusual etchings on the surface. The discussion continues as we focus on the silver box... The Senator at the desk next to Tal'Aura's glances over. The silver box is moving. The Senator carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. watches, amazed, as the box begins to slowly fold open. Then "legs" appear. The box unfolds like a spider, standing on its legs. Then it is still for a moment. The Senator looks at it, puzzled. Suddenly -- a bright beam of green light shoots up from the spider -- the Senators are stunned -- the beam shoots to the high domed ceiling of the chamber and then cascades around the interior of the room, enveloping everything in a glowing shroud of green energy. In a way, it is bizarrely beautiful. And then just as suddenly the light disappears. A moment of silence. The Praetor and Senators are baffled. A plant behind the Praetor begins to shrivel... The Praetor stops suddenly -- as the flesh begins to melt from his face. Every bit of organic matter in the chamber decays. Flesh melts from bones while the Senators scream in agony. Every living thing in the chamber is dead within ten seconds. A stunning moment of silence as we take in the carnage. Then a transporter effect ripples around the spider-weapon. It disappears. And the Romulan Senate is no more. We fade to... His face is resolute and set. Even stern. His white dress uniform is buttoned tightly to the neck. He looks at us evenly and then utters the word that has been the watch cry for his entire life as a Starfleet officer. He lets the word resonate and then continues. Uproarious laughter. We pull back to reveal the wedding reception of WILL RIKER and DEANNA TROI. The Enterprise CREW is gathered with invited GUESTS, some from other "Star Trek" series. Riker and Deanna sit at the center of a long table. Deanna nods

What planet is endangered by Shinzon's plans to use the thalaron radiation generator?

Earth.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The words. PlCARD No. I was the first Picard to leave Earth. It caused quite a stir, In fact. But I had spent my whole life... They both reach for a carafe of water at the exact same instant. Stop. Picard smiles, pours a glass. A quiet beat. A tense beat. Picard is shocked. Picard goes. Data thinks for a moment. He and Geordi head out. Beverly returns to some medical displays showing Thalaron research, her expression deeply concerned. The door comm chirps. She sits, notes the picture of Young Jean Luc. He rises, goes to a window, gazes at the Scimitar in the distance. A beat. Data interrupts on comm: Shinzon stands across from her. He pushes her against the wall, with passion and almost violence. She forces herself to concentrate... to resist telepathically... it is a mighty effort... this Romulan is hot. And the world around her appears to be changing... bending... And she is momentarily in a cabin on the Scimitar. Although entirely a telepathic experience, it is as if she has actually traveled. She sees Shinzon kneeling over a small flame, she realizes she is looking through the Viceroy's eyes. On the Scimitar, Shinzon looks up at the Viceroy/Deanna: Then the world changes again... Deanna is on the turbolift. Shinzon is pressed against her, whispering: She forces him away from her and -- She is alone. She sinks to her knees. Overcome with emotion. A Reman officer interrupts on comm: He begins to go -- but suddenly stops, a wave of illness overtaking him. The Viceroy puts his hand on Shinzon's chest. A strange moment as the Viceroy shuts his eyes and feels Shinzon's chest. His mind... probing. Then the Viceroy looks up

Who kills Shinzon?

Picard.

his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. is hard at work at the Science station. Riker stands over him: Beverly arrives on the bridge, urgent. She carries a medical padd. Then the B-9 enters the brig, he holds a Reman disruptor weapon. The Reman Guard deactivates the force field. He leads Picard out. The Viceroy approaches. Stops before them. The Viceroy turns his malevolent gaze on Picard. The B-9 prods Picard's back roughly with the disruptor. Picard grimaces in pain The Viceroy continues away down the corridor. The B-9 leads Picard along. And the audience now realizes it is Data pretending to be the B-9 and rejoices. They are silent as they pass a few Reman guards. Then: Data assumes the B-9's posture again as they pass some some Reman Warriors. They pass the Warriors. He leads Picard down the corridor. The whole, cavernous chamber pulses with glowing green light. High above them, at the very top of the chamber, is a gigantic version of the spider-weapon we saw kill all the Romulan Senators before. It is breathtaking. Data rotates his left hand and then slides it forward, exposing a hidden compartment in his wrist. He removes a small, silver disc. This is a cool new piece of Federation technology called an ETU. (Emergency Transport Unit.) Data inserts the ETU back into his wrist and they leave the chamber. Shinzon looks at him, confused. They sprint down the twisting, dark corridors -- Reman warriors suddenly appear before them! -- Data fires the disruptor as Picard launches himself into them -- A fight -- Picard uses a dazzlinq series of Starfleet hand- to-hand maneuvers -- he dramatically subdues the Remans. More Reman warriors appear down the corridor. Picard grabs a disruptor. And instantly spins to fire a blazing

Who will become commander of the USS Titan?

Riker.

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides He sees her. Commander Madden prepares himself. Commander Madden enters quickly -- he did not use the door chime so Picard is surprised. Picard stands, they shake hands as: Picard heads toward the door, carrying a few padds. Picard goes to the bridge, Madden following... Picard goes to them: He settles into his new command chair. Looks around for a beat at his new bridge crew. Fresh-faced kids. A new generation to teach and nurture. He smiles. Worf and Geordi exchange a look, surprised. Picard presses a button on the chair and -- zip -- metal restraints fly into position around his waist and shoulders. Seatbelts! Picard is surprised. Then Picard smiles. He presses the button again and the restraints zip back into the body of the chair. He is delighted. He turns to Madden: Madden sits in the First Officer's chair, Picard shares a padd with him. And we cut to -- We slowly pull back from Picard and the Enterprise. As we hear the B-9's soft tones. Gentle. Hopeful. We revolve away from the Enterprise and Earth toward the stars. Then ZOOM forward into the cosmos as the rousing "Next Generation" theme explodes over END CREDITS. his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. is hard at work at the Science station. Riker stands over him: Beverly arrives on the bridge, urgent. She carries a medical padd. Then the B-9 enters the brig, he holds a Reman disruptor weapon. The Reman Guard deactivates the force field. He leads Picard out. The Viceroy approaches. Stops before them. The Viceroy turns his malevolent gaze on Picard. The B-9 prods Picard's back roughly with the disruptor. Picard grimaces in pain The Viceroy continues away down the corridor. The B-9 leads Picard along. And the audience now realizes it is Data pretending to be the B-9 and rejoices. They are silent as they pass a few Reman guards. Then: Data assumes the B-9's posture again as they pass some some Reman Warriors. They pass the Warriors. He leads Picard down the corridor. The whole, cavernous chamber pulses with glowing green light. High above them, at the very top of the chamber, is a gigantic version of the spider-weapon we saw kill all the Romulan Senators before. It is breathtaking. Data rotates his left hand and then slides it forward, exposing a hidden compartment in his wrist. He removes a small, silver disc. This is a cool new piece of Federation technology called an ETU. (Emergency Transport Unit.) Data inserts the ETU back into his wrist and they leave the chamber. Shinzon looks at him, confused. They sprint down the twisting, dark corridors -- Reman warriors suddenly appear before them! -- Data fires the disruptor as Picard launches himself into them -- A fight -- Picard uses a dazzlinq series of Starfleet hand- to-hand maneuvers -- he dramatically subdues the Remans. More Reman warriors appear down the corridor. Picard grabs a disruptor. And instantly spins to fire a blazing

Which person (other than himself) does Shinzon most resemble?

Picard

his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away. B-9 sits. Data goes. Geordi watches him go. Worf, at tactical, slowly stretches his neck. Trying to release the tension. It cracks. Deanna jumps a bit. Picard stands and walks to the viewscreen. He gazes at Romulus below and the black infinity of space beyond. They're out there, Waiting. And on the viewscreen. Shinzon's magnificent Reman Warbird, the SCIMITAR, decloaks directly before the Enterprise. Shinzon's vessel combines the clean lines of the traditional Romulan Warbird with unique weaponry and styling. It is huge, easily twice as large as the Enterprise. And it is aggressive. Awesome in its power. And the image on the viewscreen transforms to: Shinzon's Viceroy. He stands on the Scimitar's bridge. The bridge is as unique as the rest of Shinzon's ship. Instead of the usual mechanical clutter, this bridge is designed with an almost Asian simplicity. Like the rest of Reman design, it is spare and elegant. Since the Remans are more comfortable in the darkness, most of the light comes from the three steadily pulsing warp core relays which dramatically soar up through the floor of the bridge. The crew gazes at the bridge and the monstrous features of the viceroy. The transmission ends abruptly. The Scimitar reappears on the viewscreen. Picard, Riker, Deanna, Worf and Data head toward the turbolift, energized now that the endless waiting is over. It is a huge, empty chamber. No furniture. A simple Reman mat on the floor is the only decoration. At the very top of the room there is a large, etched glass dome. It is very dark. They turn when Shinzon speaks from the shadows: Shinzon moves toward them a bit, becoming slightly more illuminated, the low light shining off Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The is hard at work at the Science station. Riker stands over him: Beverly arrives on the bridge, urgent. She carries a medical padd. Then the B-9 enters the brig, he holds a Reman disruptor weapon. The Reman Guard deactivates the force field. He leads Picard out. The Viceroy approaches. Stops before them. The Viceroy turns his malevolent gaze on Picard. The B-9 prods Picard's back roughly with the disruptor. Picard grimaces in pain The Viceroy continues away down the corridor. The B-9 leads Picard along. And the audience now realizes it is Data pretending to be the B-9 and rejoices. They are silent as they pass a few Reman guards. Then: Data assumes the B-9's posture again as they pass some some Reman Warriors. They pass the Warriors. He leads Picard down the corridor. The whole, cavernous chamber pulses with glowing green light. High above them, at the very top of the chamber, is a gigantic version of the spider-weapon we saw kill all the Romulan Senators before. It is breathtaking. Data rotates his left hand and then slides it forward, exposing a hidden compartment in his wrist. He removes a small, silver disc. This is a cool new piece of Federation technology called an ETU. (Emergency Transport Unit.) Data inserts the ETU back into his wrist and they leave the chamber. Shinzon looks at him, confused. They sprint down the twisting, dark corridors -- Reman warriors suddenly appear before them! -- Data fires the disruptor as Picard launches himself into them -- A fight -- Picard uses a dazzlinq series of Starfleet hand- to-hand maneuvers -- he dramatically subdues the Remans. More Reman warriors appear down the corridor. Picard grabs a disruptor. And instantly spins to fire a blazing

What is detected by the Enterprise when they travel through the Kolaron planetary system?

Emissions of positronic energy

carefully uncorks the treasured bottle as: He pours two glasses of the wine, then raises his glass, a toast. Picard carefully takes a tiny sip, savors the flavor, finally swallows. Enjoys it. Ahhh. Data mimics Picard. Taking a tiny sip, savoring the flavor and finally swallowing. Ahhh. He takes another sip of wine. A beat. A beat. Data thinks about it. COMMANDER DONATRA and COMMANDER SURAN stride through the corridor. Suran is an elder Romulan officer, respected and tenacious. Donatra -- a key figure in this story so pay close attention to her -- is a mature, beautiful woman... not without a dry sense of humor. A voice, from the shadows: Donatra and Suran stop. And the VICEROY steps from the shadows... He is a terrifying sight A powerful, monstrous alien creature; a tall, ashen-skinned ectomorph who bears a disturbing resemblance to the original Nosferatu. He is vampiric and lethal. He is a Reman. He leads them along the corridor. And then we see him... SHINZON! He is a dynamic young human in his twenties. Very handsome with pale, almost white skin and shining, golden hair. He wears a striking Reman military uniform. He stands in the center of the eerily deserted chamber. The entire floor is a large star chart. Senator Tal'Aura (the female Senator who planted the weapon in the Senate chamber earlier) and two other ROMULAN COMMANDERS sit. Cadres of Shinzon's fearsome REMAN WARRIORS stand around the chamber. They are his sinister children of the night. Even more chilling now in the flickering torch light. It's like something out of Tim Burton. Donatra and Suran enter the chamber with Shinzon's Viceroy. Shinzon looks at her. A quick beat. Shinzon decides Data leads the B-9 to a table. Data instructs him to sit. The B-9 sits and stares forward placidly. Data shows him how use a napkin. A note of concern passes over Deanna's face as she watches Data and the B-9. There is something strangely poignant in the twin androids. One a bundle of curiosity and intelligence; the other somewhat like a slow, simple child. A cup of tea appears. He takes it as the door chime sounds. He sits at his desk She sits across from him. A quiet beat. They are interrupted by a comm signal: She goes. Picard activates his desktop viewscreen. ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY appears on Picard's monitor. Janeway is the former captain of Voyager. Her new rank fits her well, she has lost none of her dry humor and down-to-earth charm which made her a household name and beloved cult figure. The transmission ends. Picard sits for a moment, intrigued. Then he goes to the bridge The crew is shocked. Various grainy and unclear new images appear to illustrate Data's words: Very obscure images of Remans appear, the crew can barely make out the monstrous figures: Picard considers this. The images end. There are no images of Shinzon. The meeting breaks up. We pull back and discover that computer conduits connect the B-9's head to Data's head. Geordi monitors the connection. Geordi completes his work Geordi removes the computer connections from between their heads. He carefully closes the panel in Data's head as: He looks blankly at the console lights. Data glances to Geordi. Data has been studying some circuitry in the B-9's neck. Data looks at the B-9 with a sort of sadness. Data stands. The B-9 stands to follow. The at him, grim. An Engineer activates a transporter and the B-9 materializes! Reman engineers go to the B-9 and open the panel in his neck, begin connecting computer conduits to the extra memory port we saw earlier. (Note: Although the audience will not know it yet, this is actually Data pretending to be the B-9.) Shinzon goes to a replicator unit and orders: A cup of tea appears. He takes it and sips as he watches his Engineers connecting the conduits to the B-9. She looks at Picard, tears in her eyes. Riker takes her hand. But before the words are out of his mouth... he begins to dematerialize! But Picard is gone. Beyond the security force field a ghoulish medical apparatus is being prepared. A metal chair with laser scalpels, IV tubes and hyposprays connected to it. Reman doctors work over the mysterious chair. Shinzon enters with the B-9 following. Shinzon stands on the other side of the force field. Picard notices something immediately. Tiny veins are now visible on Shinzon's face; the faintest sign of an intricate spider-web pattern of pale blue veins. He nods to a guard. The guard deactivates the force field. A Reman doctor enters and raises a hypospray toward Picard. The Doctor takes a quick sample of Picard's blood as Picard glances to the B-9. The Reman doctor leaves the cell. The force field is reactivated. The doctor goes to the mysterious medical apparatus and analyzes Picard's blood. As: The B-9 obediently leaves the room as: Shinzon looks at him deeply. He turns to go. Shinzon turns back to him. A beat. Picard gazes at him evenly. Picard's probing gaze makes Shinzon a bit uneasy. He glances to the ghoulish medical preparations. Geordi his golden hair. The crew cannot see him clearly in the dim light but it is evident he is human. Assuming that he was Reman, they're surprised by this realization. Shinzon just stares at Picard through the darkness for a moment. Data scans him with a tricorder as: Shinzon laughs, maniacally. Shinzon does not answer. He is staring deeply at Deanna, moans softly. He slowly moves toward her, still hidden in the shadows. Shinzon moves even closer to Deanna, not taking his eyes from her. Shinzon continues to stare at Deanna. It is strangely seductive. Almost disquieting in its intensity. Deanna handles it with grace, her level gaze never leaving his. Picard and the others are stunned. Lights shoot up around the room. For the first time the crew can see Shinzon clearly. Picard actually gasps when he sees Shinzon's face. The rest of the crew doesn't understand his reaction. Picard watches him carefully. Wary and strangely intense. The crew is dumbfounded at Picard's unusual reaction. He steps toward Picard who holds his ground. Picard stares at him with a mixture of realization and curiosity. It is as if Picard is looking into a strange, remembered mirror: Shinzon's face is nearly identical to his at that age. The crew is utterly confused. Their confusion turns to outright shock when Shinzon calmly pulls out a Reman knife and cuts his arm, drawing a little blood. He hands the knife to Data. Picard touches his communicator pin: They dematerialize, the shimmering glow illuminating Shinzon's features. Picard's eyes never leave Shinzon as the transporter effect ripples around him. A beat as the confirmation sinks in. He goes, Deanna following. Riker tosses a padd on the desk. Rubs his eyes. down his uniform tunic exactly as we've seen Picard do a thousand times. They look at her. She turns and stalks out. PlCARD Can anything be done for him? PlCARD How long does he have? Picard considers this. The B-9 has been deactivated, he stands lifeless and immobile. Data gazes deeply into his double's identical features. Then he opens a panel in the B-9's neck and uses a small instrument to activate the android's head. The B-9's eyes spring to life. He looks at Data. A beat. Data gazes at the B-9 deeply. Data reaches forward and deactivates his brother. The B-9's eyes lose the spark of life. He stands, frozen. Data stands before him. A computer display illustrates Geordi's words about the power of Shinzon's weapon. We see a chilling graphic of the Biogenic Pulse beam spreading around a ship, then a whole planet. A beat as he looks at them gravely. Riker knows exactly what Picard is saying: the Enterprise is expendable. Picard stands. Presses a comm button. Crew members assume battle stations. Weapons locker ring open and Security Officers hand out sidearms and phaser rifles. Geordi and his Engineers establish emergency force field around the warp core. Riker and Worf brief officers on tactical plans... Data works at the bridge Science Station, analyzing data on Shinzon's ship. Picard walks through the corridors, he stops to talk with apprehensive young ensign. As we hear: The montage ends as... Dr. Crusher and her medical staff are hard at work. They position anti-grav gurneys and ready medical supplies. Security officers are handing out phasers. Picard watches the grim preparations. Beverly goes to him, bolstering her phaser. He starts to go -- She watches him go. Shinzon shoves him away.

Who does Shinzon kidnap from the Enterprise?

Picard