Conan Compilation - The Conquering Sword of Conan Part 35

"That's a city, right enough," he muttered. "Was that where you were going, when you tried to send me off alone to the coast?"

She nodded.

"Well, who'd have thought to find a city here? So far as I know the Stygians never penetrated this far. Could it be black people? I see no herds on the plain, no sign of cultivation, or people moving about."

"How could you hope to see all that, at that distance?" she demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped down from the pinnacle. Suddenly he swore. "Why in Crom's name didn't I think of it before?"

Without answering her question, he descended to the belt of leaves and stared down through them. The great brute squatted below, watching the the crag with the frightful patience of the 310.

reptile folk. Conan spat a curse at him, and then began cutting branches. Presently he had three long slender shafts, about seven feet long, but each no larger than his thumb.

"Branches too light for spear handles, and creepers no thicker than cords," he repeated a previous statement. "But there's strength in union that's what the Aquilonian renegades used to tell us Cimmerians when they came into the hills to raise an army to invade their own country. But we fight by clans and tribes."

"What the devil has that got to do with those sticks?" she demanded.

"You wait and see." Cutting lengths of vines he placed the sticks together, and drawing his poniard, wedged the hilt between them at one end. Then with the vines he bound them into a compact bundle, and when he had completed, he had a spear of no small strength, with a st.u.r.dy haft seven in length.

"What good will that do?" she demanded. "You told me that a blade couldn't pierce his scales ".

"He doesn't have scales all over him," answered Conan. "There's more than one way of skinning a panther."

Moving down to the edge of the leafy belt he reached the spear up and carefully thrust it through one of the Apples of Derketa, drawing carefully aside to avoid the darkly purple drops that dripped from the pierced fruit. Presently he withdrew the blade and showed her the blue steel stained a dull purplish crimson.

"I don't know whether it will do the job or not," quoth he. "There's enough poison there to kill an elephant almost instantly but well, we'll see."

Valeria was close behind him as he let himself down among the leaves. Cautiously holding the poisoned pike away from him, he thrust his head through the leaves and addressed the monster.

"What are you waiting down there for, you misbegotten offspring of a parent of questionable morals?" was one of his more printable inquiries. "Stick your ugly head up here again, you long-necked b.a.s.t.a.r.d or do you want me to come down there and kick you loose from your illegitimate spine?"

There was more of it some of it couched in eloquence that made Valeria stare, in spite of her profane education among the sea-farers. And it had its effect on the monster. Just as the incessant yapping of a dog worries and enrages more const.i.tutionally silent animals, so the clamorous voice of a man rouses fear in some b.e.s.t.i.a.l bosoms and insane rage in others.

311.

Suddenly, and with appalling quickness the mastodonic brute reared itself on its mighty hind legs and elongated its neck and body in an effort to reach this vociferous pigmy whose clamor was disturbing the primeval silence of its horrible realm.

But Conan had judged his distance precisely. Some five feet below Conan the mighty head crashed terribly but futiley through the leaves. And as the monstrous mouth gaped like that of a great snake, Conan drove his spear into the red angle of the hinge of the jawbone. He struck down ward with all the strength of both arms, driving the long poniard blade deep into flesh bone and muscle.

Instantly the jaws clashed together, severing the triple-woven shaft and almost precipitating Conan from his perch. In fact he would have fallen but for the girl behind him, who caught his sword-belt in a desperate grasp. He clutched at a rocky projection and grinned his thanks back at her.

Down on the ground the monster was wallowing like a dog with pepper in its eyes. He shook his head from side to side, pawed at it, and opened his mouth to its fullest extent, again and again. Presently he got a huge front foot on the stump of the shaft, and managed to tear the blade out. Realizing who was the author of his annoyance, he threw up his head, jaws wide and spouting blood and glared up at the crag with such concentrated and intelligent fury that Valeria trembled and drew her sword.

With harsh grating roars, the monster hurled himself at the crag that was the citadel of his enemies. Again and again his mighty head crashed upward through the leaves, snapping vainly on empty air. He hurled his full weight again and again against the rock, until it vibrated from base to crest. And rearing upright he gripped it with his front legs like a man and tried the impossible feat of tearing it from the ground bodily.

This exhibition of primordial fury chilled the blood in Valeria's veins, but Conan was too close to the primitive himself to feel anything but a fascinated interest. To the barbarian, no such gulf existed between himself and other men, and the animals, as existed in the conception of Valeria. The monster below them, to Conan, was merely a form of life differing from himself mainly in shape. He attributed to it characteristics similar to his own, and believed its roars and bellowings were merely counterparts of the curses he had bestowed upon it. Feeling a kinship with all wild things, even dragons, it was impossible for him to experience the sick horror that a.s.sailed Valeria at the sight of the monster's wrath.

He watched it tranquilly and pointed out the various changes that were taking place in its voice and its actions.

"The poison's taking hold," he said with conviction.

312.

"I don't believe it." To Valeria it seemed preposterous to suppose that any lethal thing could have any effect on that mountain of muscle and ferocity.

"There's pain in his voice," declared Conan. "First he was merely angry because of the stinging in his jaw. Now he feels the bite of the poison. Look! He's staggering! He'll be blind in a few more minutes. What did I tell you?"

For suddenly the dragon had lurched about and went crashing off through the underbrush.

"Is he running away?" inquired Valeria uneasily.

"He's making for the pool. The poison makes him thirsty. Come on! He'll be blind when he gets back, if he does get back. But if he can make his way back to the foot of the crag, and smell us, he'll sit there until he dies, and others of his kind may come at his cries. Let's go!"

"Down there?" Valeria was aghast.

"Sure! We'll make for the city! We may run into a thousand of the brutes, but it's sure death to stay here. Down with you, in a hurry! Follow me!"

He went down swiftly, like an ape, pausing only to aid his slower companion, who, until she saw the Cimmerian climb, had fancied herself the equal of any man in the rigging of a ship, or on the sheer of a cliff.

They slid silently to the ground, though Valeria felt as if the beating of her heart must surely be heard for miles. No sound came from the forest, except the gurgling and lapping that indicated that the dragon was drinking at the spring.

"As soon as his belly is full he'll be back," muttered Conan. "It may take hours for the poison to work."

Somewhere beyond the forest the sun was sinking to the horizon. The forest was a misty twilight place of black shadows and dim vistas. Conan gripped Valeria's wrist and glided away from the crag's foot. He made less noise than a breeze blowing among the tree-trunks, but Valeria felt as if her soft boots spoke of their flight to all the forest.

"I don't think he can follow a trail," muttered Conan. "No wind blowing. He could get our body-scent if it blew toward him."

"Mitra grant that the wind blow not," she breathed. She gripped her sword in her free hand, but the feel of the s.h.a.green-bound hilt inspired only a feeling of helplessnes in her.

313.

It was little over a mile to the edge of the forest. They had covered most of the distance when they heard a snapping and crashing behind them. Valeria bit her lip to check a cry.

"He's on our trail!" she whispered fiercely, galvanized.

Conan shook his head.

"He didn't smell us at the rock, and he's blundering about through the forest, trying to pick up our scent. Come on! There's no safety for us in this forest. He could tear down any tree we'd climb. Make for the plain! If he doesn't catch our scent, we'll make it! The city is our only chance!"

They stole on until the trees began to thin out. Behind them the forest was a black impenetrable ocean of shadows. The ominous crackling still sounded behind them, as the dragon blundered in his erratic course.

"There's the plain ahead," breathed Valeria. "A little more and we'll "

"Crom!" swore Conan.

"Mitra!" whispered Valeria.

Out of the east a wind had sprung up. It blew over them directly into the black forest behind them. Instantly a horrible roar shook the woods. The aimless snapping and crackling of the bushes changed to a purposeful crashing as the dragon came like a hurricane straight toward the spot from which the scent wafted.

"Run!" snarled Conan, his eyes blazing like those of a trapped wolf. "It's all we can do!"

Sailors' boots are not made for sprinting, and the life of a pirate does not train one for a runner.

Within fifty yards Valeria was panting and reeling in her gait and behind them the crashing gave way to a rolling thunder as the monster broke out of the thickets and into the clearer country.

Conan's iron arm about the woman's waist half lifted her; her feet scarcely touched the earth as she was borne along at a speed she could have attained herself. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Conan that the monster was almost upon them, coming a war-galley in front of a hurricane. He thrust Valeria from him with a force that sent her staggering a dozen feet to fall in a crumpled heap at the foot of the nearest tree, and wheeled in the path of the thundering t.i.tan.

314.

Convinced that his death was upon him, the Cimmerian acted according to his instinct, and hurled himself full at the awful face that was bearing down on him. He leaped, striking and slashing like a wildcat, felt his sword cut deep into the scales that sheathed the mighty snout and then a terrific impact knocked him rolling and tumbling for fifty feet with all the wind and half the life battered out of him.

How the stunned Cimmerian regained his feet, not even he could ever have told. But he thought only for the girl lying dazed almost within the path of the hurtling fiend, and before the breath came whistling back into his gullet he was standing over her with his sword in his hand.

She lay where he had thrown her, but she was struggling to a sitting posture. The dragon had not touched her, neither with tearing tusks or trampling feet. It had been a shoulder or front leg that struck Conan; and the blind monster rushed on, forgetting the victims it had scented in the sudden agony of its death throes. Headlong on its course it thundered until its low-hung head crashed into a gigantic tree in its path. The impact tore the tree up by the roots and must have dashed the brains from the misshapen skull. Tree and monster fell together, and the dazed humans saw the branches and leaves contorted and shaken by the convulsions of the creature they hid and then grow quiet.

Conan lifted Valeria to her feet and together they started eastward at a reeling run. A few moments later they emerged into the still twilight of the treeless plain.

Conan paused an instant, and glanced back at the black forest behind him. Not a leaf stirred, not a bird chirped. It stood as silent as it must have stood before animal life was created.

"Come on," muttered Conan, taking his companion's hand. "The woods may be full of those devils. We'll try that city out there on the plain."

With every step they took away from the black woods Valeria drew a breath of relief. Each moment she expected to hear the crashing of the bushes and see another giant nightmare bearing down upon them. But nothing disturbed the silence of the forest.

With the first mile between them and the woods, Valeria breathed easy. The sun had set and darkness was gathering over the plain, lightened a little by the stars that made stunted ghosts out of the mimosa shrubs.

"No cattle, no ploughed fields," muttered Conan. "How do these people live?"

"Perhaps the fields and grazing lands are on the other side of the city," suggested Valeria.

315.

"Maybe," he grunted. "I didn't see any from the crag, though."

The moon came up behind the city, etching walls and towers blackly in the yellow glow.

Valeria shivered. Black against the moon the strange city had a sombre, sinister look.

Perhaps something of the same feeling occurred to Conan, for he stopped, glanced about him, and grunted: "We stop here. No use arriving at their gates in the night. They probably wouldn't let us in. Besides, we're tired, and we don't know how they'll receive us. A few hours rest will put us in better shape to fight or run."

He led the way to a bed of cactus which grew in a circle a phenomenon common to the southern desert. With his sword he chopped an opening, and motioned Valeria to enter.

"We'll be safe from snakes here, anyhow."

She glanced fearfully back toward the black line that indicated the forest, some six miles away.

"Suppose a dragon comes out of the woods?"

"We'll keep watch," he answered, though he made no suggestion as to what they would do in such an event. "Lie down and sleep. I'll keep the first watch."

She hesitated, but he sat down cross-legged in the opening, facing toward the plain, his sword across his knees, his back to her. Without further comment she lay down on the sand inside the spiky circle.

"Wake me when the moon is at its zenith," she directed. He did not reply nor look toward her.

Her last impression, as she sank into slumber was of his motionless figure, immobile as a statue hewn out of bronze, outlined against the low-hanging stars.

CHAPTER.

Valeria awoke with a start, to the realization that a grey dawn was stealing over the desert.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Conan was squatting beside the cactus, cutting off the thick pears and dexterously twitching out the spikes.

"You didn't awake me," she accused. "You let me sleep all night!"

"You were tired," he answered. "Your posterior must have been sore, after that long ride. You pirates aren't used to horseback."

316.

"What about yourself?" she retorted.

"I was a kozak before I was a pirate," he answered. "They live in the saddle. I s.n.a.t.c.h naps like a panther watching beside the trail for a deer to come by. My ears stay awake while my eyes sleep."

And indeed the giant Cimmerian seemed as much refreshed as if he had slept the whole night on a gold bed. Having removed the thorns, and peeled off the tough skin, Conan handed the girl a thick, juicy cactus leaf.

"Eat that pear. It's food and drink to a desert man. I was a chief of the Zuagirs once desert men who live by plundering the caravans."

"Is there anything you haven't been?" inquired the girl, half in derision, half in fascination.

"I've never been king of an Hyborian kingdom," he grinned, taking an enormous mouthful of cactus. "But I've dreamed of being even that. I may be too, some day. Why shouldn't I?"

She shook her head in wonder and fell to devouring her pear. She found it not unpleasing to the palate, and full of a cool and thirst-satisfying juice. Finishing his meal, Conan wiped his hands in the sand, rose, ran his fingers through his thick black mane, hitched at his sword-belt and said: "Well, let's go. If the people in that city are going to cut our throats they may as well do it now, before the heat of the day begins."

His grim humor was unconscious, but Valeria reflected that it might be prophetic. She touched her sword-hilt as she rose. Her terrors of the night were past. The roaring dragons of the distant forest were like a dim dream. There was a swagger in her bearing as she moved off beside her companion. Whatever perils lay ahead of them, their foes would be men. And Valeria of the Red Brethren had never seen the face of the man she feared.

Conan glanced down at her as she strode along beside him with her easy swinging stride that matched his own.

"You walk more like a hillman than a sailor," he said. "You must be an Aquilonian. The suns of Darfar never burnt your white skin brown."

"I am from Aquilonia," she replied. His compliments no longer antagonized her. His evident admiration pleased her. After all, the desire of Conan the Cimmerian was an honor to any woman, even to Valeria of the Red Brotherhood.

317.

The sun rose behind the city, turning the towers to a sinister crimson.