His thoughts rolled tightly into a metal sphere which nothing could dent.
Rann laughed unpleasantly and leaned forward until she filled every dark horizon of his skull with her shimmering body. "All right. I gave you Conan's body. Now I'll take it away."
She struck him a combined blow of her eyes, her writhing lips, her bone-sharp teeth. "Go back to your old body, go back to your old body, Hugh Starke," she hissed. "Go back! Leave Conan to his idiocy. Go back to your old body!"
Fear had him. He fell down upon his face, quivering and jerking. You could fight a man with a sword. But how could you fight this thing in your brain? He began to suck sobbing breaths through his lips. He was screaming. He could not hear himself. Her voice rushed in from the dim outer red universe, destroying him.
"Hugh Starke! Go back to your old body!"
His old body was—dead!
And she was sending him back into it.
Part of him shot endwise through red fog.
He lay on a mountain plateau overlooking the harbor of Falga.
Red fog coiled and snaked around him. Flame birds dived eerily down at his staring, blind eyes.