Balthus felt the haft of an ax shoved into his hand. Zogar Sag had disappeared. Conan dragged Balthus after him until the youth's numb brain awoke, and his legs began to move of their own accord. Then Conan released him and ran into the building where the skulls hung. Balthus followed him. He got a glimpse of a grim stone altar, faintly lighted by the glow outside; five human heads grinned on that altar, and there was a grisly familiarity about the features of the freshest; it was the head of the merchant Tiberias. Behind the altar was an idol, dim, indistinct, bestial, yet vaguely man-like in outline. Then fresh horror choked Balthus as the shape heaved up suddenly with a rattle of chains, lifting long misshapen arms in the gloom.
Conan's sword flailed down, crunching through flesh and bone (меч Конана обрушился вниз, перегрызая плоть и кость), and then the Cimmerian was dragging Balthus around the altar (а потом киммериец тащил Балтуса вокруг алтаря =
enclosure [n'klu], yard [j:d], stockade [st'ked]
Conan's sword flailed down, crunching through flesh and bone, and then the the floor, to a door at the back of the long hut. Through this they burst, out into the enclosure again. But a few yards beyond them loomed the stockade.
It was dark behind the altar-hut (было темно за хижиной с алтарем). The mad stampede of the Picts had not carried them in that direction (бешеное паническое бегство пиктов не занесло их в этом направлении). At the wall Conan halted, gripped Balthus, and heaved him at arm's length into the air as he might have lifted a child (у стены Конан остановился, схватил Балтуса и поднял его на расстоянии вытянутой руки в воздух, как бы он, возможно, поднял ребенка). Balthus grasped the points of the upright logs set in the sun-dried mud (Балтус схватился за острия вертикальных бревен, поставленных в высушенную солнцем глину) and scrambled up on them, ignoring the havoc done his skin (и поднялся по ним, игнорируя потери, причиненные его коже;
stampede [staem'pi: d], heave [hi: v], havoc ['haevk]
It was dark behind the altar-hut. The mad stampede of the Picts had not carried them in that direction. At the wall Conan halted, gripped Balthus, and heaved him at arm's length into the air as he might have lifted a child. Balthus grasped the points of the upright logs set in the sun-dried mud and scrambled up on them, ignoring the havoc done his skin. He lowered a hand to the Cimmerian, when around a corner of the altar-hut sprang a fleeing Pict. He halted short, glimpsing the man on the wall in the faint glow of the fires. Conan hurled his ax with deadly aim, but the warrior's mouth was already open for a yell of warning, and it rang loud above the din, cut short as he dropped with a shattered skull.
Blinding terror had not submerged all ingrained instincts (слепой ужас не затопил =
blinding ['bland], lull [ll], repel [r'pel]
Blinding terror had not submerged all ingrained instincts. As that wild yell rose above the clamor, there was an instant's lull, and then a hundred throats bayed ferocious answer and warriors came leaping to repel the attack presaged by the warning.