mystery [ˈmɪstərɪ], might [maɪt], star [stɑ:]

He understood now the mystery of the strangers who had disappeared from the house of Aram Baksh; the riddle of the black drum thrumming out there beyond the palm groves, and of that pit of charred bones — that pit where strange meat might be roasted under the stars, while black beasts squatted about to glut a hideous hunger. The man on the floor was a cannibal slave from Darfar.

There were many of his kind in the city (в городе было много его типа = его брата). Cannibalism was not tolerated openly in Zamboula (каннибализм не был разрешен: «терпим» открыто в Замбуле). But Conan knew now why people locked themselves in so securely at night (но Конан знал теперь, почему люди запирались на замки внутри = в домах так надежно ночью), and why even beggars shunned the open alley and doorless ruins (и почему даже нищие опасались открытой аллеи и развалин без дверей). He grunted in disgust as he visualized brutish black shadows skulking up and down the nighted streets (он выругался в отвращении, когда он мысленно увидел зверские черные тени, крадущиеся там и сям по ночным улицам), seeking human prey (ищущих человеческую добычу = в качестве добычи людей) — and such men as Aram Baksh to open the doors to them (и такие люди, как Арам Бахш, открывают им двери). The innkeeper was not a demon; he was worse (содержатель гостиницы был не демон, он был хуже). The slaves from Darfar were notorious thieves (рабы из Дарфара были известными ворами; notorious — пользующийся дурной славой; печально известный; отъявленный); there was no doubt that some of their pilfered loot found its way into the hands of Aram Baksh (не было сомнения, что некоторая из их добычи попадала в руки Арама Бахша; to find its way — попасть). And in return he sold them human flesh (а в обмен он продавал им человеческое мясо).

were [wə: ], ruin [ˈru: ɪn], notorious [nəuˈtɔ: rɪəs]

There were many of his kind in the city. Cannibalism was not tolerated openly in Zamboula. But Conan knew now why people locked themselves in so securely at night, and why even beggars shunned the open alley and doorless ruins. He grunted in disgust as he visualized brutish black shadows skulking up and down the nighted streets, seeking human prey — and such men as Aram Baksh to open the doors to them. The innkeeper was not a demon; he was worse. The slaves from Darfar were notorious thieves; there was no doubt that some of their pilfered loot found its way into the hands of Aram Baksh. And in return he sold them human flesh.