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TheHallOfTheDead.txt

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-Robert E. Howard - The Hall Of The Dead
-ROBERT E. HOWARD
-THE HALL OF THE DEAD
-"The Hall Of The Dead" is a fragment begun in the 1930s but not finished or
-published in Howard's lifetime. It was completed by L. Sprague de Camp and
-published in The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction in February 1967.
-Becoming fed up with the City of Thieves (and vice versa) Conan wanders
-westward to the capital of Zamora, Shadizar the Wicked. Here, he hopes, the
-pickings will be richer. For a time he is indeed, more successful in his
-thievery than he had been in Arenjun—although the women of Shadizar quickly
-relieve him of his gains in return for initiating him into the arts of love.
-Rumors of treasure send him to the nearby ruins of ancient Larsha, just ahead
-of the squad of soldiers sent to arrest him.
-THE GORGE was dark, although the setting sun had left a band of orange and
-yellow and green along the western horizon. Against this band of color, a sharp
-eye could still discern, in black silhouette, the domes and spires of Shadizar
-the Wicked, the city of dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted
-mystery—the capital of Zamora.
-As the twilight faded, the first few stars appeared overhead. As if answering
-a signal, lights winked on in the distant domes and spires. While the light of
-the stars was pale and wan, that of the windows of Shadizar was a sultry amber,
-with a hint of abominable deeds.
-The gorge was quiet save for the chirping of nocturnal insects. Presently,
-however, this silence was broken by the sound of moving men. Up the gorge came
-a squad of Zamorian soldiers—five men in plain steel caps and leather jerkins,
-studded with bronze buttons, led by an officer in a polished bronze cuirass and
-a helmet with a towering horsehair crest. Their bronze-greaved legs swished
-through the long, lush grass that covered the floor of the gorge. Their harness
-creaked and their weapons clanked and tinkled. Three of them bore bows and the
-other two, pikes; short swords hung at their sides and bucklers were slung
-across their backs. The officer was armed with a long sword and a dagger.
-One of the soldiers muttered: "If we catch this Conan fellow alive, what will
-they do with him?"
-"Send him to Yezud to feed to the spider god, I'll warrant," said another.
-"The question is, shall we be alive to collect that reward they promised us?"
-"Not afraid of him, are you?" said a third.
-"Me?" The second speaker snorted. "I fear naught, including death itself. The
-question is, whose death? This thief is not a civilized man but a wild
-barbarian, with the strength of ten. So I went to the magistrate to draw up my
-will—"
-"It is cheering to know that your heirs will get the reward," said another. "I
-wish I had thought of that."
-"Oh," said the first man who had spoken, "they'll find some excuse to cheat us
-of the reward, even if we catch the rascal."
-"The prefect himself has promised," said another. "The rich merchants and
-nobles whom Conan has been robbing raised a fund. I saw the money—a bag so
-heavy with gold that a man could scarce lift it. After all that public display,
-they'd not dare to go back on their word."
-"But suppose we catch him not," said the second speaker. "There was something
-about paying for it with our heads." The speaker raised his voice. "Captain
-Nestor! What was that about our heads—"
-"Hold your tongues, all of you!" snapped the officer. "You can be heard as far
-as Arenjun. If Conan is within a mile, he'll be warned. Cease your chatter, and
-try to move without so much clangor."
-The officer was a broad-shouldered man of medium height and powerful build;
-daylight would have shown his eyes to be gray and his hair light brown,
-streaked with gray. He was a Gunderman, from the northernmost province of
-Aquilonia, fifteen hundred miles to the west. His mission—to take Conan dead or
-alive—troubled him. The prefect had warned him that, if he failed, he might
-expect severe punishment—perhaps even the headsman's block. The king himself
-had demanded that the outlaw be taken, and the king of Zamora had a short way
-with servants who failed their missions. A tip from the underworld had revealed
-that Conan was seen heading for this gorge earlier that day, and Nestor's
-commander had hastily dis patched him with such troopers as could be found in
-the barracks.
-Nestor had no confidence in the soldiers that trailed behind him. He
-considered them braggarts who would flee in the face of danger, leaving him to
-confront the barbarian alone. And, although the Gunderman was a brave man, he
-did not deceive himself about his chances with this ferocious, gigantic young
-savage. His armor would give him no more than a slight edge.
-As the glow in the western sky faded, the darkness deepened and the walls of
-the gorge became narrower, steeper, and rockier. Behind Nestor, the men began
-to murmur again:
-"I like it not. This road leads to the ruins of Larsha the Accursed, where the
-ghosts of the ancients lurk to devour passers-by. And in that city, 'tis said,
-lies the Hall of the Dead—"
-"Shut up!" snarled Nestor, turning his head. "If—"
-At that instant, the officer tripped over a rawhide rope stretched across the
-path and fell sprawling in the grass. There was the snap of a spring pole
-released from its lodgment, and the rope went slack.
-With a rumbling roar, a mass of rocks and dirt cascaded down the left-hand
-slope. As Nestor scrambled to his feet, a stone the size of a man's head struck
-his corselet and knocked him down again. Another knocked off his helmet, while
-smaller stones stung his limbs. Behind him sounded a multiple scream and the
-clatter of stone striking metal. Then silence fell.
-Nestor staggered to his feet, coughed the dust out of his lungs, and turned to
-see what had befallen. A few paces behind him, a rock slide blocked the gorge
-from wall to wall. Approaching, he made out a human hand and a foot projecting
-from the rubble. He called but received no reply. When he touched the
-protruding members, he found no life. The slide, set off by the pull on the
-rope, had wiped out his entire squad.
-Nestor flexed his joints to learn what harm he had suffered. No bones appeared
-to be broken, although his corselet was dented and he bore several bruises.
-Burning with wrath, he found his helmet and took up the trail alone. Failing to
-catch the thief would have been bad enough; but if he also had to confess to
-the loss of his men, he foresaw a lingering and painful death. His only chance
-now was to bring back Conan—or at least his head.
-Sword in hand, Nestor limped on up the endless windings of the gorge. A light
-in the sky before him showed that the moon, a little past full, was rising. He
-strained his eyes, expecting the barbarian to spring upon him from behind every
-bend in the ravine.
-The gorge became shallower and the walls less steep. Gullies opened into the
-gorge to right and left, while the bottom became stony and uneven, forcing
-Nestor to scramble over rocks and underbrush. At last the gorge gave out
-completely. Climbing a short slope, the Gunderman found himself on the edge of
-an upland pleateau, surrounded by distant mountains. A bowshot ahead, bone-
-white in the light of the moon, rose the walls of Larsha. A massive gate stood
-directly in front of him. Time had bitten scallops out of the walls, and over
-it rose half-ruined roofs and towers.
-Nestor paused. Larsha was said to be immensely old. According to the tales, it
-went back to Cataclysmic times, when the forebears of the Zamorians, the
-Zhemri, formed an island of semi-civilization in a sea of barbarism.
-Stories of the death that lurked in these ruins were rife in the bazaars of
-Shadizar. As far as Nestor had been able to learn, not one of the many men who,
-in historic times, had invaded the ruins searching for the treasure rumored to
-exist there, had ever returned. None knew what form the danger took, because no
-survivor had lived to carry the tale.
-A decade before, King Tiridates had sent a company of his bravest soldiers, in
-broad daylight, into the city, while the king himself waited outside the walls.
-There had been screams and sounds of flight, and then—nothing. The men who
-waited outside had fled, and Tiridates perforce had fled with them. That was
-the last attempt to unlock the mystery of Larsha by main force.
-Although Nestor had all the usual mercenary's lust for unearned wealth, he was
-not rash. Years of soldiering in the kingdoms between Zamora and his homeland
-had taught him caution. As he paused, weighing the dangers of his alternatives,
-a sight made him stiffen. Close to the wall, he sighted the figure of a man,
-slinking toward the gate. Although the man was too far away to recognize faces
-in the moonlight, there was no mistaking that panther-like stride. Conan!
-Filled with rising fury, Nestor started forward. He walked swiftly, holding
-his scabbard to keep it from clanking. But, quietly though he moved, the keen
-ears of the barbarian warned him. Conan whirled, and his sword whispered from
-its sheath. Then, seeing that only a single foe pursued him, the Cimmerian
-stood his ground.
-As Nestor approached, he began to pick out details of the other's appearance.
-Conan was well over six feet tall, and his threadbare tunic failed to mask the
-hard lines of his mighty thews. A leathern sack hung by a strap from his
-shoulder. His face was youthful but hard, surmounted by a square-cut mane of
-thick black hair.
-Not a word was spoken. Nestor paused to catch his breath and cast aside his
-cloak, and in that instant Conan hurled himself upon the older man.
-Two swords glimmered like lightnings in the moonlight as the clang and rasp of
-blades shattered the graveyard silence. Nestor was the more experienced
-fighter, but the reach and blinding speed of the other nullified this
-advantage. Conan's attack was as elemental and irresistible as a hurricane.
-Parrying shrewdly, Nestor was forced back, step after step. Narrowly he watched
-his opponent, waiting for the other's attack to slow from sheer fatigue. But
-the Cimmerian seemed not to know what fatigue was.
-Making a backhand cut, Nestor slit Conan's tunic over the chest but did not
-quite reach the skin. In a blinding return thrust, Conan's point glanced off
-Nestor's breastplate, plowing a groove in the bronze.
-As Nestor stepped back from another furious attack, a stone turned under his
-foot. Conan aimed a terrific cut at the Gunderman's neck. Had it gone as
-intended, Nestor's head would have flown from his shoulders; but, as he
-stumbled, the blow hit his crested helm instead. It struck with a heavy clang,
-bit into the iron, and hurled Nestor to the ground.
-Breathing deeply, Conan stepped forward, sword ready. His pursuer lay
-motionless with blood seeping from his cloven helmet. Youthful overconfidence
-in the force of his own blows convinced Conan that he had slain his antagonist.
-Sheathing his sword, he turned back toward the city of the ancients.
-The Cimmerian approached the gate. This consisted of two massive valves, twice
-as high as a man, made of foot-thick timbers sheathed in bronze. Conan pushed
-against the valves, grunting, but without effect. He drew his sword and struck
-the bronze with the pommel. From the way the gates sagged, Conan guessed that
-the wood of the doors had rotted away; but the bronze was too thick to hew
-through without spoiling the edge of his blade. And there was an easier way.
-Thirty paces north of the gate, the wall had crumbled so that its lowest point
-was less than twenty feet above the ground. At the same time, a pile of
-tailings against the foot of the wall rose to within six or eight feet of the
-broken edge.
-Conan approached the broken section, drew back a few paces, and then ran
-forward. He bounded up the slope of the tailings, leaped into the air, and
-caught the broken edge of the wall. A grunt, a heave, and a scramble, and he
-was over the edge, ignoring scratches and bruises. He stared down into the city.
-Inside the wall was a cleared space, where for centuries plant life had been
-waging war upon the ancient pavement. The paving slabs were cracked and up-
-ended. Between them, grass, weeds, and a few scrubby trees had forced their way.
-Beyond the cleared area lay the ruins of one of the poorer districts. Here the
-one-story hovels of mud brick had slumped into mere mounds of dirt. Beyond
-them, white in the moonlight, Conan discerned the better-preserved buildings of
-stone—the temples, the palaces, and the houses of the nobles and the rich
-merchants. As with many ancient ruins, and aura of evil hung over the deserted
-city.
-Straining his ears, Conan stared right and left. Nothing moved. The only sound
-was the chirp of crickets.
-Conan, too, had heard the tales of the doom that haunted Larsha. Although the
-supernatural roused panicky, atavistic fears in his barbarian's soul, he
-hardened himself with the thought that, when a supernatural being took material
-form, it could be hurt or killed by material weapons, just like any earthly man
-or monster. He had not come this far to be stopped from a try at the treasure
-by man, beast, or demon.
-According to the tales, the fabled treasure of Larsha lay in the royal palace.
-Gripping his scabbarded sword in his left hand, the young thief dropped from
-the inner side of the broken wall. An instant later, he was threading his way
-through the winding streets toward the center of the city. He made no more
-noise than a shadow.
-Ruin encompassed him on every side. Here and there the front of a house had
-fallen into the street, forcing Conan to detour or to scramble over piles of
-broken brick and marble. The gibbous moon was now high in the sky, washing the
-ruins in an eery light. On the Cimmerian's right rose a temple, partly fallen
-but with the portico, upheld by four massive marble columns, still intact.
-Along the edge of the roof, a row of marble gargoyles peered down—statues of
-monsters of bygone days, half demon and half beast.
-Conan tried to remember the scraps of legend that he had overheard in the
-wineshops of the Maul, concerning the abandonment of Larsha. There was
-something about a curse sent by an angered god, many centuries before, in
-punishment for deeds so wicked that they made the crimes and vices of Shadizar
-look like virtues—
-He started for the center of the city again but now noticed something
-peculiar. His sandals tended to stick to the shattered pavement, as if it were
-covered with warm pitch. The soles made sucking noises as he raised his feet.
-He stooped and felt the ground. It was coated with a film of a colorless,
-sticky substance, now nearly dry.
-Hand on hilt, Conan glared about him in the moon-light But no sound came to
-his ears. He resumed his advance. Again his sandals made sucking noises as he
-raised them. He halted, turning his head. He could have sworn that similar
-sucking noises came to his ears from a distance. For an instant, he thought
-they might be the echoes of his own footsteps. But he had passed the half-
-ruined temple, and now no walls rose on either side of him to reflect the sound.
-Again he advanced, then halted. Again he heard the sucking sound, and this
-time it did not cease when he froze to immobility. In fact, it became louder.
-His keen hearing located it as coming from directly in front of him. Since he
-could see nothing moving in the street before him, the source of the sound must
-be in a side street or in one of the ruined buildings.
-The sound increased to an indescribable slithering, gurgling hiss. Even
-Conan's iron nerves were shaken by the strain of waiting for the unknown source
-of the sound to appear.
-At last, around the next corner poured a huge, slimy mass, leprous gray in the
-moonlight. It glided into the street before him and swiftly advanced upon him,
-silent save for the sucking sound of its peculiar method of locomotion. From
-its front end rose a pair of hornlike projections, at least ten feet long, with
-a shorter pair below. The long horns bent this way and that, and Conan saw that
-they bore eyes on their ends.
-The creature was, in fact, a slug, like the harmless garden slug that leaves a
-trail of slime in its nightly wanderings. This slug, however, was fifty feet
-long and as thick through the middle as Conan was tall. Moreover, it moved as
-fast as a man could run. The fetid smell of the thing wafted ahead of it.
-Momentarily paralyzed with astonishment, Conan stared at the vast mass of
-rubbery flesh bearing down upon him. The slug emitted a sound like that of a
-man spitting, but magnified many times over.
-Galvanized into action at last, the Cimmerian leaped sideways. As he did so, a
-jet of liquid flashed through the night air, just where he had stood. A tiny
-droplet struck his shoulder and burned like a coal of fire.
-Conan turned and ran back the way he had come, his long legs flashing in the
-moonlight. Again he had to bound over piles of broken masonary. His ears told
-him that the slug was close behind. Perhaps it was gaining. He dared not turn
-to look, lest he trip over some marble fragment and go sprawling; the monster
-would be upon him before he could regain his feet.
-Again came that spitting sound. Conan leaped frantically to one side; again
-the jet of liquid flashed past him. Even if he kept ahead of the slug all the
-way to the city wall, the next shot would probably hit its mark.
-Conan dodged around a corner to put obstacles between himself and the slug. He
-raced down a narrow zigzag street, then around another corner. He was lost in
-the maze of streets, he knew; but the main thing was to keep turning corners so
-as not to give his pursuer another clear shot at him. The sucking sounds and
-the stench indicated that it was following his trail. Once, when he paused to
-catch his breath, he looked back to see the slug pouring around the last corner
-he had turned.
-On and on he went, dodging this way and that through the maze of the ancient
-city. If he could not outrun the slug, perhaps he could tire it. A man, he
-knew, could outlast almost any animal in a long-distance run. But the slug
-seemed tireless.
-Something about the buildings he was passing struck him as familiar. Then he
-realized that he was coming to the half-ruined temple he had passed just before
-he met the slug. A quick glance showed him that the upper parts of the building
-could be reached by an active climber.
-Conan bounded up a pile of rubbish to the top of the broken wall. Leaping from
-stone to stone, he made his way up the jagged profile of the wall to an
-unruined section facing the street. He found himself on a stretch of roof
-behind the row of marble gargoyles. He approached them, treading softly lest
-the half-ruined roof collapse beneath him and detouring around holes through
-which a man could fall into the chambers below.
-The sound and smell of the slug came to him from the street. Realizing that it
-had lost his track and uncertain as to which way to turn, the creature had
-evidently stopped in front of the temple. Very cautiously—for he was sure the
-slug could see him in the moonlight—Conan peered past one of the statues and
-down into the street.
-There lay the great, grayish mass, on which the moon shone moistly. The eye
-stalks wavered this way and that, seeking the creature's prey. Beneath them,
-the shorter horns swept back and forth a little above the ground, as if
-smelling for the Cimmerian's trail.
-Conan felt certain that the slug would soon pick up his trail. He had no doubt
-that it could slither up the sides of the building quite as readily as he had
-climbed it.
-He put a hand against a gargoyle—a nightmarish statue with a humanoid body,
-bat's wings, and a reptilian head—and pushed. The statue rocked a trifle with a
-faint crunching noise.
-At the sound, the horns of the slug whipped upward toward the roof of the
-temple. The slug's head came around, bending its body into a sharp curve. The
-head approached the front of the temple and began to slide up one of the huge
-pillars, directly below the place where Conan crouched with bared teeth.
-A sword, Conan thought, would be of little use against such a monstrosity.
-Like other lowly forms of life, it could survive damage that would instantly
-destroy a higher creature.
-Up the pillar came the slug's head, the eyes on their stalks swiveling back
-and forth. At the present rate, the monster's head would reach the edge of the
-roof while most of its body still lay in the street below.
-Then Conan saw what he must do. He hurled himself at the gargoyle. With a
-mighty heave, he sent it tumbling over the edge of the roof. Instead of the
-crash that such a mass of marble would ordinarily make on striking the
-pavement, there floated up the sound of a moist, squashy impact, followed by a
-heavy thud as the forward part of the slug's body fell back to earth.
-When Conan risked a glance over the parapet, he saw that the statue had sunk
-into the slug's body until it was almost buried. The great, gray mass writhed
-and lashed like a worm on a fisherman's hook. A blow of the tail made the front
-of the temple tremble; somewhere in the interior a few loose stones fell
-clattering. Conan wondered if the whole structure were about to collapse
-beneath him, burying him in the debris.
-"So much for you!" snarled the Cimmerian.
-He went along the row of gargoyles until he found another that was loose and
-directly over part of the slug's body. Down it went with another squashing
-impact. A third missed and shattered on the pavement. A fourth and smaller
-statue he picked bodily up and, muscles cracking with the strain, hurled
-outward so that it fell on the writhing head.
-As the beast's convulsions slowly subsided, Conan pushed over two more
-gargoyles to make sure. When the body no longer writhed, he clambered down to
-the street. He approached the great, stinking mass cautiously, sword out. At
-last, summoning all his courage, he slashed into the rubbery flesh. Dark ichor
-oozed out, and rippling morions ran through the wet, gray skin. But, even
-though parts might retain signs of independent life, the slug as a whole was
-dead.
-Conan was still slashing furiously when a voice made him whirl about. It said:
-"I've got you this time!"
-It was Nestor, approaching sword in hand, with a bloodstained bandage around
-his head in place of his helmet. The Gunderman stopped at the sight of the
-slug. "Mitra! What is this?"
-"It's the spook of Larsha," said Conan, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous
-accent "It chased me over half the city before I slew it." As Nestor stared
-incredulously, the Cimmerian continued: "What do you here? How many times must
-I kill you before you stay dead?"
-"You shall see how dead I am," grated Nestor, bringing his sword up to guard.
-"What happened to your soldiers?"
-"Dead in that rock slide you rigged, as you soon shall be—"
-"Look, you fool," said Conan, "why waste your strength on sword strokes, when
-there's more wealth here than the pair of us can carry away—if the tales are
-true? You are a good man of your hands; why not join me to raid the treasure of
-Larsha instead?"
-"I must do my duty and avenge my men! Defend yourself, dog or a barbarian!"
-"By Crom, I'll fight if you like!" growled Conan, bringing up his sword. "But
-think, man! If you go back to Shadizar, they'll crucify you for losing your
-command—even if you took my head with you, which I do not think you can do. If
-one tenth of the stories are true, you'll get more from your share of the loot
-than you'd earn in a hundred years as a mercenary captain."
-Nestor had lowered his blade and stepped back. Now he stood mute, thinking
-deeply. Conan added: "Besides, you'll never make real warriors of these
-poltroons of Zamorians!"
-The Gunderman sighed and sheathed his sword. "You are right, damn you. Until
-this venture is over, we'll fight back to back and go equal shares on the loot,
-eh?" He held out his hand.
-"Done!" said Conan, sheathing likewise and clasping the other's hand. "If we
-have to run for it and get separated, let's meet at the fountain of Ninus."
-The royal palace of Larsha stood in the center of the city, in the midst of a
-broad plaza. It was the one structure that had not crumbled with age, and this
-for a simple reason. It was carved out of a single crag or hillock of rock that
-once broke the flatness of the plateau on which Larsha stood. So meticulous had
-been the construction of this building, however, that close inspection was
-needed to show that it was not an ordinary composite structure, lines engraved
-in the black, basaltic surface imitated the joints between building stones.
-Treading softly, Conan and Nestor peered into the dark interior. "We shall
-need light," said Nestor. "I do not care to walk into another slug like that in
-the dark."
-"I don't smell another slug," said Conan, "but the treasure might have another
-guardian."
-He turned back and hewed down a pine sapling that thrust up through the broken
-pavement. Then he lopped its limbs and cut it into short lengths. Whittling a
-pile of shavings with his sword, he started a small fire with flint and steel.
-He split the ends of two of the billets until they were frayed out and then
-ignited them. The resinous wood burned vigorously. He handed one torch to
-Nestor, and each of them thrust half the spare billets through his girdle.
-Then, swords out, they again approached the palace.
-Inside the archway, the flickering yellow flames of the torches were reflected
-from polished walls of black stone; but underfoot the dust lay inches thick.
-Several bats, hanging from bits of stone carving overhead, squeaked angrily and
-whirred away into deeper darkness.
-They passed between statues of horrific aspect, set in niches on either side.
-Dark hallways opened on either hand. They crossed a throne room. The throne,
-carved of the same black stone as the rest of the building, still stood. Other
-chairs and divans, being made of wood, had crumbled into dust, leaving a litter
-of nails, metallic ornaments, and semi-precious stones on the floor.
-"It must have stood vacant for thousands of years," whispered Nestor.
-They traversed several chambers, which might have been a king's private
-apartments; but the absence of perishable furnishings made it impossible to
-tell. They found themselves before a door. Conan put his torch close to it.
-It was a stout door, set in an arch of stone and made of massive timbers,
-bound together with brackets of green-filmed copper. Conan poked the door with
-his sword. The blade entered easily; a little shower of dusty fragments, pale
-in the torchlight, sifted down.
-"It's rotten," growled Nestor, kicking out. His boot went into the wood almost
-as easily as Conan's sword had done. A copper fitting fell to the floor with a
-dull clank.
-In a moment they had battered down the rotten timbers in a shower of wood
-dust. They stooped, thrusting their torches ahead of them into the opening.
-Light, reflected from silver, gold, and jewels, winked back at them.
-Nestor pushed through the opening, then backed out so suddenly that he bumped
-into Conan. "There are men in there!" he hissed.
-"Let's see." Conan thrust his head into the opening and peered right and left.
-"They're dead. Come on!"
-Inside, they stared about them until their torches burned down to their hands
-and they had to light a new pair. Around the room, seven giant warriors, each
-at least seven feet tall, sprawled in chairs. Their heads lay against the chair
-backs and their mouths hung open. They wore the trappings of a bygone era;
-their plumed copper helmets and the copper scales on their corselets were green
-with age. Their skins were brown and waxy-looking, like those of mummies, and
-grizzled beards hung down to their waists. Copper-bladed bills and pikes leaned
-against the wall beside them or lay on the floor.
-In the center of the room rose an altar, of black basalt like the rest of the
-palace. Near the altar, on the floor, several chests of treasure had lain. The
-wood of these chests had rotted away; the chests had burst open, letting a
-glittering drift of treasure pour out on the floor.
-Conan stepped close to one of the immobile warriors and touched the man's leg
-with the point of his sword. The body lay still. He murmured:
-"The ancients must have mummified them, as they tell me the priests do with
-the dead in Stygia."
-Nestor looked uneasily at the seven still forms. The feeble flames of the
-torches seemed unable to push the dense darkness back to the sable walls and
-roof of the chamber.
-The block of black stone in the middle of the room rose to waist height. On
-its flat, polished top, inlaid in narrow strips of ivory, was a diagram of
-interlaced circles and triangles. The whole formed a seven-pointed star. The
-spaces between the lines were marked by symbols in some form of writing that
-Conan did not recognize. He could read Zamorian and write it after a fashion,
-and he had smatterings of Hyrkanian and Corinthian; but these cryptic glyphs
-were beyond him.
-In any case, he was more interested in the things that lay on top of the
-altar. On each point of the star, winking in the ruddy, wavering light of the
-torches, lay a great green jewel, larger than a hen's egg. At the center of the
-diagram stood a green statuette of a serpent with up-reared head, apparently
-carved from jade.
-Conan moved his torch close to the seven great, glowing gems. "I want those,"
-he grunted. "You can have the rest."
-"No, you don't!" snapped Nestor. "Those are worth more than all the other
-treasure in this room put together. I will have them!"
-Tension crackled between the two men, and their free hands stole toward their
-hilts. For a space they stood silently, glaring at each other. Then Nestor said:
-"Then let us divide them, as we agreed to do."
-"You cannot divide seven by two," said Conan. "Let us flip one of these coins
-for them. The winner takes the seven jewels, while the other man has his pick
-of the rest. Does that suit you?"
-Conan picked a coin out of one of the heaps that marked the places where the
-chests had lain. Although he had acquired a good working knowledge of coins in
-his career as a thief, this was entirely unfamiliar. One side bore a face, but
-whether of a man, a demon, or an owl he could not tell. The other side was
-covered with symbols like those on the altar.
-Conan showed the coin to Nestor. The two treasure hunters grunted agreement.
-Conan flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on his left
-wrist. He extended the wrist, with the coin still covered, toward Nestor.
-"Heads," said the Gunderman.
-Conan removed his hand from the coin. Nestor peered and growled: "Ishtar curse
-the thing! You win. Hold my torch a moment."
-Conan, alert for any treacherous move, took the torch. But Nestor merely
-untied the strap of his cloak and spread the garment on the dusty floor. He
-began shoveling handfuls of gold and gems from the heaps on the floor into a
-pile on the cloak.
-"Don't load yourself so heavily that you can't run," said Conan. "We are not
-out of this yet, and it's a long walk back to Shadizar."
-"I can handle it," said Nestor. He gathered up the comers of the cloak, slung
-the improvised bag over his back, and held out a hand for his torch.
-Conan handed it to him and stepped to the altar. One by one he took the great,
-green jewels and thrust them into the leathern sack that hung from his
-shoulders.
-When all seven had been removed from the altar top, he paused, looking at the
-jade serpent. "This will fetch a pretty price," he said. Snatching it up, he
-thrust it, too, into his booty bag.
-"Why not take some of the remaining gold and jewels, too?" asked Nestor. "I
-have all I can carry."
-"You've got the best stuff," said Conan. "Besides, I don't need any more. Man,
-with these I can buy a kingdom! Or a dukedom, anyway, and all the wine I can
-drink and women I—"
-A sound caused the plunderers to whirl, staring wildly. Around the walls, the
-seven mummified warriors were coming to life. Their heads came up, their mouths
-closed, and air hissed into their ancient, withered lungs. Their joints creaked
-like rusty hinges as they picked up their pikes and bills and rose to their
-feet.
-"Run!" yelled Nestor, hurling his torch at the nearest giant and snatching out
-his sword.
-The torch struck the giant in the chest, fell to the floor, and went out.
-Having both hands free, Conan retained his torch while he drew his sword. The
-light of the remaining torch flickered feebly on the green of the ancient
-copper harness as the giants closed in on the pair.
-Conan ducked the sweep of a bill and knocked the thrust of a pike aside.
-Between him and the door, Nestor engaged a giant who was moving to block their
-escape. The Gunderman parried a thrust and struck a fierce, backhanded blow at
-his enemy's thigh. The blade bit, but only a little way; it was like chopping
-wood. The giant staggered, and Nestor hewed at another. The point of a pike
-glanced off his dented cuirass.
-The giants moved slowly, or the treasure hunters would have fallen before
-their first onset. Leaping, dodging, and whirling, Conan avoided blows that
-would have stretched him senseless on the dusty floor. Again and again his
-blade bit into the dry, woody flesh of his assailants. Blows that would have
-decapitated a living man only staggered these creatures from another age. He
-landed a chop on the hand of one attacker, maiming the member and causing the
-giant to drop his pike.
-He dodged the thrust of another pike and put every ounce of strength into a
-low forehand cut at the giant's ankle. The blade bit half through, and the
-giant crashed to the floor.
-"Out!" bellowed Conan, leaping over the fallen body.
-He and Nestor raced out the door and through halls and chambers. For an
-instant Conan feared they were lost, but he caught a glimpse of light ahead.
-The two dashed out the main portal of the palace. Behind them came the clatter
-and tramp of the guardians. Overhead, the sky had paled and the stars were
-going out with the coming of dawn.
-"Head for the wall," panted Nestor. "I think we can outrun them."
-As they reached the far side of the plaza, Conan glanced back. "Look!" he cried.
-One by one, the giants emerged from the palace. And one by one, as they came
-into the growing light, they sank to the pavement and crumbled into dust,
-leaving their plumed copper helmets, their scaled cuirasses, and their other
-accouterments in heaps on the ground.
-"Well, that's that," said Nestor. "But how shall we get back into Shadizar
-without being arrested? It will be day-light long before we get there."
-Conan grinned. "There's a way of getting in that we thieves know. Near the
-northeast corner of the wall stands a clump of trees. If you poke around among
-the shrubs that mask the wall, you will find a kind of culvert—I suppose to let
-the water out of the city in heavy rains. It used to be closed by an iron
-grating, but that has rusted away. If you are not too fat, you can worm your
-way through it. You come out in a lot where people dump rubbish from houses
-that have been torn down."
-"Good," said Nestor. "I'll—"
-A deep rumble cut off his words. The earth heaved and rocked and trembled,
-throwing him to the ground and staggering the Cimmerian.
-"Look out!" yelled Conan.
-As Nestor started to scramble up, Conan caught his arm and dragged him back
-toward the center of the plaza. As he did so, the wall of a nearby building
-fell over into the plaza. It smashed down just where the two had been standing,
-but its mighty crash was lost in the thunder of the earthquake.
-"Let's get out of here!" shouted Nestor.
-Steering by the moon, now low in the western sky, they ran zigzag through the
-streets. On either side of them, walls and columns leaned, crumbled, and
-crashed. The noise was deafening. Clouds of dust arose, making the fugitives
-cough.
-Conan skidded to a halt and leaped back to avoid being crushed under the front
-of a collapsing temple. He staggered as fresh tremors shook the earth beneath
-him. He scrambled over piles of ruin, some old and some freshly made. He leaped
-madly out from under a falling column drum. Fragments of stone and brick struck
-him; one laid open a cut along his jaw. Another glanced from his shin, making
-him curse by the gods of all the lands he had visited.
-At last he reached the city wall. It was a wall no longer, having been shaken
-down to a low ridge of broken stone.
-Limping, coughing, and panting, Conan climbed the ridge and turned to look
-back. Nestor was no longer with him. Probably, he thought, the Gunderman had
-been caught under a falling wall. Conan listened but could hear no cry for help.
-The rumble of quaking earth and falling masonry died away. The light of the
-low moon glistened on the vast cloud of dust that covered the city. Then a dawn
-breeze sprang up and slowly wafted the dust away.
-Sitting on the crest of the ridge of ruin that marked the site of the wall,
-Conan stared back across the site of Larsha. The city bore an aspect entirely
-different from when he had entered it. Not a single building remained upright
-Even the monolithic palace of black basalt, where he and Nestor had found their
-treasure, had crumbled into a heap of broken blocks. Conan gave up thoughts of
-going back to the palace on some future occasion to collect the rest of the
-treasure. An army of workmen would have to clear away the wreckage before the
-valuables could be salvaged.
-All of Larsha had fallen into heaps of rubble. As far as he could see in the
-growing light, nothing moved in the city. The only sound was the belated fall
-of an occasional stone.
-Conan felt his booty bag, to make sure that he still had had his loot, and
-turned his face westward, towards Shadizar. Behind him, the rising sun shot a
-spear of light against his broad back.
-The following night, Conan swaggered into his favorite tavern, that of
-Abuletes, in the Maul. The low, smoke-stained room stank of sweat and sour
-wine. At crowded tables, thieves and murderers drank ale and wine, diced,
-argued, sang, quarreled, and blustered. It was deemed a dull evening here when
-at least one customer was not stabbed in a brawl.
-Across the room, Conan sighted his sweetheart of the moment, drinking alone at
-a small table. This was Semiramis, a strongly-built, black-haired woman several
-years older than the Cimmerian.
-"Ho there, Semiramis!" roared Conan, pushing his way across. "I've got
-something to show you! Abuletes! A jug of your best Kyrian! I'm in luck
-tonight!"
-Had Conan been older, caution would have stopped him from openly boasting of
-his plunder, let alone displaying it. As it was, he strode up to Semiramis'
-table and up-ended the leathern sack containing the seven great, green gems.
-The jewels cascaded out of the bag, thumped the wine-wet table top—and
-crumbled instantly into fine green powder, which sparkled in the candlelight.
-Conan dropped the sack and stood with his mouth agape, while nearby drinkers
-burst into raucous laughter.
-"Crom and Mannanan!" the Cimmerian breathed at last. "This time, it seems, I
-was too clever for my own good." Then he bethought him of the jade serpent,
-still in the bag. "Well, I have something that will pay for a few good
-carousals, anyway."
-Moved by curiosity, Semiramis picked up the sack from the table. Then she
-dropped it with a scream.
-"It's—it's alive!" she cried.
-"What—" began Conan, but a shout from the doorway cut him off :
-"There he is, men! Seize him!"
-A fat magistrate had entered the tavern, followed by a squad of the night
-watch, armed with bills. The other customers fell silent, staring woodenly into
-space as if they knew nothing of Conan or of any of the other riffraff who were
-Abuletes' guests.
-The magistrate pushed toward Conan's table. Whipping out his sword, the
-Cimmerian put his back against the wall. His blue eyes blazed dangerously, and
-his teeth showed in the candle light.
-"Take me if you can, dogs!" he snarled. "I've done nothing against your stupid
-laws!" Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered to Semiramis: "Grab the bag
-and get out of here. If they get me, if's yours."
-"I—I'm afraid of it!" whimpered the woman.
-"Oh-ho!" chortled the magistrate, coming forward. "Nothing, eh? Nothing but to
-rob our leading citizens blind! There's evidence enough to lop your head off a
-hundred times over! And then you slew Nestor's soldiers and persuaded him to
-join you in a raid on the ruins of Larsha, eh? We found him earlier this
-evening, drunk and boasting of his feat. The villain got away from us, but you
-shan't!"
-As the watachmen formed a half-circle around Conan, bills pointing toward his
-breast, the magistrate noticed the sack on the table. "Whaf's this, your latest
-loot? We'll see—"
-The fat man thrust a hand into the sack. For an instant he fumbled. Then his
-eyes widened; his mouth opened to emit an appalling shriek. He jerked his hand
-out of the bag. A jade-green snake, alive and writhing, had thrown a loop
-around his wrist and had sunk its fangs into his hand.
-Cries of horror and amazement arose. A watchman sprang back and fell over a
-table, smashing mugs and splashing liquors. Another stepped forward to catch
-the magistrate as he tottered and fell. A third dropped his bill and, screaming
-hysterically, broke for the door.
-Panic seized the customers. Some jammed themselves into the door, struggling
-to get out. A couple started fighting with knives, while another thief, locked
-in combat with a watchman, rolled on the floor. One of the candles was knocked
-over; then another, leaving the room but dimly lit by the little earthenware
-lamp over the counter.
-In the gloom, Conan caught Semiramis' wrist and hauled her to her feet. He
-beat the panic-stricken mob aside with the flat of his sword and forced his way
-through the throng to the door. Out in the night, the two ran, rounding several
-corners to throw off pursuit. Then they stopped to breathe. Conan said:
-"This city will be too cursed hot for me after this. I'm on my way. Good-bye,
-Semiramis."
-"Would you not care to spend a last night with me?"
-"Not this time. I must try to catch that rascal Nestor. If the fool hadn't
-blabbed, the law would not have gotten on my trail so quickly. He has all the
-treasure a man can carry, while I ended up with naught. Maybe I can persuade
-him to give me half; if not—" He thumbed the edge of his sword.
-Semiramis sighed. "There will always be a hideout for you in Shadizar, while I
-live. Give me a last kiss."
-They embraced briefly. Then Conan was gone, like a shadow in the night.
-On the Corinthian Road that leads west from Shadizar, three bowshots from the
-city walls, stands the fountain of Ninus. According to the story, Ninus was a
-rich merchant who suffered from a wasting disease. A god visited him in his
-dreams and promised him a cure if he would build a fountain on the road leading
-to Shadizar from the west, so that travelers could wash and quench their thirst
-before entering the city. Ninus built the fountain, but the tale does not tell
-whether he recovered from his sickness.
-Half an hour after his escape from Abuletes' tavern, Conan found Nestor,
-sitting on the curbing of Ninus' fountain.
-"How did you make out with your seven matchless gems?" asked Nestor.
-Conan told what had befallen his share of the loot "Now," he said,
-"since—thanks to your loose tongue—I must leave Shadizar, and since I have none
-of the treasure left, it would be only right for you to divide your remaining
-portion with me."
-Nestor gave a barking, mirthless laugh. "My share? Boy, here is half of what I
-have left." From his girdle he brought out two pieces of gold and tossed one to
-Conan, who caught it. "I owe it to you for pulling me away from that falling
-wall."
-"What happened to you?"
-"When the watch cornered me in the dive, I managed to cast a table and bowl a
-few over. Then I picked up the bright stuff in my cloak, slung it over my back,
-and started for the door. One who tried to halt me I cut down; but another
-landed a slash on my cloak. The next thing I knew, the whole mass of gold and
-jewels spilled out on the floor, and everybody—watchmen, magistrate, and
-customers—joined in a mad scramble for them." He held up the cloak, showing a
-two-foot rent in the fabric. "Thinking that the treasure would do me no good if
-my head were adorning a spike over the West Gate, I left while the leaving was
-good. When I got outside the city, I looked in my mantle, but all I found were
-those two coins, caught in a fold. You're welcome to one of them."
-Conan stood scowling for a moment. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. A low
-laugh rumbled in his throat; his head went back as he burst into a thunderous
-guffaw. "A fine pair of treasure-seekers we are! Crom, but the gods have had
-sport with us! What a joke!" Nestor smiled wryly. "I am glad you see the
-amusing side of it. But after this I do not think Shadizar will be safe for
-either of us."
-"Whither are you bound?" asked Conan.
-"I'll head east, to seek a mercenary post in Turan. They say King Yildiz is
-hiring fighters to whip his raggle-taggle horde into a real army. Why not come
-with me, lad? You're cut out for a soldier."
-Conan shook his head. "Not for me, marching back and forth on the drill ground
-all day while some fatheaded officer bawls: "Forward, march! Present, pikes!' I
-hear there are good pickings in the West; I'll try that for a while."
-"Well, may your barbarous gods go with you," said Nestor. "If you change your
-mind, ask for me in the barracks at Aghrapur. Farewell!"
-"Farewell," replied Conan. Without further words, he stepped out on the
-Corinthian Road and soon was lost to view in the night.
+Robert E. Howard - The Hall Of The Dead
+ROBERT E. HOWARD
+THE HALL OF THE DEAD
+"The Hall Of The Dead" is a fragment begun in the 1930s but not finished or
+published in Howard's lifetime. It was completed by L. Sprague de Camp and
+published in The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction in February 1967.
+Becoming fed up with the City of Thieves (and vice versa) Conan wanders
+westward to the capital of Zamora, Shadizar the Wicked. Here, he hopes, the
+pickings will be richer. For a time he is indeed, more successful in his
+thievery than he had been in Arenjun—although the women of Shadizar quickly
+relieve him of his gains in return for initiating him into the arts of love.
+Rumors of treasure send him to the nearby ruins of ancient Larsha, just ahead
+of the squad of soldiers sent to arrest him.
+THE GORGE was dark, although the setting sun had left a band of orange and
+yellow and green along the western horizon. Against this band of color, a sharp
+eye could still discern, in black silhouette, the domes and spires of Shadizar
+the Wicked, the city of dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted
+mystery—the capital of Zamora.
+As the twilight faded, the first few stars appeared overhead. As if answering
+a signal, lights winked on in the distant domes and spires. While the light of
+the stars was pale and wan, that of the windows of Shadizar was a sultry amber,
+with a hint of abominable deeds.
+The gorge was quiet save for the chirping of nocturnal insects. Presently,
+however, this silence was broken by the sound of moving men. Up the gorge came
+a squad of Zamorian soldiers—five men in plain steel caps and leather jerkins,
+studded with bronze buttons, led by an officer in a polished bronze cuirass and
+a helmet with a towering horsehair crest. Their bronze-greaved legs swished
+through the long, lush grass that covered the floor of the gorge. Their harness
+creaked and their weapons clanked and tinkled. Three of them bore bows and the
+other two, pikes; short swords hung at their sides and bucklers were slung
+across their backs. The officer was armed with a long sword and a dagger.
+One of the soldiers muttered: "If we catch this Conan fellow alive, what will
+they do with him?"
+"Send him to Yezud to feed to the spider god, I'll warrant," said another.
+"The question is, shall we be alive to collect that reward they promised us?"
+"Not afraid of him, are you?" said a third.
+"Me?" The second speaker snorted. "I fear naught, including death itself. The
+question is, whose death? This thief is not a civilized man but a wild
+barbarian, with the strength of ten. So I went to the magistrate to draw up my
+will—"
+"It is cheering to know that your heirs will get the reward," said another. "I
+wish I had thought of that."
+"Oh," said the first man who had spoken, "they'll find some excuse to cheat us
+of the reward, even if we catch the rascal."
+"The prefect himself has promised," said another. "The rich merchants and
+nobles whom Conan has been robbing raised a fund. I saw the money—a bag so
+heavy with gold that a man could scarce lift it. After all that public display,
+they'd not dare to go back on their word."
+"But suppose we catch him not," said the second speaker. "There was something
+about paying for it with our heads." The speaker raised his voice. "Captain
+Nestor! What was that about our heads—"
+"Hold your tongues, all of you!" snapped the officer. "You can be heard as far
+as Arenjun. If Conan is within a mile, he'll be warned. Cease your chatter, and
+try to move without so much clangor."
+The officer was a broad-shouldered man of medium height and powerful build;
+daylight would have shown his eyes to be gray and his hair light brown,
+streaked with gray. He was a Gunderman, from the northernmost province of
+Aquilonia, fifteen hundred miles to the west. His mission—to take Conan dead or
+alive—troubled him. The prefect had warned him that, if he failed, he might
+expect severe punishment—perhaps even the headsman's block. The king himself
+had demanded that the outlaw be taken, and the king of Zamora had a short way
+with servants who failed their missions. A tip from the underworld had revealed
+that Conan was seen heading for this gorge earlier that day, and Nestor's
+commander had hastily dis patched him with such troopers as could be found in
+the barracks.
+Nestor had no confidence in the soldiers that trailed behind him. He
+considered them braggarts who would flee in the face of danger, leaving him to
+confront the barbarian alone. And, although the Gunderman was a brave man, he
+did not deceive himself about his chances with this ferocious, gigantic young
+savage. His armor would give him no more than a slight edge.
+As the glow in the western sky faded, the darkness deepened and the walls of
+the gorge became narrower, steeper, and rockier. Behind Nestor, the men began
+to murmur again:
+"I like it not. This road leads to the ruins of Larsha the Accursed, where the
+ghosts of the ancients lurk to devour passers-by. And in that city, 'tis said,
+lies the Hall of the Dead—"
+"Shut up!" snarled Nestor, turning his head. "If—"
+At that instant, the officer tripped over a rawhide rope stretched across the
+path and fell sprawling in the grass. There was the snap of a spring pole
+released from its lodgment, and the rope went slack.
+With a rumbling roar, a mass of rocks and dirt cascaded down the left-hand
+slope. As Nestor scrambled to his feet, a stone the size of a man's head struck
+his corselet and knocked him down again. Another knocked off his helmet, while
+smaller stones stung his limbs. Behind him sounded a multiple scream and the
+clatter of stone striking metal. Then silence fell.
+Nestor staggered to his feet, coughed the dust out of his lungs, and turned to
+see what had befallen. A few paces behind him, a rock slide blocked the gorge
+from wall to wall. Approaching, he made out a human hand and a foot projecting
+from the rubble. He called but received no reply. When he touched the
+protruding members, he found no life. The slide, set off by the pull on the
+rope, had wiped out his entire squad.
+Nestor flexed his joints to learn what harm he had suffered. No bones appeared
+to be broken, although his corselet was dented and he bore several bruises.
+Burning with wrath, he found his helmet and took up the trail alone. Failing to
+catch the thief would have been bad enough; but if he also had to confess to
+the loss of his men, he foresaw a lingering and painful death. His only chance
+now was to bring back Conan—or at least his head.
+Sword in hand, Nestor limped on up the endless windings of the gorge. A light
+in the sky before him showed that the moon, a little past full, was rising. He
+strained his eyes, expecting the barbarian to spring upon him from behind every
+bend in the ravine.
+The gorge became shallower and the walls less steep. Gullies opened into the
+gorge to right and left, while the bottom became stony and uneven, forcing
+Nestor to scramble over rocks and underbrush. At last the gorge gave out
+completely. Climbing a short slope, the Gunderman found himself on the edge of
+an upland pleateau, surrounded by distant mountains. A bowshot ahead, bone-
+white in the light of the moon, rose the walls of Larsha. A massive gate stood
+directly in front of him. Time had bitten scallops out of the walls, and over
+it rose half-ruined roofs and towers.
+Nestor paused. Larsha was said to be immensely old. According to the tales, it
+went back to Cataclysmic times, when the forebears of the Zamorians, the
+Zhemri, formed an island of semi-civilization in a sea of barbarism.
+Stories of the death that lurked in these ruins were rife in the bazaars of
+Shadizar. As far as Nestor had been able to learn, not one of the many men who,
+in historic times, had invaded the ruins searching for the treasure rumored to
+exist there, had ever returned. None knew what form the danger took, because no
+survivor had lived to carry the tale.
+A decade before, King Tiridates had sent a company of his bravest soldiers, in
+broad daylight, into the city, while the king himself waited outside the walls.
+There had been screams and sounds of flight, and then—nothing. The men who
+waited outside had fled, and Tiridates perforce had fled with them. That was
+the last attempt to unlock the mystery of Larsha by main force.
+Although Nestor had all the usual mercenary's lust for unearned wealth, he was
+not rash. Years of soldiering in the kingdoms between Zamora and his homeland
+had taught him caution. As he paused, weighing the dangers of his alternatives,
+a sight made him stiffen. Close to the wall, he sighted the figure of a man,
+slinking toward the gate. Although the man was too far away to recognize faces
+in the moonlight, there was no mistaking that panther-like stride. Conan!
+Filled with rising fury, Nestor started forward. He walked swiftly, holding
+his scabbard to keep it from clanking. But, quietly though he moved, the keen
+ears of the barbarian warned him. Conan whirled, and his sword whispered from
+its sheath. Then, seeing that only a single foe pursued him, the Cimmerian
+stood his ground.
+As Nestor approached, he began to pick out details of the other's appearance.
+Conan was well over six feet tall, and his threadbare tunic failed to mask the
+hard lines of his mighty thews. A leathern sack hung by a strap from his
+shoulder. His face was youthful but hard, surmounted by a square-cut mane of
+thick black hair.
+Not a word was spoken. Nestor paused to catch his breath and cast aside his
+cloak, and in that instant Conan hurled himself upon the older man.
+Two swords glimmered like lightnings in the moonlight as the clang and rasp of
+blades shattered the graveyard silence. Nestor was the more experienced
+fighter, but the reach and blinding speed of the other nullified this
+advantage. Conan's attack was as elemental and irresistible as a hurricane.
+Parrying shrewdly, Nestor was forced back, step after step. Narrowly he watched
+his opponent, waiting for the other's attack to slow from sheer fatigue. But
+the Cimmerian seemed not to know what fatigue was.
+Making a backhand cut, Nestor slit Conan's tunic over the chest but did not
+quite reach the skin. In a blinding return thrust, Conan's point glanced off
+Nestor's breastplate, plowing a groove in the bronze.
+As Nestor stepped back from another furious attack, a stone turned under his
+foot. Conan aimed a terrific cut at the Gunderman's neck. Had it gone as
+intended, Nestor's head would have flown from his shoulders; but, as he
+stumbled, the blow hit his crested helm instead. It struck with a heavy clang,
+bit into the iron, and hurled Nestor to the ground.
+Breathing deeply, Conan stepped forward, sword ready. His pursuer lay
+motionless with blood seeping from his cloven helmet. Youthful overconfidence
+in the force of his own blows convinced Conan that he had slain his antagonist.
+Sheathing his sword, he turned back toward the city of the ancients.
+The Cimmerian approached the gate. This consisted of two massive valves, twice
+as high as a man, made of foot-thick timbers sheathed in bronze. Conan pushed
+against the valves, grunting, but without effect. He drew his sword and struck
+the bronze with the pommel. From the way the gates sagged, Conan guessed that
+the wood of the doors had rotted away; but the bronze was too thick to hew
+through without spoiling the edge of his blade. And there was an easier way.
+Thirty paces north of the gate, the wall had crumbled so that its lowest point
+was less than twenty feet above the ground. At the same time, a pile of
+tailings against the foot of the wall rose to within six or eight feet of the
+broken edge.
+Conan approached the broken section, drew back a few paces, and then ran
+forward. He bounded up the slope of the tailings, leaped into the air, and
+caught the broken edge of the wall. A grunt, a heave, and a scramble, and he
+was over the edge, ignoring scratches and bruises. He stared down into the city.
+Inside the wall was a cleared space, where for centuries plant life had been
+waging war upon the ancient pavement. The paving slabs were cracked and up-
+ended. Between them, grass, weeds, and a few scrubby trees had forced their way.
+Beyond the cleared area lay the ruins of one of the poorer districts. Here the
+one-story hovels of mud brick had slumped into mere mounds of dirt. Beyond
+them, white in the moonlight, Conan discerned the better-preserved buildings of
+stone—the temples, the palaces, and the houses of the nobles and the rich
+merchants. As with many ancient ruins, and aura of evil hung over the deserted
+city.
+Straining his ears, Conan stared right and left. Nothing moved. The only sound
+was the chirp of crickets.
+Conan, too, had heard the tales of the doom that haunted Larsha. Although the
+supernatural roused panicky, atavistic fears in his barbarian's soul, he
+hardened himself with the thought that, when a supernatural being took material
+form, it could be hurt or killed by material weapons, just like any earthly man
+or monster. He had not come this far to be stopped from a try at the treasure
+by man, beast, or demon.
+According to the tales, the fabled treasure of Larsha lay in the royal palace.
+Gripping his scabbarded sword in his left hand, the young thief dropped from
+the inner side of the broken wall. An instant later, he was threading his way
+through the winding streets toward the center of the city. He made no more
+noise than a shadow.
+Ruin encompassed him on every side. Here and there the front of a house had
+fallen into the street, forcing Conan to detour or to scramble over piles of
+broken brick and marble. The gibbous moon was now high in the sky, washing the
+ruins in an eery light. On the Cimmerian's right rose a temple, partly fallen
+but with the portico, upheld by four massive marble columns, still intact.
+Along the edge of the roof, a row of marble gargoyles peered down—statues of
+monsters of bygone days, half demon and half beast.
+Conan tried to remember the scraps of legend that he had overheard in the
+wineshops of the Maul, concerning the abandonment of Larsha. There was
+something about a curse sent by an angered god, many centuries before, in
+punishment for deeds so wicked that they made the crimes and vices of Shadizar
+look like virtues—
+He started for the center of the city again but now noticed something
+peculiar. His sandals tended to stick to the shattered pavement, as if it were
+covered with warm pitch. The soles made sucking noises as he raised his feet.
+He stooped and felt the ground. It was coated with a film of a colorless,
+sticky substance, now nearly dry.
+Hand on hilt, Conan glared about him in the moon-light But no sound came to
+his ears. He resumed his advance. Again his sandals made sucking noises as he
+raised them. He halted, turning his head. He could have sworn that similar
+sucking noises came to his ears from a distance. For an instant, he thought
+they might be the echoes of his own footsteps. But he had passed the half-
+ruined temple, and now no walls rose on either side of him to reflect the sound.
+Again he advanced, then halted. Again he heard the sucking sound, and this
+time it did not cease when he froze to immobility. In fact, it became louder.
+His keen hearing located it as coming from directly in front of him. Since he
+could see nothing moving in the street before him, the source of the sound must
+be in a side street or in one of the ruined buildings.
+The sound increased to an indescribable slithering, gurgling hiss. Even
+Conan's iron nerves were shaken by the strain of waiting for the unknown source
+of the sound to appear.
+At last, around the next corner poured a huge, slimy mass, leprous gray in the
+moonlight. It glided into the street before him and swiftly advanced upon him,
+silent save for the sucking sound of its peculiar method of locomotion. From
+its front end rose a pair of hornlike projections, at least ten feet long, with
+a shorter pair below. The long horns bent this way and that, and Conan saw that
+they bore eyes on their ends.
+The creature was, in fact, a slug, like the harmless garden slug that leaves a
+trail of slime in its nightly wanderings. This slug, however, was fifty feet
+long and as thick through the middle as Conan was tall. Moreover, it moved as
+fast as a man could run. The fetid smell of the thing wafted ahead of it.
+Momentarily paralyzed with astonishment, Conan stared at the vast mass of
+rubbery flesh bearing down upon him. The slug emitted a sound like that of a
+man spitting, but magnified many times over.
+Galvanized into action at last, the Cimmerian leaped sideways. As he did so, a
+jet of liquid flashed through the night air, just where he had stood. A tiny
+droplet struck his shoulder and burned like a coal of fire.
+Conan turned and ran back the way he had come, his long legs flashing in the
+moonlight. Again he had to bound over piles of broken masonary. His ears told
+him that the slug was close behind. Perhaps it was gaining. He dared not turn
+to look, lest he trip over some marble fragment and go sprawling; the monster
+would be upon him before he could regain his feet.
+Again came that spitting sound. Conan leaped frantically to one side; again
+the jet of liquid flashed past him. Even if he kept ahead of the slug all the
+way to the city wall, the next shot would probably hit its mark.
+Conan dodged around a corner to put obstacles between himself and the slug. He
+raced down a narrow zigzag street, then around another corner. He was lost in
+the maze of streets, he knew; but the main thing was to keep turning corners so
+as not to give his pursuer another clear shot at him. The sucking sounds and
+the stench indicated that it was following his trail. Once, when he paused to
+catch his breath, he looked back to see the slug pouring around the last corner
+he had turned.
+On and on he went, dodging this way and that through the maze of the ancient
+city. If he could not outrun the slug, perhaps he could tire it. A man, he
+knew, could outlast almost any animal in a long-distance run. But the slug
+seemed tireless.
+Something about the buildings he was passing struck him as familiar. Then he
+realized that he was coming to the half-ruined temple he had passed just before
+he met the slug. A quick glance showed him that the upper parts of the building
+could be reached by an active climber.
+Conan bounded up a pile of rubbish to the top of the broken wall. Leaping from
+stone to stone, he made his way up the jagged profile of the wall to an
+unruined section facing the street. He found himself on a stretch of roof
+behind the row of marble gargoyles. He approached them, treading softly lest
+the half-ruined roof collapse beneath him and detouring around holes through
+which a man could fall into the chambers below.
+The sound and smell of the slug came to him from the street. Realizing that it
+had lost his track and uncertain as to which way to turn, the creature had
+evidently stopped in front of the temple. Very cautiously—for he was sure the
+slug could see him in the moonlight—Conan peered past one of the statues and
+down into the street.
+There lay the great, grayish mass, on which the moon shone moistly. The eye
+stalks wavered this way and that, seeking the creature's prey. Beneath them,
+the shorter horns swept back and forth a little above the ground, as if
+smelling for the Cimmerian's trail.
+Conan felt certain that the slug would soon pick up his trail. He had no doubt
+that it could slither up the sides of the building quite as readily as he had
+climbed it.
+He put a hand against a gargoyle—a nightmarish statue with a humanoid body,
+bat's wings, and a reptilian head—and pushed. The statue rocked a trifle with a
+faint crunching noise.
+At the sound, the horns of the slug whipped upward toward the roof of the
+temple. The slug's head came around, bending its body into a sharp curve. The
+head approached the front of the temple and began to slide up one of the huge
+pillars, directly below the place where Conan crouched with bared teeth.
+A sword, Conan thought, would be of little use against such a monstrosity.
+Like other lowly forms of life, it could survive damage that would instantly
+destroy a higher creature.
+Up the pillar came the slug's head, the eyes on their stalks swiveling back
+and forth. At the present rate, the monster's head would reach the edge of the
+roof while most of its body still lay in the street below.
+Then Conan saw what he must do. He hurled himself at the gargoyle. With a
+mighty heave, he sent it tumbling over the edge of the roof. Instead of the
+crash that such a mass of marble would ordinarily make on striking the
+pavement, there floated up the sound of a moist, squashy impact, followed by a
+heavy thud as the forward part of the slug's body fell back to earth.
+When Conan risked a glance over the parapet, he saw that the statue had sunk
+into the slug's body until it was almost buried. The great, gray mass writhed
+and lashed like a worm on a fisherman's hook. A blow of the tail made the front
+of the temple tremble; somewhere in the interior a few loose stones fell
+clattering. Conan wondered if the whole structure were about to collapse
+beneath him, burying him in the debris.
+"So much for you!" snarled the Cimmerian.
+He went along the row of gargoyles until he found another that was loose and
+directly over part of the slug's body. Down it went with another squashing
+impact. A third missed and shattered on the pavement. A fourth and smaller
+statue he picked bodily up and, muscles cracking with the strain, hurled
+outward so that it fell on the writhing head.
+As the beast's convulsions slowly subsided, Conan pushed over two more
+gargoyles to make sure. When the body no longer writhed, he clambered down to
+the street. He approached the great, stinking mass cautiously, sword out. At
+last, summoning all his courage, he slashed into the rubbery flesh. Dark ichor
+oozed out, and rippling morions ran through the wet, gray skin. But, even
+though parts might retain signs of independent life, the slug as a whole was
+dead.
+Conan was still slashing furiously when a voice made him whirl about. It said:
+"I've got you this time!"
+It was Nestor, approaching sword in hand, with a bloodstained bandage around
+his head in place of his helmet. The Gunderman stopped at the sight of the
+slug. "Mitra! What is this?"
+"It's the spook of Larsha," said Conan, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous
+accent "It chased me over half the city before I slew it." As Nestor stared
+incredulously, the Cimmerian continued: "What do you here? How many times must
+I kill you before you stay dead?"
+"You shall see how dead I am," grated Nestor, bringing his sword up to guard.
+"What happened to your soldiers?"
+"Dead in that rock slide you rigged, as you soon shall be—"
+"Look, you fool," said Conan, "why waste your strength on sword strokes, when
+there's more wealth here than the pair of us can carry away—if the tales are
+true? You are a good man of your hands; why not join me to raid the treasure of
+Larsha instead?"
+"I must do my duty and avenge my men! Defend yourself, dog or a barbarian!"
+"By Crom, I'll fight if you like!" growled Conan, bringing up his sword. "But
+think, man! If you go back to Shadizar, they'll crucify you for losing your
+command—even if you took my head with you, which I do not think you can do. If
+one tenth of the stories are true, you'll get more from your share of the loot
+than you'd earn in a hundred years as a mercenary captain."
+Nestor had lowered his blade and stepped back. Now he stood mute, thinking
+deeply. Conan added: "Besides, you'll never make real warriors of these
+poltroons of Zamorians!"
+The Gunderman sighed and sheathed his sword. "You are right, damn you. Until
+this venture is over, we'll fight back to back and go equal shares on the loot,
+eh?" He held out his hand.
+"Done!" said Conan, sheathing likewise and clasping the other's hand. "If we
+have to run for it and get separated, let's meet at the fountain of Ninus."
+The royal palace of Larsha stood in the center of the city, in the midst of a
+broad plaza. It was the one structure that had not crumbled with age, and this
+for a simple reason. It was carved out of a single crag or hillock of rock that
+once broke the flatness of the plateau on which Larsha stood. So meticulous had
+been the construction of this building, however, that close inspection was
+needed to show that it was not an ordinary composite structure, lines engraved
+in the black, basaltic surface imitated the joints between building stones.
+Treading softly, Conan and Nestor peered into the dark interior. "We shall
+need light," said Nestor. "I do not care to walk into another slug like that in
+the dark."
+"I don't smell another slug," said Conan, "but the treasure might have another
+guardian."
+He turned back and hewed down a pine sapling that thrust up through the broken
+pavement. Then he lopped its limbs and cut it into short lengths. Whittling a
+pile of shavings with his sword, he started a small fire with flint and steel.
+He split the ends of two of the billets until they were frayed out and then
+ignited them. The resinous wood burned vigorously. He handed one torch to
+Nestor, and each of them thrust half the spare billets through his girdle.
+Then, swords out, they again approached the palace.
+Inside the archway, the flickering yellow flames of the torches were reflected
+from polished walls of black stone; but underfoot the dust lay inches thick.
+Several bats, hanging from bits of stone carving overhead, squeaked angrily and
+whirred away into deeper darkness.
+They passed between statues of horrific aspect, set in niches on either side.
+Dark hallways opened on either hand. They crossed a throne room. The throne,
+carved of the same black stone as the rest of the building, still stood. Other
+chairs and divans, being made of wood, had crumbled into dust, leaving a litter
+of nails, metallic ornaments, and semi-precious stones on the floor.
+"It must have stood vacant for thousands of years," whispered Nestor.
+They traversed several chambers, which might have been a king's private
+apartments; but the absence of perishable furnishings made it impossible to
+tell. They found themselves before a door. Conan put his torch close to it.
+It was a stout door, set in an arch of stone and made of massive timbers,
+bound together with brackets of green-filmed copper. Conan poked the door with
+his sword. The blade entered easily; a little shower of dusty fragments, pale
+in the torchlight, sifted down.
+"It's rotten," growled Nestor, kicking out. His boot went into the wood almost
+as easily as Conan's sword had done. A copper fitting fell to the floor with a
+dull clank.
+In a moment they had battered down the rotten timbers in a shower of wood
+dust. They stooped, thrusting their torches ahead of them into the opening.
+Light, reflected from silver, gold, and jewels, winked back at them.
+Nestor pushed through the opening, then backed out so suddenly that he bumped
+into Conan. "There are men in there!" he hissed.
+"Let's see." Conan thrust his head into the opening and peered right and left.
+"They're dead. Come on!"
+Inside, they stared about them until their torches burned down to their hands
+and they had to light a new pair. Around the room, seven giant warriors, each
+at least seven feet tall, sprawled in chairs. Their heads lay against the chair
+backs and their mouths hung open. They wore the trappings of a bygone era;
+their plumed copper helmets and the copper scales on their corselets were green
+with age. Their skins were brown and waxy-looking, like those of mummies, and
+grizzled beards hung down to their waists. Copper-bladed bills and pikes leaned
+against the wall beside them or lay on the floor.
+In the center of the room rose an altar, of black basalt like the rest of the
+palace. Near the altar, on the floor, several chests of treasure had lain. The
+wood of these chests had rotted away; the chests had burst open, letting a
+glittering drift of treasure pour out on the floor.
+Conan stepped close to one of the immobile warriors and touched the man's leg
+with the point of his sword. The body lay still. He murmured:
+"The ancients must have mummified them, as they tell me the priests do with
+the dead in Stygia."
+Nestor looked uneasily at the seven still forms. The feeble flames of the
+torches seemed unable to push the dense darkness back to the sable walls and
+roof of the chamber.
+The block of black stone in the middle of the room rose to waist height. On
+its flat, polished top, inlaid in narrow strips of ivory, was a diagram of
+interlaced circles and triangles. The whole formed a seven-pointed star. The
+spaces between the lines were marked by symbols in some form of writing that
+Conan did not recognize. He could read Zamorian and write it after a fashion,
+and he had smatterings of Hyrkanian and Corinthian; but these cryptic glyphs
+were beyond him.
+In any case, he was more interested in the things that lay on top of the
+altar. On each point of the star, winking in the ruddy, wavering light of the
+torches, lay a great green jewel, larger than a hen's egg. At the center of the
+diagram stood a green statuette of a serpent with up-reared head, apparently
+carved from jade.
+Conan moved his torch close to the seven great, glowing gems. "I want those,"
+he grunted. "You can have the rest."
+"No, you don't!" snapped Nestor. "Those are worth more than all the other
+treasure in this room put together. I will have them!"
+Tension crackled between the two men, and their free hands stole toward their
+hilts. For a space they stood silently, glaring at each other. Then Nestor said:
+"Then let us divide them, as we agreed to do."
+"You cannot divide seven by two," said Conan. "Let us flip one of these coins
+for them. The winner takes the seven jewels, while the other man has his pick
+of the rest. Does that suit you?"
+Conan picked a coin out of one of the heaps that marked the places where the
+chests had lain. Although he had acquired a good working knowledge of coins in
+his career as a thief, this was entirely unfamiliar. One side bore a face, but
+whether of a man, a demon, or an owl he could not tell. The other side was
+covered with symbols like those on the altar.
+Conan showed the coin to Nestor. The two treasure hunters grunted agreement.
+Conan flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on his left
+wrist. He extended the wrist, with the coin still covered, toward Nestor.
+"Heads," said the Gunderman.
+Conan removed his hand from the coin. Nestor peered and growled: "Ishtar curse
+the thing! You win. Hold my torch a moment."
+Conan, alert for any treacherous move, took the torch. But Nestor merely
+untied the strap of his cloak and spread the garment on the dusty floor. He
+began shoveling handfuls of gold and gems from the heaps on the floor into a
+pile on the cloak.
+"Don't load yourself so heavily that you can't run," said Conan. "We are not
+out of this yet, and it's a long walk back to Shadizar."
+"I can handle it," said Nestor. He gathered up the comers of the cloak, slung
+the improvised bag over his back, and held out a hand for his torch.
+Conan handed it to him and stepped to the altar. One by one he took the great,
+green jewels and thrust them into the leathern sack that hung from his
+shoulders.
+When all seven had been removed from the altar top, he paused, looking at the
+jade serpent. "This will fetch a pretty price," he said. Snatching it up, he
+thrust it, too, into his booty bag.
+"Why not take some of the remaining gold and jewels, too?" asked Nestor. "I
+have all I can carry."
+"You've got the best stuff," said Conan. "Besides, I don't need any more. Man,
+with these I can buy a kingdom! Or a dukedom, anyway, and all the wine I can
+drink and women I—"
+A sound caused the plunderers to whirl, staring wildly. Around the walls, the
+seven mummified warriors were coming to life. Their heads came up, their mouths
+closed, and air hissed into their ancient, withered lungs. Their joints creaked
+like rusty hinges as they picked up their pikes and bills and rose to their
+feet.
+"Run!" yelled Nestor, hurling his torch at the nearest giant and snatching out
+his sword.
+The torch struck the giant in the chest, fell to the floor, and went out.
+Having both hands free, Conan retained his torch while he drew his sword. The
+light of the remaining torch flickered feebly on the green of the ancient
+copper harness as the giants closed in on the pair.
+Conan ducked the sweep of a bill and knocked the thrust of a pike aside.
+Between him and the door, Nestor engaged a giant who was moving to block their
+escape. The Gunderman parried a thrust and struck a fierce, backhanded blow at
+his enemy's thigh. The blade bit, but only a little way; it was like chopping
+wood. The giant staggered, and Nestor hewed at another. The point of a pike
+glanced off his dented cuirass.
+The giants moved slowly, or the treasure hunters would have fallen before
+their first onset. Leaping, dodging, and whirling, Conan avoided blows that
+would have stretched him senseless on the dusty floor. Again and again his
+blade bit into the dry, woody flesh of his assailants. Blows that would have
+decapitated a living man only staggered these creatures from another age. He
+landed a chop on the hand of one attacker, maiming the member and causing the
+giant to drop his pike.
+He dodged the thrust of another pike and put every ounce of strength into a
+low forehand cut at the giant's ankle. The blade bit half through, and the
+giant crashed to the floor.
+"Out!" bellowed Conan, leaping over the fallen body.
+He and Nestor raced out the door and through halls and chambers. For an
+instant Conan feared they were lost, but he caught a glimpse of light ahead.
+The two dashed out the main portal of the palace. Behind them came the clatter
+and tramp of the guardians. Overhead, the sky had paled and the stars were
+going out with the coming of dawn.
+"Head for the wall," panted Nestor. "I think we can outrun them."
+As they reached the far side of the plaza, Conan glanced back. "Look!" he cried.
+One by one, the giants emerged from the palace. And one by one, as they came
+into the growing light, they sank to the pavement and crumbled into dust,
+leaving their plumed copper helmets, their scaled cuirasses, and their other
+accouterments in heaps on the ground.
+"Well, that's that," said Nestor. "But how shall we get back into Shadizar
+without being arrested? It will be day-light long before we get there."
+Conan grinned. "There's a way of getting in that we thieves know. Near the
+northeast corner of the wall stands a clump of trees. If you poke around among
+the shrubs that mask the wall, you will find a kind of culvert—I suppose to let
+the water out of the city in heavy rains. It used to be closed by an iron
+grating, but that has rusted away. If you are not too fat, you can worm your
+way through it. You come out in a lot where people dump rubbish from houses
+that have been torn down."
+"Good," said Nestor. "I'll—"
+A deep rumble cut off his words. The earth heaved and rocked and trembled,
+throwing him to the ground and staggering the Cimmerian.
+"Look out!" yelled Conan.
+As Nestor started to scramble up, Conan caught his arm and dragged him back
+toward the center of the plaza. As he did so, the wall of a nearby building
+fell over into the plaza. It smashed down just where the two had been standing,
+but its mighty crash was lost in the thunder of the earthquake.
+"Let's get out of here!" shouted Nestor.
+Steering by the moon, now low in the western sky, they ran zigzag through the
+streets. On either side of them, walls and columns leaned, crumbled, and
+crashed. The noise was deafening. Clouds of dust arose, making the fugitives
+cough.
+Conan skidded to a halt and leaped back to avoid being crushed under the front
+of a collapsing temple. He staggered as fresh tremors shook the earth beneath
+him. He scrambled over piles of ruin, some old and some freshly made. He leaped
+madly out from under a falling column drum. Fragments of stone and brick struck
+him; one laid open a cut along his jaw. Another glanced from his shin, making
+him curse by the gods of all the lands he had visited.
+At last he reached the city wall. It was a wall no longer, having been shaken
+down to a low ridge of broken stone.
+Limping, coughing, and panting, Conan climbed the ridge and turned to look
+back. Nestor was no longer with him. Probably, he thought, the Gunderman had
+been caught under a falling wall. Conan listened but could hear no cry for help.
+The rumble of quaking earth and falling masonry died away. The light of the
+low moon glistened on the vast cloud of dust that covered the city. Then a dawn
+breeze sprang up and slowly wafted the dust away.
+Sitting on the crest of the ridge of ruin that marked the site of the wall,
+Conan stared back across the site of Larsha. The city bore an aspect entirely
+different from when he had entered it. Not a single building remained upright
+Even the monolithic palace of black basalt, where he and Nestor had found their
+treasure, had crumbled into a heap of broken blocks. Conan gave up thoughts of
+going back to the palace on some future occasion to collect the rest of the
+treasure. An army of workmen would have to clear away the wreckage before the
+valuables could be salvaged.
+All of Larsha had fallen into heaps of rubble. As far as he could see in the
+growing light, nothing moved in the city. The only sound was the belated fall
+of an occasional stone.
+Conan felt his booty bag, to make sure that he still had had his loot, and
+turned his face westward, towards Shadizar. Behind him, the rising sun shot a
+spear of light against his broad back.
+The following night, Conan swaggered into his favorite tavern, that of
+Abuletes, in the Maul. The low, smoke-stained room stank of sweat and sour
+wine. At crowded tables, thieves and murderers drank ale and wine, diced,
+argued, sang, quarreled, and blustered. It was deemed a dull evening here when
+at least one customer was not stabbed in a brawl.
+Across the room, Conan sighted his sweetheart of the moment, drinking alone at
+a small table. This was Semiramis, a strongly-built, black-haired woman several
+years older than the Cimmerian.
+"Ho there, Semiramis!" roared Conan, pushing his way across. "I've got
+something to show you! Abuletes! A jug of your best Kyrian! I'm in luck
+tonight!"
+Had Conan been older, caution would have stopped him from openly boasting of
+his plunder, let alone displaying it. As it was, he strode up to Semiramis'
+table and up-ended the leathern sack containing the seven great, green gems.
+The jewels cascaded out of the bag, thumped the wine-wet table top—and
+crumbled instantly into fine green powder, which sparkled in the candlelight.
+Conan dropped the sack and stood with his mouth agape, while nearby drinkers
+burst into raucous laughter.
+"Crom and Mannanan!" the Cimmerian breathed at last. "This time, it seems, I
+was too clever for my own good." Then he bethought him of the jade serpent,
+still in the bag. "Well, I have something that will pay for a few good
+carousals, anyway."
+Moved by curiosity, Semiramis picked up the sack from the table. Then she
+dropped it with a scream.
+"It's—it's alive!" she cried.
+"What—" began Conan, but a shout from the doorway cut him off :
+"There he is, men! Seize him!"
+A fat magistrate had entered the tavern, followed by a squad of the night
+watch, armed with bills. The other customers fell silent, staring woodenly into
+space as if they knew nothing of Conan or of any of the other riffraff who were
+Abuletes' guests.
+The magistrate pushed toward Conan's table. Whipping out his sword, the
+Cimmerian put his back against the wall. His blue eyes blazed dangerously, and
+his teeth showed in the candle light.
+"Take me if you can, dogs!" he snarled. "I've done nothing against your stupid
+laws!" Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered to Semiramis: "Grab the bag
+and get out of here. If they get me, if's yours."
+"I—I'm afraid of it!" whimpered the woman.
+"Oh-ho!" chortled the magistrate, coming forward. "Nothing, eh? Nothing but to
+rob our leading citizens blind! There's evidence enough to lop your head off a
+hundred times over! And then you slew Nestor's soldiers and persuaded him to
+join you in a raid on the ruins of Larsha, eh? We found him earlier this
+evening, drunk and boasting of his feat. The villain got away from us, but you
+shan't!"
+As the watachmen formed a half-circle around Conan, bills pointing toward his
+breast, the magistrate noticed the sack on the table. "Whaf's this, your latest
+loot? We'll see—"
+The fat man thrust a hand into the sack. For an instant he fumbled. Then his
+eyes widened; his mouth opened to emit an appalling shriek. He jerked his hand
+out of the bag. A jade-green snake, alive and writhing, had thrown a loop
+around his wrist and had sunk its fangs into his hand.
+Cries of horror and amazement arose. A watchman sprang back and fell over a
+table, smashing mugs and splashing liquors. Another stepped forward to catch
+the magistrate as he tottered and fell. A third dropped his bill and, screaming
+hysterically, broke for the door.
+Panic seized the customers. Some jammed themselves into the door, struggling
+to get out. A couple started fighting with knives, while another thief, locked
+in combat with a watchman, rolled on the floor. One of the candles was knocked
+over; then another, leaving the room but dimly lit by the little earthenware
+lamp over the counter.
+In the gloom, Conan caught Semiramis' wrist and hauled her to her feet. He
+beat the panic-stricken mob aside with the flat of his sword and forced his way
+through the throng to the door. Out in the night, the two ran, rounding several
+corners to throw off pursuit. Then they stopped to breathe. Conan said:
+"This city will be too cursed hot for me after this. I'm on my way. Good-bye,
+Semiramis."
+"Would you not care to spend a last night with me?"
+"Not this time. I must try to catch that rascal Nestor. If the fool hadn't
+blabbed, the law would not have gotten on my trail so quickly. He has all the
+treasure a man can carry, while I ended up with naught. Maybe I can persuade
+him to give me half; if not—" He thumbed the edge of his sword.
+Semiramis sighed. "There will always be a hideout for you in Shadizar, while I
+live. Give me a last kiss."
+They embraced briefly. Then Conan was gone, like a shadow in the night.
+On the Corinthian Road that leads west from Shadizar, three bowshots from the
+city walls, stands the fountain of Ninus. According to the story, Ninus was a
+rich merchant who suffered from a wasting disease. A god visited him in his
+dreams and promised him a cure if he would build a fountain on the road leading
+to Shadizar from the west, so that travelers could wash and quench their thirst
+before entering the city. Ninus built the fountain, but the tale does not tell
+whether he recovered from his sickness.
+Half an hour after his escape from Abuletes' tavern, Conan found Nestor,
+sitting on the curbing of Ninus' fountain.
+"How did you make out with your seven matchless gems?" asked Nestor.
+Conan told what had befallen his share of the loot "Now," he said,
+"since—thanks to your loose tongue—I must leave Shadizar, and since I have none
+of the treasure left, it would be only right for you to divide your remaining
+portion with me."
+Nestor gave a barking, mirthless laugh. "My share? Boy, here is half of what I
+have left." From his girdle he brought out two pieces of gold and tossed one to
+Conan, who caught it. "I owe it to you for pulling me away from that falling
+wall."
+"What happened to you?"
+"When the watch cornered me in the dive, I managed to cast a table and bowl a
+few over. Then I picked up the bright stuff in my cloak, slung it over my back,
+and started for the door. One who tried to halt me I cut down; but another
+landed a slash on my cloak. The next thing I knew, the whole mass of gold and
+jewels spilled out on the floor, and everybody—watchmen, magistrate, and
+customers—joined in a mad scramble for them." He held up the cloak, showing a
+two-foot rent in the fabric. "Thinking that the treasure would do me no good if
+my head were adorning a spike over the West Gate, I left while the leaving was
+good. When I got outside the city, I looked in my mantle, but all I found were
+those two coins, caught in a fold. You're welcome to one of them."
+Conan stood scowling for a moment. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. A low
+laugh rumbled in his throat; his head went back as he burst into a thunderous
+guffaw. "A fine pair of treasure-seekers we are! Crom, but the gods have had
+sport with us! What a joke!" Nestor smiled wryly. "I am glad you see the
+amusing side of it. But after this I do not think Shadizar will be safe for
+either of us."
+"Whither are you bound?" asked Conan.
+"I'll head east, to seek a mercenary post in Turan. They say King Yildiz is
+hiring fighters to whip his raggle-taggle horde into a real army. Why not come
+with me, lad? You're cut out for a soldier."
+Conan shook his head. "Not for me, marching back and forth on the drill ground
+all day while some fatheaded officer bawls: "Forward, march! Present, pikes!' I
+hear there are good pickings in the West; I'll try that for a while."
+"Well, may your barbarous gods go with you," said Nestor. "If you change your
+mind, ask for me in the barracks at Aghrapur. Farewell!"
+"Farewell," replied Conan. Without further words, he stepped out on the
+Corinthian Road and soon was lost to view in the night.
 THE END