Conan Compilation - The Bloody Crown of Conan Part 34

Lissa pressed her face against his bosom and clung to him.

"But what are we to do?" he asked uneasily.

"There is nothing to do," she whispered. "Your sword would be helpless. Perhaps It will not harm us. It has taken a victim tonight. We must wait like sheep for the butcher."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned if I will!" Amalric exclaimed, galvanized. "We will not wait for morning.

We'll go tonight. Make a bundle of food and drink. I'll get the horse and camel and bring them to the court outside. Meet me there!"

Since the unknown monster had already struck, Amalric felt that he was safe in leaving the girl alone for a few minutes. But his flesh crawled as he groped his way down the winding corridor and through the black chambers where the swinging tapestries whispered. He found the beasts huddled nervously together in the court where he had left them. The stallion whinnied anxiously and nuzzled him, as if sensing peril in the breathless night.

He saddled and bridled and hurriedly led them through the narrow opening onto the street. A few minutes later he was standing in the starlit court. And even as he reached it, he was electrified by an awful scream which rang shudderingly upon the air. It came from the chamber where he had left Lissa.

He answered that piteous cry with a wild yell; drawing his sword he rushed across the court, hurled himself through the window. The golden ball was glowing again, carving out black shadows in the shrinking corners. Silks lay scattered on the floor. The marble seat was upset.

But the chamber was empty.

A sick weakness overcame Amalric and he staggered against the marble table, the dim light waving dizzily to his sight. Then he was swept by a mad rage. The red tower! There the fiend would bear his victim!

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He darted back across the court, sought the streets and raced toward the tower which glowed with an unholy light under the stars. The streets did not run straight. He cut through silent black buildings and crossed courts whose rank gra.s.s waved in the night wind.

Ahead of him, cl.u.s.tered about the crimson tower, rose a heap of ruins, where decay had eaten more savagely than at the rest of the city. Apparently none dwelt among them. They reeled and tumbled, a crumbling ma.s.s of quaking masonry, with the red tower rearing up among them like a poisonous red flower from charnel house ruin.

To reach the tower he would be forced to traverse the ruins. Recklessly he plunged into the black ma.s.s, groping for a door. He found one and entered, thrusting his sword ahead of him.

Then he saw such a vista as men sometimes see in fantastic dreams. Far ahead of him stretched a long corridor, visible in a faint unhallowed glow, its black walls hung with strange shuddersome tapestries. Far down it he saw a receding figure a white, naked, stooped figure, lurching along, dragging something the sight of which filled him with sweating horror. Then the apparition vanished from his sight, and with it vanished the eery glow. Amalric stood in the soundless dark, seeing nothing, hearing nothing; thinking only of a stooped white figure that dragged a limp human down a long black corridor.

As he groped onward, a vague memory stirred in his brain the memory of a grisly tale mumbled to him over a dying fire in the skull-heaped devil-devil hut of a black witchman a tale of a G.o.d which dwelt in a crimson house in a ruined city and which was worshipped by darksome cults in dank jungles and along sullen dusky rivers. And there stirred, too, in his mind, an incantation whispered in his ear in awed and shuddering tones, while the night had held its breath, the lions had ceased to roar along the river, and the very fronds had ceased their sc.r.a.ping one against the other.

Ollam-onga, whispered a dark wind down the sightless corridor. Ollam-onga whispered the dust that ground beneath his stealthy feet. Sweat stood on his skin and the sword shook in his hand. He stole through the house of a G.o.d, and fear held him in its bony hand. The house of the G.o.d the full horror of the phrase filled his mind. All the ancestral fears and the fears that reached beyond ancestry and primordial race-memory crowded upon him; horror cosmic and unhuman sickened him. His weak humanity crushed him in its realization as he went through the house of darkness that was the house of a G.o.d.

About him shimmered a glow so faint it was scarcely discernable; he knew that he was approaching the tower itself. Another instant and he groped his way through an arched door and stumbled upon strangely s.p.a.ced steps. Up them he went, and as he climbed that blind fury which is mankind's last defense against diabolism and all the hostile forces of the universe, surged in him, and he forgot his fear. Burning with terrible eagerness, he climbed up and up through the thick evil darkness until he came into a chamber lit by a weird glow.

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And before him stood a white naked figure. Amalric halted, his tongue cleaving to his palate. It was a naked white man, to all appearances, which stood gazing at him, mighty arms folded on an alabaster breast. The features were cla.s.sic, cleanly carven, with more than human beauty.

But the eyes were b.a.l.l.s of luminous fire, such as never looked from any human head. In those eyes Amalric glimpsed the frozen fires of the ultimate h.e.l.ls, touched by awful shadows.

Then before him the form began to grow dim in outline; to waver with a terrible effort the Aquilonian burst the bonds of silence and spoke a cryptic and awful incantation. And as the frightful words cut the silence, the white giant halted froze again his outlines stood out clear and bold against the golden background.

"Now fall on, d.a.m.n you!" cried Amalric hysterically. "I have bound you into your human shape! The black wizard spoke truly! It was the master word he gave me! Fall on, Ollam-onga till you break the spell by feasting on my heart, you are no more than a man like me!"

With a roar that was like the gust of a black wind, the creature charged. Amalric sprang aside from the clutch of those hands whose strength was more than that of the whirlwind. A single taloned finger, spread wide and catching in his tunic, ripped the garment from him like a rotten rag as the monster plunged by. But Amalric, nerved to more than human quickness by the horror of the fight, wheeled and drove his sword through the thing's back, so that the point stood out a foot from the broad breast.

A fiendish howl of agony shook the tower; the monster whirled and rushed at Amalric, but the youth sprang aside and raced up the stairs to the dais. There he wheeled and catching up a marble seat, hurled it down upon the horror that was lumbering up the stairs. Full in the face the ma.s.sive missile struck, carrying the fiend back down the steps. He rose, an awful sight, streaming blood and again essayed the stairs. In desperation Amalric lifted a jade bench whose weight wrenched a groan of effort from him, and hurled it.

Beneath the impact of the hurtling bulk Ollam-onga pitched back down the stair and lay among the marble shards, which were flooded with his blood. With a last desperate effort, he heaved himself up on his hands, eyes glazing, and throwing back his b.l.o.o.d.y head, voiced an awful cry.

Amalric shuddered and recoiled from the abysmal horror of that scream. And it was answered.

From somewhere in the air above the tower a faint medley of fiendish cries came back like an echo. Then the mangled white figure went limp among the blood-stained shards. And Amalric knew that one of the G.o.ds of Kush was no more. With the thought came blind, unreasoning horror.

In a fog of terror he rushed down the stair, shrinking from the thing that lay staring in the floor.

The night seemed to cry out against him, aghast at the sacrilege. Reason, exultant over his triumph, was submerged in a flood of cosmic fear.

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As he put foot on the head of the steps, he halted short. Up from the darkness Lissa came to him, her white arms outstretched, her eyes pools of horror.

"Amalric!" it was a haunting cry. He crushed her in his arms.

"I saw It," she whimpered "dragging a dead man through the corridor. I screamed and fled; then when I returned, I heard you cry out, and knew you had gone to search for me in the red tower "

"And you came to share my fate," his voice was almost inarticulate. Then as she tried to peer in trembling fascination past him, he covered her eyes with his hands and turned her about. Better that she should not see what lay on the crimson floor. As he half led, half carried her down the shadowed stairs, a glance over his shoulder showed him that a naked white figure lay no longer lay among the broken marble. The incantation had bound Ollam-onga into his human form in life, but not in death. Blindness momentarily a.s.sailed Amalric, then, galvanized into frantic haste, he hurried Lissa down the stairs and through the dark ruins.

He did not slacken pace until they reached the street where the camel and stallion huddled against one another. Quickly he mounted the girl on the camel, and he swung up on the stallion. Taking the lead-line, he headed straight for the broken wall. A few minutes later he breathed gustily. The open air of the desert cooled his blood; it was free of the scent of decay and hideous antiquity.

There was a small water-pouch hanging from his saddle bow. They had no food, and his sword was in the chamber in the red tower. He had not dared touch it. Without food and unarmed, they faced the desert; but its peril seemed less grim than the horror of the city behind them.

Without speaking they rode. Amalric headed south; somewhere in that direction there was a water hole. Just at dawn, as they mounted a crest of sand, he looked back toward Gazal, unreal in the pink light. And he stiffened and Lissa cried out. Out of a breach in the wall rode seven hors.e.m.e.n; their steeds were black, and the riders were cloaked in black from head to foot.

There had been no horses in Gazal. Horror swept over Amalric, and turning, he urged their mounts on.

The sun rose, red, and then gold, and then a ball of white beaten flame. On and on the fugitives pressed, reeling with heat and fatigue, blinded by the glare. They moistened their lips with water from time to time. And behind at an even pace, rode seven black dots. Evening began to fall, and the sun reddened and lurched toward the desert rim. And a cold hand clutched Amalric's heart. The riders were closing in. As darkness came on, so came the black riders.

Amalric glanced at Lissa, and a groan burst from him. His stallion stumbled and fell. The sun had gone down, the moon was blotted out suddenly by a bat-shaped shadow. In the utter darkness the stars glowed red, and behind him Amalric heard a rising rush as of an approaching 306.

wind. A black speeding clump bulked against the night, in which glinted sparks of awful light.

"Ride, girl!" he cried despairingly. "Go on save yourself; it is me they want!"

For answer she slid down from the camel and threw her arms about him.

"I will die with you!"

Seven black shapes loomed against the stars, racing like the wind. Under the hoods shone b.a.l.l.s of evil fire; flesh jaw bones seemed to clack together. Then there was an interruption; a horse swept past Amalric and the horse, a vague bulk in the unnatural darkness. There was the sound of an impact as the unknown steed caromed among the oncoming shapes. A horse screamed frenziedly, and a bull like voice bellowed in a strange tongue. From somewhere in the night a clamor of yells answered.

There was some sort of violent action taking place. Horse's hoofs stamped and clattered, there was the impact of savage blows, and the same stentorian voice was cursing l.u.s.tily. Then the moon abruptly came out and lit a fantastic scene.

A man on a giant horse whirled, slashed and smote apparently at thin air, and from another direction swept a wild horde of riders, their curved swords flashing in the moon light. Away over the crest of a rise seven black figures were vanishing, their cloaks floating out like the wings of bats.

Amalric was swamped by wild men who leaped from their horses and swarmed around him.

Sinewy naked arms pinioned him, fierce brown hawk-like faces snarled at him. Lissa screamed. Then the attackers were thrust right and left as the man on the great horse reined through the crowd. He bent from his saddle, glared closely at Amalric.

"The devil!" he roared; "Amalric the Aquilonian!"

"Conan!" Amalric exclaimed bewilderedly. "Conan! Alive!"

"More alive than you seem to be," answered the other. "By Crom, man you look as if all the devils in this desert had been hunting you through the night. What things were those pursuing you? I was riding around the camp my men had pitched, to make sure no enemies were in hiding, when the moon went out like a candle, and then I heard sounds of flight. I rode toward the sounds, and by Crom, I was among those devils before I knew what was happening. I had my sword in my hand and I laid about me by Crom, their eyes blazed like fire in the dark! I know my edge bit them, but when the moon came out, they were gone like a puff of wind.

Were they men or fiends?"

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"Ghouls sent up from h.e.l.l," shuddered Amalric. "Ask me no more; some things are not to be discussed."

Conan did not press the matter, nor did he look incredulous. His beliefs included night fiends, ghosts, hobgoblins and dwarfs.

"Trust you to find a woman, even in a desert," he said, glancing at Lissa, who had crept to Amalric and was clinging close to him, glancing fearfully at the wild figures which hemmed them in.

"Wine!" roared Conan. "Bring flasks! Here!" He seized a leather flask from those thrust out to him, and placed it in Amalric's hand. "Give the girl a swig, and drink some yourself," he advised. "Then we'll put you on horses and take you to the camp. You need food, rest and sleep. I can see that."

A richly caparisoned horse was brought, rearing and prancing, and willing hands helped Amalric into the saddle; then the girl was handed up to him, and they moved off southward, surrounded by the wiry brown riders in their picturesque semi-nakedness. Conan rode ahead, humming a riding song of the mercenaries.

"Who is he?" whispered Lissa, her arms about her lover's neck; he was holding her on the saddle in front of him.

"Conan, the Cimmerian," muttered Amalric. "The man I wandered with in the desert after the defeat of the mercenaries. These are the men who struck him down. I left him lying under their spears, apparently dead. Now we meet him obviously in command of, and respected by them."

"He is a terrible man," she whispered.

He smiled. "You never saw a white-skinned barbarian before. He is a wanderer and a plunderer, and a slayer, but he has his own code of morals. I don't think we have anything to fear from him."

In his heart he was not sure. In a way, it might be said that he had forfeited Conan's comradeship when he had ridden away into the desert, leaving the Cimmerian senseless on the ground. But he had not known that Conan was not dead. Doubt haunted Amalric. Savagely loyal to his companions, the Cimmerian's wild nature saw no reason why the rest of the world should not be plundered. He lived by the sword. And Amalric suppressed a shudder as he thought of what might chance did Conan desire Lissa.

Later on, having eaten and drunk in the camp of the riders, Amalric sat by a small fire in front 308.

of Conan's tent; Lissa, covered with a silken cloak, slumbered with her curly head on his knees. And across from him the fire light played on Conan's face, interchanging lights and shadows.

"Who are these men?" asked the young Aquilonian.

"The riders of Tombalku," answered the Cimmerian.

"Tombalku!" exclaimed Amalric. "Then it is no myth!"

"Far from it!" agreed Conan. "When my accursed steed fell with me, I was knocked senseless, and when I recovered consciousness, the devils had me bound hand and foot. This angered me, so I snapped several of the cords they had me tied with, but they rebound them as fast as I could break them never did I get a hand entirely free. But to them my strength seemed remarkable "

Amalric gazed at Conan unspeaking. The man was tall and broad as Tilutan had been, without the black man's surplus flesh. He could have broken the Ghanata's neck with his naked hands.

"They decided to carry me to their city instead of killing me out of hand," Conan went on.

"They thought a man like me should be a long time in dying by torture, and so give them sport.

Well, they bound me on a horse without a saddle, and we went to Tombalku.

"There are two kings of Tombalku. They took me before them a lean brown-skinned devil named Zehbeh, and a big fat negro who dozed on his ivory-tusk throne. They spoke a dialect I could understand a little, it being much like that of the western Mandingo who dwell on the coast. Zehbeh asked a brown priest, Daura, what should be done with me, and Daura cast dice made of sheep bone, and said I should be flayed alive before the altar of Jhil. Every one cheered and that woke the negro king.

"I spat on Daura and cursed him roundly, and the kings as well, and told them that if I was to be skinned, by Crom, I demanded a good bellyfull of wine before they began, and I d.a.m.ned them for thieves and cowards and sons of harlots.

"At this the black king roused and sat up and stared at me, and then he rose and shouted: "Amra!' and I knew him Sak.u.mbe, a Suba from the Black Coast, a fat adventurer I had known well in the days when I was a corsair along that coast. He trafficked in ivory, gold dust and slaves, and would cheat the devil out of his eye-teeth well, when he knew me, he descended from his throne and embraced me for joy the black, smelly devil and took my cords off me with his own hands. Then he announced that I was Amra, the Lion, his friend, and that no harm should come to me. Then followed much discussion, because Zehbeh and Daura 309.

wanted my hide. But Sak.u.mbe yelled for his witch-finder, Askia, and he came, all feathers and bells and snake-skins a wizard of the Black Coast, and a son of the devil if there ever was one.

"Askia pranced and made incantations, and announced that Sak.u.mbe was the chosen of Agujo, the Dark One, and all the black people of Tombalku shouted, and Zehbeh backed down.

"For the blacks in Tombalku are the real power. Several centuries ago the Aphaki, a Shemitish race, pushed into the southern desert and established the kingdom of Tombalku. They mixed with the desert-blacks and the result was a brown straight-haired race, which is still more white than black. They are the dominant caste in Tombalku, but they are in the minority, and a pure black king always sits on the throne beside the Aphaki ruler.

"The Aphaki conquered the nomads of the southwestern desert, and the negro tribes of the steppes which lie to the south of them. These riders, for instance, are Tibu, of mixed Stygian and negro blood.

"Well, Sak.u.mbe, through Askia, is the real ruler of Tombalku. The Aphaki worship Jhil, but the blacks worship Ajujo the Dark One, and his kin. Askia came to Tombalku with Sak.u.mbe, and revived the worship of Ajujo, which was crumbling because of the Aphaki priests. Askia made black magic which defeated the wizardry of the Aphaki, and the blacks hailed him as a prophet sent by the dark G.o.ds. Sak.u.mbe and Askia wax as Zehbeh and Daura wane.

"Well, as I am Sak.u.mbe's friend, and Askia spoke for me, the blacks received me with great applause. Sak.u.mbe had Kordofo, the general of the hors.e.m.e.n, poisoned, and gave me his place, which delighted the blacks and exasperated the Aphaki.

"You will like Tombalku! It was made for men like us to loot! There are half a dozen powerful factions plotting and intriguing against each other there are continual brawls in the taverns and streets, secret murders, mutilations, and executions. And there are women, gold, wine all that a mercenary wants! And I am high in favor and power! By Crom, Amalric, you could not come at a better time! Why, what's the matter? You do not seem as enthusiastic as I remember you having once been in such matters."

"I crave your pardon, Conan," apologized Amalric. "I do not lack interest, but weariness and want of sleep overcomes me."

But it was not gold, women and intrigue that the Aquilonian was thinking, but of the girl who slumbered on his lap; there was no joy in the thought of taking her into such a welter of intrigue and blood as Conan had described. A subtle change had come over Amalric, almost without his knowledge.

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Unt.i.tled Synopsis (The Hour of the Dragon) The plot began with four men in a chamber of a Nemedian castle bringing back to life a Stygian mummy, thousands of years old. One of the men was a powerful Nemedian baron with the ambitions of a king-maker. One was the younger brother of the king of Nemedia. One was a claimant to the throne of Aquilonia. One was a priest of Mitra who had been expelled from his order because of his studies of the forbidden arts of magic. The mummy was that of a sorcerer of long ago, an Hyborian of a kingdom which had been destroyed by the Nemedians, Aquilonians, and Argosseans. The name of this kingdom was Acheron, and its capital city was called Python. Many centuries before the people of Acheron, Hyborians more highly civilized than their neighbors to the east and the west, had been lords of an empire which included what was later southern Nemedia and Brythunia, most of Corinthia, most of Ophir, western Koth and the western lands of Shem, northern Argos, and eastern Aquilonia. With the overthrow and destruction of Acheron by its ruder western neighbors, their greatest sorcerer had fled to Stygia, living there until poisoned by a Stygian priest of Set the Old Serpent. Then he had been mummified with curious art, without removing any of his vital parts, and the mummy had been placed in a hidden temple. Thence, at the conspirators' instigation, it had been stolen by thieves from Zamora. The Nemedian baron's name was Amalric; the king's brother was named Tarascus; the Aquilonian claimant was named Valerius; the priest's name was Orastes; the sorcerer's name was Xaltotun. Valerius was a reckless young rogue, tall, yellow-haired, mocking at himself and everything else, but a courageous fighter. He was distantly related to that Aquilonian king destroyed by Conan the Cimmerian, when the latter took the throne of Aquilonia. That king had exiled him, and he had been roaming the world as a soldier of fortune until Amalric's plots had drawn him back. He was to aid the conspirators in placing Tarascus on the Nemedian throne, then they would set him on the throne of Aquilonia. Amalric was strongly built, dark, ruthless, with hidden designs of his own. He desired to set his puppets on their thrones, rule both, overthrow both, and finally place himself on the throne of the united countries. Tarascus was a small, darkish young man, crafty, courageous, sensual, but a puppet in Amalric's hands. Orastes was a large man with soft white hands, a dabbler in the black arts.

Xaltotun, when brought to life by strange incantations, was a tall man with quick strong hands and strange magnetic eyes and thick black hair. He listened to their speech, as they explained to him all that had occurred since his death, and agreed to aid them. But, he said, before he could regain his full magical power, they must steal for him the jewel called the Heart of Ahriman, which was kept in a secret place in the kingdom of Aquilonia. This had been taken from him when Python fell, and so he had been forced to flee to Stygia. In his own heart the wizard planned to restore the ancient kingdom of Acheron. The descendants of the people of Acheron were more plentiful than men supposed, dwelling in the fastness of the hills, in communities in the great cities, and scattered throughout the kingdom as priests, menials, secretaries, and scribes. The jewel was stolen; the king of Nemedia was a.s.sa.s.sinated by black magic, and 311.

Tarascus was set on the throne. Then the armies of Nemedia moved against Aquilonia. In his tent in the night before the battle, Conan the Cimmerian dreamed a strange dream in which many of the past events of his life pa.s.sed in review once more. He saw strange shapes and events, and woke in a sweat of fear to call his captains. Dawn was breaking and the hosts were in motion. A strange hooded figure appeared in the king's tent and Conan was stricken with a curious paralysis. He could not ride to battle, so they brought a common soldier from the ranks who much resembled him and put the king's armor on him, and he rode beneath the great lion banner. But he fell, fighting gloriously, and the Aquilonian host was broken and hurled in headlong defeat. Conan, lying helpless in his tent, was attacked by the Nemedian knights, his guard cut down. He fought with his sword, holding himself upright to the tent-pole, until Xaltotun overcame him by magic. He was put secretly into a chariot and secretly conveyed to the capital of Nemedia, for Amalric did not wish it known that it had not been the king who had fallen. He was thrown into the pits beneath the palace, where a giant ape attacked him. But a girl in the train of Tarascus gave Conan a dagger, with which he killed the beast and escaped.

Coming into the palace of Tarascus to slay him, he saw the king give a jewel to a man and a bag of gold and order him to take the gem and throw it into the sea. This jewel, althought Conan did not know it, was the Heart of Ahriman, which Tarascus had stolen from the sorcerer because he feared him and had a dim inkling of what Xaltotun intended. Conan smote at Tarascus, but missed, and then, leaving the city, worked his way toward the Aquilonian border.

Reaching the border, he learned that his people believed him dead, that the barons were at war with one another, and that Valerius, appearing on the eastern border with the Nemedian army, defeated a host sent against him by the barons, took the capital city and was acclaimed king by the mob, who feared a foreign invasion. Gunderland in the north, and Poitain in the south retained their independence, Gunderland partially and Poitain wholly, and southward Conan made his way, to join Count Trocero, his chancellor, who held the pa.s.ses that lead down toward the plains of Zingara. But first he made his way to his capital which was in the hands of Valerius because an old witch, in the mountains of eastern Aquilonia, spoke cryptically to him of the Heart of Ahriman, and showed him visions in a crystal floating in smoke of Zamorian thieves looting a Stygian temple, and stealing a flaming jewel from a subterranean cavern below the city. Thither Conan went and was admitted and aided by his loyal va.s.sals, and going to the cavern, found the jewel gone and fought a fiendish battle with an unseen creature who guarded it. Escaping, he knew at last that the Heart of Ahriman was the gem Tarascus had given the man; but he secured horse and armor and travelled to Poitain where he found Trocero holding the mountain pa.s.ses against Valerius. Meanwhile Xaltotun did not know of the loss of his jewel, because he kept it in a golden case for ever locked, and he worked his magic without stay. Only the greater magic needed the Heart of Ahriman. But Conan had been recognized in his capital and men rode after him, while others rode to Nemedia with the news. Conan fought a battle in the pa.s.ses and with the Poitanians defeated the Nemedians. But Trocero did not have enough warriors to invade Aquilonia and defeat the Nemedians and the barons who espoused Valerius, and his people feared the magic of Xaltotun. They urged Conan to remain and rule them as a separate kingdom, and conquer Zingara, but he determined to follow the man who had taken the Heart of Ahriman. He rode toward the ports of Argos.

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Notes on The Hour of the Dragon FIRST DAY. (DAY OF BATTLE.).

Conan at Valkia. Amalric, Tarascus, Valerius and Xaltotun at Valkia. Orastes at Belverus.

Prospero on his way to Valkia.

That Night.

Conan was on his way to Belverus with Xaltotun. Amalric, Tarascus and Valerius were encamped in Valkia, their cavalry pursuing the fleeing Aquilonians through the hills. Prospero was falling back toward Tarantia. Orastes was in Belverus.