Worms of the Earth

Worms of the Earth by Robert E. Howard
First appeared in Weird Tales, November 1932
Chapter One

"Strike in the nails, soldiers, and let our guest see the reality of our
good Roman justice!"
The speaker wrapped his purple cloak closer about his powerful frame
and settled back into his official chair, much as he might have settled
back in his seat at the Circus Maximus to enjoy the clash of gladiatorial
swords. Realization of power colored his every move. Whetted pride
was necessary to Roman satisfaction, and Titus Sulla was justly proud;
for he was military governor of Eboracum and answerable only to the
emperor of Rome. He was a strongly built man of medium height, with
the hawk-like features of the pure-bred Roman. Now a mocking smile
curved his full lips, increasing the arrogance of his haughty aspect.
Distinctly military in appearance, he wore the golden- scaled corselet
and chased breastplate of his rank, with the short stabbing sword at his
belt, and he held on his knee the silvered helmet with its plumed crest.
Behind him stood a clump of impassive soldiers with shield and
spear--blond titans from the Rhineland.
Before him was taking place the scene which apparently gave him so
much real gratification--a scene common enough wherever stretched
the far-flung boundaries of Rome. A rude cross lay flat upon the barren
earth and on it was bound a man--half-naked, wild of aspect with his
corded limbs, glaring eyes and shock of tangled hair. His executioners
were Roman soldiers, and with heavy hammers they prepared to pin the
victim's hands and feet to the wood with iron spikes.
Only a small group of men watched this ghastly scene, in the dread

place of execution beyond the city walls: the governor and his watchful
guards; a few young Roman officers; the man to whom Sulla had
referred as "guest" and who stood like a bronze image, unspeaking.
Beside the gleaming splendor of the Roman, the quiet garb of this man
seemed drab, almost somber.
He was dark, but he did not resemble the Latins around him. There was
about him none of the warm, almost Oriental sensuality of the
Mediterranean which colored their features. The blond barbarians
behind Sulla's chair were less unlike the man in facial outline than were
the Romans. Not his were the full curving red lips, nor the rich waving
locks suggestive of the Greek. Nor was his dark complexion the rich
olive of the south; rather it was the bleak darkness of the north. The
whole aspect of the man vaguely suggested the shadowed mists, the
gloom, the cold and the icy winds of the naked northern lands. Even his
black eyes were savagely cold, like black fires burning through fathoms
of ice.
His height was only medium but there was something about him which
transcended mere physical bulk--a certain fierce innate vitality,
comparable only to that of a wolf or a panther. In every line of his
supple, compact body, as well as in his coarse straight hair and thin lips,
this was evident--in the hawk-like set of the head on the corded neck, in
the broad square shoulders, in the deep chest, the lean loins, the narrow
feet. Built with the savage economy of a panther, he was an image of
dynamic potentialities, pent in with iron self- control.
At his feet crouched one like him in complexion--but there the
resemblance ended. This other was a stunted giant, with gnarly limbs,
thick body, a low sloping brow and an expression of dull ferocity, now
clearly mixed with fear. If the man on the cross resembled, in a tribal
way, the man Titus Sulla called guest, he far more resembled the
stunted crouching giant.
"Well, Partha Mac Othna," said the governor with studied effrontery,
"when you return to your tribe, you will have a tale to tell of the justice
of Rome, who rules the south."

"I will have a tale," answered the other in a voice which betrayed no
emotion, just as his dark face, schooled to immobility, showed no
evidence of the maelstrom in his soul.
"Justice to all under the rule of Rome," said Sulla. "Pax Romana!
Reward for virtue, punishment for wrong!" He laughed inwardly at his
own black hypocrisy, then continued: "You see, emissary of Pictland,
how swiftly Rome punishes the transgressor."
"I see," answered the Pict in a voice which strongly-curbed anger made
deep with menace, "that the subject of a foreign king is dealt with as
though he were a Roman slave."
"He has been tried and condemned in an unbiased court," retorted
Sulla.
"Aye! And the accuser was a Roman, the witnesses Roman, the judge
Roman! He committed murder? In a moment of fury he struck down a
Roman merchant who cheated, tricked and