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Frank Herbert - Children of Dune.txt CHANGED
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Frank Herbert - Dune Messiah.txt CHANGED
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TheHallOfTheDead.txt CHANGED
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  Robert E. Howard - The Hall Of The Dead
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-
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  ROBERT E. HOWARD
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-
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  THE HALL OF THE DEAD
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-
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  "The Hall Of The Dead" is a fragment begun in the 1930s but not finished or
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  published in Howard's lifetime. It was completed by L. Sprague de Camp and
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  published in The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction in February 1967.
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  Becoming fed up with the City of Thieves (and vice versa) Conan wanders
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  westward to the capital of Zamora, Shadizar the Wicked. Here, he hopes, the
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  pickings will be richer. For a time he is indeed, more successful in his
@@ -18,21 +11,15 @@ thievery than he had been in Arenjun—although the women of Shadizar quickly
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  relieve him of his gains in return for initiating him into the arts of love.
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  Rumors of treasure send him to the nearby ruins of ancient Larsha, just ahead
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  of the squad of soldiers sent to arrest him.
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  THE GORGE was dark, although the setting sun had left a band of orange and
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  yellow and green along the western horizon. Against this band of color, a sharp
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  eye could still discern, in black silhouette, the domes and spires of Shadizar
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  the Wicked, the city of dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted
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  mystery—the capital of Zamora.
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-
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  As the twilight faded, the first few stars appeared overhead. As if answering
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  a signal, lights winked on in the distant domes and spires. While the light of
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  the stars was pale and wan, that of the windows of Shadizar was a sultry amber,
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  with a hint of abominable deeds.
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  The gorge was quiet save for the chirping of nocturnal insects. Presently,
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  however, this silence was broken by the sound of moving men. Up the gorge came
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  a squad of Zamorian soldiers—five men in plain steel caps and leather jerkins,
@@ -42,39 +29,29 @@ through the long, lush grass that covered the floor of the gorge. Their harness
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  creaked and their weapons clanked and tinkled. Three of them bore bows and the
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  other two, pikes; short swords hung at their sides and bucklers were slung
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  across their backs. The officer was armed with a long sword and a dagger.
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-
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  One of the soldiers muttered: "If we catch this Conan fellow alive, what will
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  they do with him?"
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  "Send him to Yezud to feed to the spider god, I'll warrant," said another.
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  "The question is, shall we be alive to collect that reward they promised us?"
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  "Not afraid of him, are you?" said a third.
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  "Me?" The second speaker snorted. "I fear naught, including death itself. The
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  question is, whose death? This thief is not a civilized man but a wild
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  barbarian, with the strength of ten. So I went to the magistrate to draw up my
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  will—"
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  "It is cheering to know that your heirs will get the reward," said another. "I
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  wish I had thought of that."
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  "Oh," said the first man who had spoken, "they'll find some excuse to cheat us
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  of the reward, even if we catch the rascal."
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  "The prefect himself has promised," said another. "The rich merchants and
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  nobles whom Conan has been robbing raised a fund. I saw the money—a bag so
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  heavy with gold that a man could scarce lift it. After all that public display,
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  they'd not dare to go back on their word."
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-
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  "But suppose we catch him not," said the second speaker. "There was something
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  about paying for it with our heads." The speaker raised his voice. "Captain
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  Nestor! What was that about our heads—"
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-
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  "Hold your tongues, all of you!" snapped the officer. "You can be heard as far
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  as Arenjun. If Conan is within a mile, he'll be warned. Cease your chatter, and
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  try to move without so much clangor."
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  The officer was a broad-shouldered man of medium height and powerful build;
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  daylight would have shown his eyes to be gray and his hair light brown,
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  streaked with gray. He was a Gunderman, from the northernmost province of
@@ -86,52 +63,42 @@ with servants who failed their missions. A tip from the underworld had revealed
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  that Conan was seen heading for this gorge earlier that day, and Nestor's
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  commander had hastily dis patched him with such troopers as could be found in
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  the barracks.
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  Nestor had no confidence in the soldiers that trailed behind him. He
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  considered them braggarts who would flee in the face of danger, leaving him to
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  confront the barbarian alone. And, although the Gunderman was a brave man, he
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  did not deceive himself about his chances with this ferocious, gigantic young
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  savage. His armor would give him no more than a slight edge.
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  As the glow in the western sky faded, the darkness deepened and the walls of
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  the gorge became narrower, steeper, and rockier. Behind Nestor, the men began
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  to murmur again:
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  "I like it not. This road leads to the ruins of Larsha the Accursed, where the
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  ghosts of the ancients lurk to devour passers-by. And in that city, 'tis said,
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  lies the Hall of the Dead—"
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  "Shut up!" snarled Nestor, turning his head. "If—"
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  At that instant, the officer tripped over a rawhide rope stretched across the
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  path and fell sprawling in the grass. There was the snap of a spring pole
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  released from its lodgment, and the rope went slack.
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  With a rumbling roar, a mass of rocks and dirt cascaded down the left-hand
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  slope. As Nestor scrambled to his feet, a stone the size of a man's head struck
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  his corselet and knocked him down again. Another knocked off his helmet, while
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  smaller stones stung his limbs. Behind him sounded a multiple scream and the
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  clatter of stone striking metal. Then silence fell.
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  Nestor staggered to his feet, coughed the dust out of his lungs, and turned to
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  see what had befallen. A few paces behind him, a rock slide blocked the gorge
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  from wall to wall. Approaching, he made out a human hand and a foot projecting
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  from the rubble. He called but received no reply. When he touched the
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  protruding members, he found no life. The slide, set off by the pull on the
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  rope, had wiped out his entire squad.
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  Nestor flexed his joints to learn what harm he had suffered. No bones appeared
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  to be broken, although his corselet was dented and he bore several bruises.
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  Burning with wrath, he found his helmet and took up the trail alone. Failing to
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  catch the thief would have been bad enough; but if he also had to confess to
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  the loss of his men, he foresaw a lingering and painful death. His only chance
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  now was to bring back Conan—or at least his head.
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  Sword in hand, Nestor limped on up the endless windings of the gorge. A light
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  in the sky before him showed that the moon, a little past full, was rising. He
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  strained his eyes, expecting the barbarian to spring upon him from behind every
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  bend in the ravine.
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  The gorge became shallower and the walls less steep. Gullies opened into the
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  gorge to right and left, while the bottom became stony and uneven, forcing
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  Nestor to scramble over rocks and underbrush. At last the gorge gave out
@@ -140,45 +107,37 @@ an upland pleateau, surrounded by distant mountains. A bowshot ahead, bone-
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  white in the light of the moon, rose the walls of Larsha. A massive gate stood
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  directly in front of him. Time had bitten scallops out of the walls, and over
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  it rose half-ruined roofs and towers.
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  Nestor paused. Larsha was said to be immensely old. According to the tales, it
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  went back to Cataclysmic times, when the forebears of the Zamorians, the
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  Zhemri, formed an island of semi-civilization in a sea of barbarism.
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  Stories of the death that lurked in these ruins were rife in the bazaars of
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  Shadizar. As far as Nestor had been able to learn, not one of the many men who,
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  in historic times, had invaded the ruins searching for the treasure rumored to
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  exist there, had ever returned. None knew what form the danger took, because no
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  survivor had lived to carry the tale.
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  A decade before, King Tiridates had sent a company of his bravest soldiers, in
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  broad daylight, into the city, while the king himself waited outside the walls.
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  There had been screams and sounds of flight, and then—nothing. The men who
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  waited outside had fled, and Tiridates perforce had fled with them. That was
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  the last attempt to unlock the mystery of Larsha by main force.
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  Although Nestor had all the usual mercenary's lust for unearned wealth, he was
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  not rash. Years of soldiering in the kingdoms between Zamora and his homeland
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  had taught him caution. As he paused, weighing the dangers of his alternatives,
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  a sight made him stiffen. Close to the wall, he sighted the figure of a man,
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  slinking toward the gate. Although the man was too far away to recognize faces
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  in the moonlight, there was no mistaking that panther-like stride. Conan!
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  Filled with rising fury, Nestor started forward. He walked swiftly, holding
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  his scabbard to keep it from clanking. But, quietly though he moved, the keen
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  ears of the barbarian warned him. Conan whirled, and his sword whispered from
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  its sheath. Then, seeing that only a single foe pursued him, the Cimmerian
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  stood his ground.
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  As Nestor approached, he began to pick out details of the other's appearance.
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  Conan was well over six feet tall, and his threadbare tunic failed to mask the
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  hard lines of his mighty thews. A leathern sack hung by a strap from his
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  shoulder. His face was youthful but hard, surmounted by a square-cut mane of
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  thick black hair.
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  Not a word was spoken. Nestor paused to catch his breath and cast aside his
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  cloak, and in that instant Conan hurled himself upon the older man.
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  Two swords glimmered like lightnings in the moonlight as the clang and rasp of
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  blades shattered the graveyard silence. Nestor was the more experienced
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  fighter, but the reach and blinding speed of the other nullified this
@@ -186,66 +145,54 @@ advantage. Conan's attack was as elemental and irresistible as a hurricane.
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  Parrying shrewdly, Nestor was forced back, step after step. Narrowly he watched
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  his opponent, waiting for the other's attack to slow from sheer fatigue. But
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  the Cimmerian seemed not to know what fatigue was.
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  Making a backhand cut, Nestor slit Conan's tunic over the chest but did not
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  quite reach the skin. In a blinding return thrust, Conan's point glanced off
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  Nestor's breastplate, plowing a groove in the bronze.
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  As Nestor stepped back from another furious attack, a stone turned under his
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  foot. Conan aimed a terrific cut at the Gunderman's neck. Had it gone as
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  intended, Nestor's head would have flown from his shoulders; but, as he
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  stumbled, the blow hit his crested helm instead. It struck with a heavy clang,
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  bit into the iron, and hurled Nestor to the ground.
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  Breathing deeply, Conan stepped forward, sword ready. His pursuer lay
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  motionless with blood seeping from his cloven helmet. Youthful overconfidence
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  in the force of his own blows convinced Conan that he had slain his antagonist.
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  Sheathing his sword, he turned back toward the city of the ancients.
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  The Cimmerian approached the gate. This consisted of two massive valves, twice
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  as high as a man, made of foot-thick timbers sheathed in bronze. Conan pushed
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  against the valves, grunting, but without effect. He drew his sword and struck
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  the bronze with the pommel. From the way the gates sagged, Conan guessed that
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  the wood of the doors had rotted away; but the bronze was too thick to hew
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  through without spoiling the edge of his blade. And there was an easier way.
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  Thirty paces north of the gate, the wall had crumbled so that its lowest point
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  was less than twenty feet above the ground. At the same time, a pile of
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  tailings against the foot of the wall rose to within six or eight feet of the
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  broken edge.
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  Conan approached the broken section, drew back a few paces, and then ran
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  forward. He bounded up the slope of the tailings, leaped into the air, and
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  caught the broken edge of the wall. A grunt, a heave, and a scramble, and he
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  was over the edge, ignoring scratches and bruises. He stared down into the city.
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  Inside the wall was a cleared space, where for centuries plant life had been
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  waging war upon the ancient pavement. The paving slabs were cracked and up-
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  ended. Between them, grass, weeds, and a few scrubby trees had forced their way.
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  Beyond the cleared area lay the ruins of one of the poorer districts. Here the
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  one-story hovels of mud brick had slumped into mere mounds of dirt. Beyond
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  them, white in the moonlight, Conan discerned the better-preserved buildings of
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  stone—the temples, the palaces, and the houses of the nobles and the rich
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  merchants. As with many ancient ruins, and aura of evil hung over the deserted
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  city.
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  Straining his ears, Conan stared right and left. Nothing moved. The only sound
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  was the chirp of crickets.
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  Conan, too, had heard the tales of the doom that haunted Larsha. Although the
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  supernatural roused panicky, atavistic fears in his barbarian's soul, he
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  hardened himself with the thought that, when a supernatural being took material
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  form, it could be hurt or killed by material weapons, just like any earthly man
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  or monster. He had not come this far to be stopped from a try at the treasure
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  by man, beast, or demon.
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  According to the tales, the fabled treasure of Larsha lay in the royal palace.
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  Gripping his scabbarded sword in his left hand, the young thief dropped from
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  the inner side of the broken wall. An instant later, he was threading his way
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  through the winding streets toward the center of the city. He made no more
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  noise than a shadow.
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  Ruin encompassed him on every side. Here and there the front of a house had
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  fallen into the street, forcing Conan to detour or to scramble over piles of
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  broken brick and marble. The gibbous moon was now high in the sky, washing the
@@ -253,67 +200,54 @@ ruins in an eery light. On the Cimmerian's right rose a temple, partly fallen
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  but with the portico, upheld by four massive marble columns, still intact.
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  Along the edge of the roof, a row of marble gargoyles peered down—statues of
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  monsters of bygone days, half demon and half beast.
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  Conan tried to remember the scraps of legend that he had overheard in the
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  wineshops of the Maul, concerning the abandonment of Larsha. There was
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  something about a curse sent by an angered god, many centuries before, in
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  punishment for deeds so wicked that they made the crimes and vices of Shadizar
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  look like virtues—
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  He started for the center of the city again but now noticed something
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  peculiar. His sandals tended to stick to the shattered pavement, as if it were
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  covered with warm pitch. The soles made sucking noises as he raised his feet.
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  He stooped and felt the ground. It was coated with a film of a colorless,
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  sticky substance, now nearly dry.
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  Hand on hilt, Conan glared about him in the moon-light But no sound came to
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  his ears. He resumed his advance. Again his sandals made sucking noises as he
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  raised them. He halted, turning his head. He could have sworn that similar
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  sucking noises came to his ears from a distance. For an instant, he thought
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  they might be the echoes of his own footsteps. But he had passed the half-
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  ruined temple, and now no walls rose on either side of him to reflect the sound.
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  Again he advanced, then halted. Again he heard the sucking sound, and this
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  time it did not cease when he froze to immobility. In fact, it became louder.
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  His keen hearing located it as coming from directly in front of him. Since he
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  could see nothing moving in the street before him, the source of the sound must
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  be in a side street or in one of the ruined buildings.
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  The sound increased to an indescribable slithering, gurgling hiss. Even
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  Conan's iron nerves were shaken by the strain of waiting for the unknown source
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  of the sound to appear.
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  At last, around the next corner poured a huge, slimy mass, leprous gray in the
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  moonlight. It glided into the street before him and swiftly advanced upon him,
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  silent save for the sucking sound of its peculiar method of locomotion. From
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  its front end rose a pair of hornlike projections, at least ten feet long, with
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  a shorter pair below. The long horns bent this way and that, and Conan saw that
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  they bore eyes on their ends.
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  The creature was, in fact, a slug, like the harmless garden slug that leaves a
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  trail of slime in its nightly wanderings. This slug, however, was fifty feet
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  long and as thick through the middle as Conan was tall. Moreover, it moved as
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  fast as a man could run. The fetid smell of the thing wafted ahead of it.
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  Momentarily paralyzed with astonishment, Conan stared at the vast mass of
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  rubbery flesh bearing down upon him. The slug emitted a sound like that of a
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  man spitting, but magnified many times over.
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  Galvanized into action at last, the Cimmerian leaped sideways. As he did so, a
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  jet of liquid flashed through the night air, just where he had stood. A tiny
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  droplet struck his shoulder and burned like a coal of fire.
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  Conan turned and ran back the way he had come, his long legs flashing in the
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  moonlight. Again he had to bound over piles of broken masonary. His ears told
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  him that the slug was close behind. Perhaps it was gaining. He dared not turn
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  to look, lest he trip over some marble fragment and go sprawling; the monster
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  would be upon him before he could regain his feet.
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  Again came that spitting sound. Conan leaped frantically to one side; again
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  the jet of liquid flashed past him. Even if he kept ahead of the slug all the
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  way to the city wall, the next shot would probably hit its mark.
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  Conan dodged around a corner to put obstacles between himself and the slug. He
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  raced down a narrow zigzag street, then around another corner. He was lost in
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  the maze of streets, he knew; but the main thing was to keep turning corners so
@@ -321,77 +255,62 @@ as not to give his pursuer another clear shot at him. The sucking sounds and
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  the stench indicated that it was following his trail. Once, when he paused to
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  catch his breath, he looked back to see the slug pouring around the last corner
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  he had turned.
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  On and on he went, dodging this way and that through the maze of the ancient
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  city. If he could not outrun the slug, perhaps he could tire it. A man, he
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  knew, could outlast almost any animal in a long-distance run. But the slug
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  seemed tireless.
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  Something about the buildings he was passing struck him as familiar. Then he
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  realized that he was coming to the half-ruined temple he had passed just before
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  he met the slug. A quick glance showed him that the upper parts of the building
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  could be reached by an active climber.
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  Conan bounded up a pile of rubbish to the top of the broken wall. Leaping from
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  stone to stone, he made his way up the jagged profile of the wall to an
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  unruined section facing the street. He found himself on a stretch of roof
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  behind the row of marble gargoyles. He approached them, treading softly lest
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  the half-ruined roof collapse beneath him and detouring around holes through
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  which a man could fall into the chambers below.
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  The sound and smell of the slug came to him from the street. Realizing that it
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  had lost his track and uncertain as to which way to turn, the creature had
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  evidently stopped in front of the temple. Very cautiously—for he was sure the
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  slug could see him in the moonlight—Conan peered past one of the statues and
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  down into the street.
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  There lay the great, grayish mass, on which the moon shone moistly. The eye
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  stalks wavered this way and that, seeking the creature's prey. Beneath them,
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  the shorter horns swept back and forth a little above the ground, as if
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  smelling for the Cimmerian's trail.
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  Conan felt certain that the slug would soon pick up his trail. He had no doubt
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  that it could slither up the sides of the building quite as readily as he had
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  climbed it.
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  He put a hand against a gargoyle—a nightmarish statue with a humanoid body,
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  bat's wings, and a reptilian head—and pushed. The statue rocked a trifle with a
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  faint crunching noise.
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  At the sound, the horns of the slug whipped upward toward the roof of the
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  temple. The slug's head came around, bending its body into a sharp curve. The
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  head approached the front of the temple and began to slide up one of the huge
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  pillars, directly below the place where Conan crouched with bared teeth.
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  A sword, Conan thought, would be of little use against such a monstrosity.
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  Like other lowly forms of life, it could survive damage that would instantly
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  destroy a higher creature.
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  Up the pillar came the slug's head, the eyes on their stalks swiveling back
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  and forth. At the present rate, the monster's head would reach the edge of the
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  roof while most of its body still lay in the street below.
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  Then Conan saw what he must do. He hurled himself at the gargoyle. With a
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  mighty heave, he sent it tumbling over the edge of the roof. Instead of the
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  crash that such a mass of marble would ordinarily make on striking the
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  pavement, there floated up the sound of a moist, squashy impact, followed by a
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  heavy thud as the forward part of the slug's body fell back to earth.
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  When Conan risked a glance over the parapet, he saw that the statue had sunk
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  into the slug's body until it was almost buried. The great, gray mass writhed
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  and lashed like a worm on a fisherman's hook. A blow of the tail made the front
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  of the temple tremble; somewhere in the interior a few loose stones fell
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  clattering. Conan wondered if the whole structure were about to collapse
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  beneath him, burying him in the debris.
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  "So much for you!" snarled the Cimmerian.
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  He went along the row of gargoyles until he found another that was loose and
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  directly over part of the slug's body. Down it went with another squashing
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  impact. A third missed and shattered on the pavement. A fourth and smaller
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  statue he picked bodily up and, muscles cracking with the strain, hurled
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  outward so that it fell on the writhing head.
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  As the beast's convulsions slowly subsided, Conan pushed over two more
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  gargoyles to make sure. When the body no longer writhed, he clambered down to
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  the street. He approached the great, stinking mass cautiously, sword out. At
@@ -399,50 +318,36 @@ last, summoning all his courage, he slashed into the rubbery flesh. Dark ichor
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  oozed out, and rippling morions ran through the wet, gray skin. But, even
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  though parts might retain signs of independent life, the slug as a whole was
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  dead.
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  Conan was still slashing furiously when a voice made him whirl about. It said:
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  "I've got you this time!"
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  It was Nestor, approaching sword in hand, with a bloodstained bandage around
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  his head in place of his helmet. The Gunderman stopped at the sight of the
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  slug. "Mitra! What is this?"
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  "It's the spook of Larsha," said Conan, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous
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  accent "It chased me over half the city before I slew it." As Nestor stared
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  incredulously, the Cimmerian continued: "What do you here? How many times must
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  I kill you before you stay dead?"
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  "You shall see how dead I am," grated Nestor, bringing his sword up to guard.
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  "What happened to your soldiers?"
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  "Dead in that rock slide you rigged, as you soon shall be—"
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  "Look, you fool," said Conan, "why waste your strength on sword strokes, when
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  there's more wealth here than the pair of us can carry away—if the tales are
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  true? You are a good man of your hands; why not join me to raid the treasure of
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  Larsha instead?"
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  "I must do my duty and avenge my men! Defend yourself, dog or a barbarian!"
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  "By Crom, I'll fight if you like!" growled Conan, bringing up his sword. "But
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  think, man! If you go back to Shadizar, they'll crucify you for losing your
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  command—even if you took my head with you, which I do not think you can do. If
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  one tenth of the stories are true, you'll get more from your share of the loot
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  than you'd earn in a hundred years as a mercenary captain."
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  Nestor had lowered his blade and stepped back. Now he stood mute, thinking
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  deeply. Conan added: "Besides, you'll never make real warriors of these
437
  poltroons of Zamorians!"
438
-
439
  The Gunderman sighed and sheathed his sword. "You are right, damn you. Until
440
  this venture is over, we'll fight back to back and go equal shares on the loot,
441
  eh?" He held out his hand.
442
-
443
  "Done!" said Conan, sheathing likewise and clasping the other's hand. "If we
444
  have to run for it and get separated, let's meet at the fountain of Ninus."
445
-
446
  The royal palace of Larsha stood in the center of the city, in the midst of a
447
  broad plaza. It was the one structure that had not crumbled with age, and this
448
  for a simple reason. It was carved out of a single crag or hillock of rock that
@@ -450,14 +355,11 @@ once broke the flatness of the plateau on which Larsha stood. So meticulous had
450
  been the construction of this building, however, that close inspection was
451
  needed to show that it was not an ordinary composite structure, lines engraved
452
  in the black, basaltic surface imitated the joints between building stones.
453
-
454
  Treading softly, Conan and Nestor peered into the dark interior. "We shall
455
  need light," said Nestor. "I do not care to walk into another slug like that in
456
  the dark."
457
-
458
  "I don't smell another slug," said Conan, "but the treasure might have another
459
  guardian."
460
-
461
  He turned back and hewed down a pine sapling that thrust up through the broken
462
  pavement. Then he lopped its limbs and cut it into short lengths. Whittling a
463
  pile of shavings with his sword, he started a small fire with flint and steel.
@@ -465,43 +367,33 @@ He split the ends of two of the billets until they were frayed out and then
465
  ignited them. The resinous wood burned vigorously. He handed one torch to
466
  Nestor, and each of them thrust half the spare billets through his girdle.
467
  Then, swords out, they again approached the palace.
468
-
469
  Inside the archway, the flickering yellow flames of the torches were reflected
470
  from polished walls of black stone; but underfoot the dust lay inches thick.
471
  Several bats, hanging from bits of stone carving overhead, squeaked angrily and
472
  whirred away into deeper darkness.
473
-
474
  They passed between statues of horrific aspect, set in niches on either side.
475
  Dark hallways opened on either hand. They crossed a throne room. The throne,
476
  carved of the same black stone as the rest of the building, still stood. Other
477
  chairs and divans, being made of wood, had crumbled into dust, leaving a litter
478
  of nails, metallic ornaments, and semi-precious stones on the floor.
479
-
480
  "It must have stood vacant for thousands of years," whispered Nestor.
481
-
482
  They traversed several chambers, which might have been a king's private
483
  apartments; but the absence of perishable furnishings made it impossible to
484
  tell. They found themselves before a door. Conan put his torch close to it.
485
-
486
  It was a stout door, set in an arch of stone and made of massive timbers,
487
  bound together with brackets of green-filmed copper. Conan poked the door with
488
  his sword. The blade entered easily; a little shower of dusty fragments, pale
489
  in the torchlight, sifted down.
490
-
491
  "It's rotten," growled Nestor, kicking out. His boot went into the wood almost
492
  as easily as Conan's sword had done. A copper fitting fell to the floor with a
493
  dull clank.
494
-
495
  In a moment they had battered down the rotten timbers in a shower of wood
496
  dust. They stooped, thrusting their torches ahead of them into the opening.
497
  Light, reflected from silver, gold, and jewels, winked back at them.
498
-
499
  Nestor pushed through the opening, then backed out so suddenly that he bumped
500
  into Conan. "There are men in there!" he hissed.
501
-
502
  "Let's see." Conan thrust his head into the opening and peered right and left.
503
  "They're dead. Come on!"
504
-
505
  Inside, they stared about them until their torches burned down to their hands
506
  and they had to light a new pair. Around the room, seven giant warriors, each
507
  at least seven feet tall, sprawled in chairs. Their heads lay against the chair
@@ -510,22 +402,17 @@ their plumed copper helmets and the copper scales on their corselets were green
510
  with age. Their skins were brown and waxy-looking, like those of mummies, and
511
  grizzled beards hung down to their waists. Copper-bladed bills and pikes leaned
512
  against the wall beside them or lay on the floor.
513
-
514
  In the center of the room rose an altar, of black basalt like the rest of the
515
  palace. Near the altar, on the floor, several chests of treasure had lain. The
516
  wood of these chests had rotted away; the chests had burst open, letting a
517
  glittering drift of treasure pour out on the floor.
518
-
519
  Conan stepped close to one of the immobile warriors and touched the man's leg
520
  with the point of his sword. The body lay still. He murmured:
521
-
522
  "The ancients must have mummified them, as they tell me the priests do with
523
  the dead in Stygia."
524
-
525
  Nestor looked uneasily at the seven still forms. The feeble flames of the
526
  torches seemed unable to push the dense darkness back to the sable walls and
527
  roof of the chamber.
528
-
529
  The block of black stone in the middle of the room rose to waist height. On
530
  its flat, polished top, inlaid in narrow strips of ivory, was a diagram of
531
  interlaced circles and triangles. The whole formed a seven-pointed star. The
@@ -533,90 +420,68 @@ spaces between the lines were marked by symbols in some form of writing that
533
  Conan did not recognize. He could read Zamorian and write it after a fashion,
534
  and he had smatterings of Hyrkanian and Corinthian; but these cryptic glyphs
535
  were beyond him.
536
-
537
  In any case, he was more interested in the things that lay on top of the
538
  altar. On each point of the star, winking in the ruddy, wavering light of the
539
  torches, lay a great green jewel, larger than a hen's egg. At the center of the
540
  diagram stood a green statuette of a serpent with up-reared head, apparently
541
  carved from jade.
542
-
543
  Conan moved his torch close to the seven great, glowing gems. "I want those,"
544
  he grunted. "You can have the rest."
545
-
546
  "No, you don't!" snapped Nestor. "Those are worth more than all the other
547
  treasure in this room put together. I will have them!"
548
-
549
  Tension crackled between the two men, and their free hands stole toward their
550
  hilts. For a space they stood silently, glaring at each other. Then Nestor said:
551
-
552
  "Then let us divide them, as we agreed to do."
553
-
554
  "You cannot divide seven by two," said Conan. "Let us flip one of these coins
555
  for them. The winner takes the seven jewels, while the other man has his pick
556
  of the rest. Does that suit you?"
557
-
558
  Conan picked a coin out of one of the heaps that marked the places where the
559
  chests had lain. Although he had acquired a good working knowledge of coins in
560
  his career as a thief, this was entirely unfamiliar. One side bore a face, but
561
  whether of a man, a demon, or an owl he could not tell. The other side was
562
  covered with symbols like those on the altar.
563
-
564
  Conan showed the coin to Nestor. The two treasure hunters grunted agreement.
565
  Conan flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on his left
566
  wrist. He extended the wrist, with the coin still covered, toward Nestor.
567
-
568
  "Heads," said the Gunderman.
569
-
570
  Conan removed his hand from the coin. Nestor peered and growled: "Ishtar curse
571
  the thing! You win. Hold my torch a moment."
572
-
573
  Conan, alert for any treacherous move, took the torch. But Nestor merely
574
  untied the strap of his cloak and spread the garment on the dusty floor. He
575
  began shoveling handfuls of gold and gems from the heaps on the floor into a
576
  pile on the cloak.
577
-
578
  "Don't load yourself so heavily that you can't run," said Conan. "We are not
579
  out of this yet, and it's a long walk back to Shadizar."
580
-
581
  "I can handle it," said Nestor. He gathered up the comers of the cloak, slung
582
  the improvised bag over his back, and held out a hand for his torch.
583
-
584
  Conan handed it to him and stepped to the altar. One by one he took the great,
585
  green jewels and thrust them into the leathern sack that hung from his
586
  shoulders.
587
-
588
  When all seven had been removed from the altar top, he paused, looking at the
589
  jade serpent. "This will fetch a pretty price," he said. Snatching it up, he
590
  thrust it, too, into his booty bag.
591
-
592
  "Why not take some of the remaining gold and jewels, too?" asked Nestor. "I
593
  have all I can carry."
594
-
595
  "You've got the best stuff," said Conan. "Besides, I don't need any more. Man,
596
  with these I can buy a kingdom! Or a dukedom, anyway, and all the wine I can
597
  drink and women I—"
598
-
599
  A sound caused the plunderers to whirl, staring wildly. Around the walls, the
600
  seven mummified warriors were coming to life. Their heads came up, their mouths
601
  closed, and air hissed into their ancient, withered lungs. Their joints creaked
602
  like rusty hinges as they picked up their pikes and bills and rose to their
603
  feet.
604
-
605
  "Run!" yelled Nestor, hurling his torch at the nearest giant and snatching out
606
  his sword.
607
-
608
  The torch struck the giant in the chest, fell to the floor, and went out.
609
  Having both hands free, Conan retained his torch while he drew his sword. The
610
  light of the remaining torch flickered feebly on the green of the ancient
611
  copper harness as the giants closed in on the pair.
612
-
613
  Conan ducked the sweep of a bill and knocked the thrust of a pike aside.
614
  Between him and the door, Nestor engaged a giant who was moving to block their
615
  escape. The Gunderman parried a thrust and struck a fierce, backhanded blow at
616
  his enemy's thigh. The blade bit, but only a little way; it was like chopping
617
  wood. The giant staggered, and Nestor hewed at another. The point of a pike
618
  glanced off his dented cuirass.
619
-
620
  The giants moved slowly, or the treasure hunters would have fallen before
621
  their first onset. Leaping, dodging, and whirling, Conan avoided blows that
622
  would have stretched him senseless on the dusty floor. Again and again his
@@ -624,31 +489,23 @@ blade bit into the dry, woody flesh of his assailants. Blows that would have
624
  decapitated a living man only staggered these creatures from another age. He
625
  landed a chop on the hand of one attacker, maiming the member and causing the
626
  giant to drop his pike.
627
-
628
  He dodged the thrust of another pike and put every ounce of strength into a
629
  low forehand cut at the giant's ankle. The blade bit half through, and the
630
  giant crashed to the floor.
631
-
632
  "Out!" bellowed Conan, leaping over the fallen body.
633
-
634
  He and Nestor raced out the door and through halls and chambers. For an
635
  instant Conan feared they were lost, but he caught a glimpse of light ahead.
636
  The two dashed out the main portal of the palace. Behind them came the clatter
637
  and tramp of the guardians. Overhead, the sky had paled and the stars were
638
  going out with the coming of dawn.
639
-
640
  "Head for the wall," panted Nestor. "I think we can outrun them."
641
-
642
  As they reached the far side of the plaza, Conan glanced back. "Look!" he cried.
643
-
644
  One by one, the giants emerged from the palace. And one by one, as they came
645
  into the growing light, they sank to the pavement and crumbled into dust,
646
  leaving their plumed copper helmets, their scaled cuirasses, and their other
647
  accouterments in heaps on the ground.
648
-
649
  "Well, that's that," said Nestor. "But how shall we get back into Shadizar
650
  without being arrested? It will be day-light long before we get there."
651
-
652
  Conan grinned. "There's a way of getting in that we thieves know. Near the
653
  northeast corner of the wall stands a clump of trees. If you poke around among
654
  the shrubs that mask the wall, you will find a kind of culvert—I suppose to let
@@ -656,44 +513,33 @@ the water out of the city in heavy rains. It used to be closed by an iron
656
  grating, but that has rusted away. If you are not too fat, you can worm your
657
  way through it. You come out in a lot where people dump rubbish from houses
658
  that have been torn down."
659
-
660
  "Good," said Nestor. "I'll—"
661
-
662
  A deep rumble cut off his words. The earth heaved and rocked and trembled,
663
  throwing him to the ground and staggering the Cimmerian.
664
-
665
  "Look out!" yelled Conan.
666
-
667
  As Nestor started to scramble up, Conan caught his arm and dragged him back
668
  toward the center of the plaza. As he did so, the wall of a nearby building
669
  fell over into the plaza. It smashed down just where the two had been standing,
670
  but its mighty crash was lost in the thunder of the earthquake.
671
-
672
  "Let's get out of here!" shouted Nestor.
673
-
674
  Steering by the moon, now low in the western sky, they ran zigzag through the
675
  streets. On either side of them, walls and columns leaned, crumbled, and
676
  crashed. The noise was deafening. Clouds of dust arose, making the fugitives
677
  cough.
678
-
679
  Conan skidded to a halt and leaped back to avoid being crushed under the front
680
  of a collapsing temple. He staggered as fresh tremors shook the earth beneath
681
  him. He scrambled over piles of ruin, some old and some freshly made. He leaped
682
  madly out from under a falling column drum. Fragments of stone and brick struck
683
  him; one laid open a cut along his jaw. Another glanced from his shin, making
684
  him curse by the gods of all the lands he had visited.
685
-
686
  At last he reached the city wall. It was a wall no longer, having been shaken
687
  down to a low ridge of broken stone.
688
-
689
  Limping, coughing, and panting, Conan climbed the ridge and turned to look
690
  back. Nestor was no longer with him. Probably, he thought, the Gunderman had
691
  been caught under a falling wall. Conan listened but could hear no cry for help.
692
-
693
  The rumble of quaking earth and falling masonry died away. The light of the
694
  low moon glistened on the vast cloud of dust that covered the city. Then a dawn
695
  breeze sprang up and slowly wafted the dust away.
696
-
697
  Sitting on the crest of the ridge of ruin that marked the site of the wall,
698
  Conan stared back across the site of Larsha. The city bore an aspect entirely
699
  different from when he had entered it. Not a single building remained upright
@@ -702,115 +548,86 @@ treasure, had crumbled into a heap of broken blocks. Conan gave up thoughts of
702
  going back to the palace on some future occasion to collect the rest of the
703
  treasure. An army of workmen would have to clear away the wreckage before the
704
  valuables could be salvaged.
705
-
706
  All of Larsha had fallen into heaps of rubble. As far as he could see in the
707
  growing light, nothing moved in the city. The only sound was the belated fall
708
  of an occasional stone.
709
-
710
  Conan felt his booty bag, to make sure that he still had had his loot, and
711
  turned his face westward, towards Shadizar. Behind him, the rising sun shot a
712
  spear of light against his broad back.
713
-
714
  The following night, Conan swaggered into his favorite tavern, that of
715
  Abuletes, in the Maul. The low, smoke-stained room stank of sweat and sour
716
  wine. At crowded tables, thieves and murderers drank ale and wine, diced,
717
  argued, sang, quarreled, and blustered. It was deemed a dull evening here when
718
  at least one customer was not stabbed in a brawl.
719
-
720
  Across the room, Conan sighted his sweetheart of the moment, drinking alone at
721
  a small table. This was Semiramis, a strongly-built, black-haired woman several
722
  years older than the Cimmerian.
723
-
724
  "Ho there, Semiramis!" roared Conan, pushing his way across. "I've got
725
  something to show you! Abuletes! A jug of your best Kyrian! I'm in luck
726
  tonight!"
727
-
728
  Had Conan been older, caution would have stopped him from openly boasting of
729
  his plunder, let alone displaying it. As it was, he strode up to Semiramis'
730
  table and up-ended the leathern sack containing the seven great, green gems.
731
-
732
  The jewels cascaded out of the bag, thumped the wine-wet table top—and
733
  crumbled instantly into fine green powder, which sparkled in the candlelight.
734
-
735
  Conan dropped the sack and stood with his mouth agape, while nearby drinkers
736
  burst into raucous laughter.
737
-
738
  "Crom and Mannanan!" the Cimmerian breathed at last. "This time, it seems, I
739
  was too clever for my own good." Then he bethought him of the jade serpent,
740
  still in the bag. "Well, I have something that will pay for a few good
741
  carousals, anyway."
742
-
743
  Moved by curiosity, Semiramis picked up the sack from the table. Then she
744
  dropped it with a scream.
745
-
746
  "It's—it's alive!" she cried.
747
-
748
  "What—" began Conan, but a shout from the doorway cut him off :
749
-
750
  "There he is, men! Seize him!"
751
-
752
  A fat magistrate had entered the tavern, followed by a squad of the night
753
  watch, armed with bills. The other customers fell silent, staring woodenly into
754
  space as if they knew nothing of Conan or of any of the other riffraff who were
755
  Abuletes' guests.
756
-
757
  The magistrate pushed toward Conan's table. Whipping out his sword, the
758
  Cimmerian put his back against the wall. His blue eyes blazed dangerously, and
759
  his teeth showed in the candle light.
760
-
761
  "Take me if you can, dogs!" he snarled. "I've done nothing against your stupid
762
  laws!" Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered to Semiramis: "Grab the bag
763
  and get out of here. If they get me, if's yours."
764
-
765
  "I—I'm afraid of it!" whimpered the woman.
766
-
767
  "Oh-ho!" chortled the magistrate, coming forward. "Nothing, eh? Nothing but to
768
  rob our leading citizens blind! There's evidence enough to lop your head off a
769
  hundred times over! And then you slew Nestor's soldiers and persuaded him to
770
  join you in a raid on the ruins of Larsha, eh? We found him earlier this
771
  evening, drunk and boasting of his feat. The villain got away from us, but you
772
  shan't!"
773
-
774
  As the watachmen formed a half-circle around Conan, bills pointing toward his
775
  breast, the magistrate noticed the sack on the table. "Whaf's this, your latest
776
  loot? We'll see—"
777
-
778
  The fat man thrust a hand into the sack. For an instant he fumbled. Then his
779
  eyes widened; his mouth opened to emit an appalling shriek. He jerked his hand
780
  out of the bag. A jade-green snake, alive and writhing, had thrown a loop
781
  around his wrist and had sunk its fangs into his hand.
782
-
783
  Cries of horror and amazement arose. A watchman sprang back and fell over a
784
  table, smashing mugs and splashing liquors. Another stepped forward to catch
785
  the magistrate as he tottered and fell. A third dropped his bill and, screaming
786
  hysterically, broke for the door.
787
-
788
  Panic seized the customers. Some jammed themselves into the door, struggling
789
  to get out. A couple started fighting with knives, while another thief, locked
790
  in combat with a watchman, rolled on the floor. One of the candles was knocked
791
  over; then another, leaving the room but dimly lit by the little earthenware
792
  lamp over the counter.
793
-
794
  In the gloom, Conan caught Semiramis' wrist and hauled her to her feet. He
795
  beat the panic-stricken mob aside with the flat of his sword and forced his way
796
  through the throng to the door. Out in the night, the two ran, rounding several
797
  corners to throw off pursuit. Then they stopped to breathe. Conan said:
798
-
799
  "This city will be too cursed hot for me after this. I'm on my way. Good-bye,
800
  Semiramis."
801
-
802
  "Would you not care to spend a last night with me?"
803
-
804
  "Not this time. I must try to catch that rascal Nestor. If the fool hadn't
805
  blabbed, the law would not have gotten on my trail so quickly. He has all the
806
  treasure a man can carry, while I ended up with naught. Maybe I can persuade
807
  him to give me half; if not—" He thumbed the edge of his sword.
808
-
809
  Semiramis sighed. "There will always be a hideout for you in Shadizar, while I
810
  live. Give me a last kiss."
811
-
812
  They embraced briefly. Then Conan was gone, like a shadow in the night.
813
-
814
  On the Corinthian Road that leads west from Shadizar, three bowshots from the
815
  city walls, stands the fountain of Ninus. According to the story, Ninus was a
816
  rich merchant who suffered from a wasting disease. A god visited him in his
@@ -818,24 +635,18 @@ dreams and promised him a cure if he would build a fountain on the road leading
818
  to Shadizar from the west, so that travelers could wash and quench their thirst
819
  before entering the city. Ninus built the fountain, but the tale does not tell
820
  whether he recovered from his sickness.
821
-
822
  Half an hour after his escape from Abuletes' tavern, Conan found Nestor,
823
  sitting on the curbing of Ninus' fountain.
824
-
825
  "How did you make out with your seven matchless gems?" asked Nestor.
826
-
827
  Conan told what had befallen his share of the loot "Now," he said,
828
  "since—thanks to your loose tongue—I must leave Shadizar, and since I have none
829
  of the treasure left, it would be only right for you to divide your remaining
830
  portion with me."
831
-
832
  Nestor gave a barking, mirthless laugh. "My share? Boy, here is half of what I
833
  have left." From his girdle he brought out two pieces of gold and tossed one to
834
  Conan, who caught it. "I owe it to you for pulling me away from that falling
835
  wall."
836
-
837
  "What happened to you?"
838
-
839
  "When the watch cornered me in the dive, I managed to cast a table and bowl a
840
  few over. Then I picked up the bright stuff in my cloak, slung it over my back,
841
  and started for the door. One who tried to halt me I cut down; but another
@@ -846,30 +657,21 @@ two-foot rent in the fabric. "Thinking that the treasure would do me no good if
846
  my head were adorning a spike over the West Gate, I left while the leaving was
847
  good. When I got outside the city, I looked in my mantle, but all I found were
848
  those two coins, caught in a fold. You're welcome to one of them."
849
-
850
  Conan stood scowling for a moment. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. A low
851
  laugh rumbled in his throat; his head went back as he burst into a thunderous
852
  guffaw. "A fine pair of treasure-seekers we are! Crom, but the gods have had
853
  sport with us! What a joke!" Nestor smiled wryly. "I am glad you see the
854
  amusing side of it. But after this I do not think Shadizar will be safe for
855
  either of us."
856
-
857
  "Whither are you bound?" asked Conan.
858
-
859
  "I'll head east, to seek a mercenary post in Turan. They say King Yildiz is
860
  hiring fighters to whip his raggle-taggle horde into a real army. Why not come
861
  with me, lad? You're cut out for a soldier."
862
-
863
  Conan shook his head. "Not for me, marching back and forth on the drill ground
864
  all day while some fatheaded officer bawls: "Forward, march! Present, pikes!' I
865
  hear there are good pickings in the West; I'll try that for a while."
866
-
867
  "Well, may your barbarous gods go with you," said Nestor. "If you change your
868
  mind, ask for me in the barracks at Aghrapur. Farewell!"
869
-
870
  "Farewell," replied Conan. Without further words, he stepped out on the
871
  Corinthian Road and soon was lost to view in the night.
872
-
873
-
874
-
875
- THE END
 
1
  Robert E. Howard - The Hall Of The Dead
 
2
  ROBERT E. HOWARD
 
3
  THE HALL OF THE DEAD
 
4
  "The Hall Of The Dead" is a fragment begun in the 1930s but not finished or
5
  published in Howard's lifetime. It was completed by L. Sprague de Camp and
6
  published in The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction in February 1967.
 
 
 
 
7
  Becoming fed up with the City of Thieves (and vice versa) Conan wanders
8
  westward to the capital of Zamora, Shadizar the Wicked. Here, he hopes, the
9
  pickings will be richer. For a time he is indeed, more successful in his
 
11
  relieve him of his gains in return for initiating him into the arts of love.
12
  Rumors of treasure send him to the nearby ruins of ancient Larsha, just ahead
13
  of the squad of soldiers sent to arrest him.
 
 
 
 
14
  THE GORGE was dark, although the setting sun had left a band of orange and
15
  yellow and green along the western horizon. Against this band of color, a sharp
16
  eye could still discern, in black silhouette, the domes and spires of Shadizar
17
  the Wicked, the city of dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted
18
  mystery—the capital of Zamora.
 
19
  As the twilight faded, the first few stars appeared overhead. As if answering
20
  a signal, lights winked on in the distant domes and spires. While the light of
21
  the stars was pale and wan, that of the windows of Shadizar was a sultry amber,
22
  with a hint of abominable deeds.
 
23
  The gorge was quiet save for the chirping of nocturnal insects. Presently,
24
  however, this silence was broken by the sound of moving men. Up the gorge came
25
  a squad of Zamorian soldiers—five men in plain steel caps and leather jerkins,
 
29
  creaked and their weapons clanked and tinkled. Three of them bore bows and the
30
  other two, pikes; short swords hung at their sides and bucklers were slung
31
  across their backs. The officer was armed with a long sword and a dagger.
 
32
  One of the soldiers muttered: "If we catch this Conan fellow alive, what will
33
  they do with him?"
 
34
  "Send him to Yezud to feed to the spider god, I'll warrant," said another.
35
  "The question is, shall we be alive to collect that reward they promised us?"
 
36
  "Not afraid of him, are you?" said a third.
 
37
  "Me?" The second speaker snorted. "I fear naught, including death itself. The
38
  question is, whose death? This thief is not a civilized man but a wild
39
  barbarian, with the strength of ten. So I went to the magistrate to draw up my
40
  will—"
 
41
  "It is cheering to know that your heirs will get the reward," said another. "I
42
  wish I had thought of that."
 
43
  "Oh," said the first man who had spoken, "they'll find some excuse to cheat us
44
  of the reward, even if we catch the rascal."
 
45
  "The prefect himself has promised," said another. "The rich merchants and
46
  nobles whom Conan has been robbing raised a fund. I saw the money—a bag so
47
  heavy with gold that a man could scarce lift it. After all that public display,
48
  they'd not dare to go back on their word."
 
49
  "But suppose we catch him not," said the second speaker. "There was something
50
  about paying for it with our heads." The speaker raised his voice. "Captain
51
  Nestor! What was that about our heads—"
 
52
  "Hold your tongues, all of you!" snapped the officer. "You can be heard as far
53
  as Arenjun. If Conan is within a mile, he'll be warned. Cease your chatter, and
54
  try to move without so much clangor."
 
55
  The officer was a broad-shouldered man of medium height and powerful build;
56
  daylight would have shown his eyes to be gray and his hair light brown,
57
  streaked with gray. He was a Gunderman, from the northernmost province of
 
63
  that Conan was seen heading for this gorge earlier that day, and Nestor's
64
  commander had hastily dis patched him with such troopers as could be found in
65
  the barracks.
 
66
  Nestor had no confidence in the soldiers that trailed behind him. He
67
  considered them braggarts who would flee in the face of danger, leaving him to
68
  confront the barbarian alone. And, although the Gunderman was a brave man, he
69
  did not deceive himself about his chances with this ferocious, gigantic young
70
  savage. His armor would give him no more than a slight edge.
 
71
  As the glow in the western sky faded, the darkness deepened and the walls of
72
  the gorge became narrower, steeper, and rockier. Behind Nestor, the men began
73
  to murmur again:
 
74
  "I like it not. This road leads to the ruins of Larsha the Accursed, where the
75
  ghosts of the ancients lurk to devour passers-by. And in that city, 'tis said,
76
  lies the Hall of the Dead—"
 
77
  "Shut up!" snarled Nestor, turning his head. "If—"
 
78
  At that instant, the officer tripped over a rawhide rope stretched across the
79
  path and fell sprawling in the grass. There was the snap of a spring pole
80
  released from its lodgment, and the rope went slack.
 
81
  With a rumbling roar, a mass of rocks and dirt cascaded down the left-hand
82
  slope. As Nestor scrambled to his feet, a stone the size of a man's head struck
83
  his corselet and knocked him down again. Another knocked off his helmet, while
84
  smaller stones stung his limbs. Behind him sounded a multiple scream and the
85
  clatter of stone striking metal. Then silence fell.
 
86
  Nestor staggered to his feet, coughed the dust out of his lungs, and turned to
87
  see what had befallen. A few paces behind him, a rock slide blocked the gorge
88
  from wall to wall. Approaching, he made out a human hand and a foot projecting
89
  from the rubble. He called but received no reply. When he touched the
90
  protruding members, he found no life. The slide, set off by the pull on the
91
  rope, had wiped out his entire squad.
 
92
  Nestor flexed his joints to learn what harm he had suffered. No bones appeared
93
  to be broken, although his corselet was dented and he bore several bruises.
94
  Burning with wrath, he found his helmet and took up the trail alone. Failing to
95
  catch the thief would have been bad enough; but if he also had to confess to
96
  the loss of his men, he foresaw a lingering and painful death. His only chance
97
  now was to bring back Conan—or at least his head.
 
98
  Sword in hand, Nestor limped on up the endless windings of the gorge. A light
99
  in the sky before him showed that the moon, a little past full, was rising. He
100
  strained his eyes, expecting the barbarian to spring upon him from behind every
101
  bend in the ravine.
 
102
  The gorge became shallower and the walls less steep. Gullies opened into the
103
  gorge to right and left, while the bottom became stony and uneven, forcing
104
  Nestor to scramble over rocks and underbrush. At last the gorge gave out
 
107
  white in the light of the moon, rose the walls of Larsha. A massive gate stood
108
  directly in front of him. Time had bitten scallops out of the walls, and over
109
  it rose half-ruined roofs and towers.
 
110
  Nestor paused. Larsha was said to be immensely old. According to the tales, it
111
  went back to Cataclysmic times, when the forebears of the Zamorians, the
112
  Zhemri, formed an island of semi-civilization in a sea of barbarism.
 
113
  Stories of the death that lurked in these ruins were rife in the bazaars of
114
  Shadizar. As far as Nestor had been able to learn, not one of the many men who,
115
  in historic times, had invaded the ruins searching for the treasure rumored to
116
  exist there, had ever returned. None knew what form the danger took, because no
117
  survivor had lived to carry the tale.
 
118
  A decade before, King Tiridates had sent a company of his bravest soldiers, in
119
  broad daylight, into the city, while the king himself waited outside the walls.
120
  There had been screams and sounds of flight, and then—nothing. The men who
121
  waited outside had fled, and Tiridates perforce had fled with them. That was
122
  the last attempt to unlock the mystery of Larsha by main force.
 
123
  Although Nestor had all the usual mercenary's lust for unearned wealth, he was
124
  not rash. Years of soldiering in the kingdoms between Zamora and his homeland
125
  had taught him caution. As he paused, weighing the dangers of his alternatives,
126
  a sight made him stiffen. Close to the wall, he sighted the figure of a man,
127
  slinking toward the gate. Although the man was too far away to recognize faces
128
  in the moonlight, there was no mistaking that panther-like stride. Conan!
 
129
  Filled with rising fury, Nestor started forward. He walked swiftly, holding
130
  his scabbard to keep it from clanking. But, quietly though he moved, the keen
131
  ears of the barbarian warned him. Conan whirled, and his sword whispered from
132
  its sheath. Then, seeing that only a single foe pursued him, the Cimmerian
133
  stood his ground.
 
134
  As Nestor approached, he began to pick out details of the other's appearance.
135
  Conan was well over six feet tall, and his threadbare tunic failed to mask the
136
  hard lines of his mighty thews. A leathern sack hung by a strap from his
137
  shoulder. His face was youthful but hard, surmounted by a square-cut mane of
138
  thick black hair.
 
139
  Not a word was spoken. Nestor paused to catch his breath and cast aside his
140
  cloak, and in that instant Conan hurled himself upon the older man.
 
141
  Two swords glimmered like lightnings in the moonlight as the clang and rasp of
142
  blades shattered the graveyard silence. Nestor was the more experienced
143
  fighter, but the reach and blinding speed of the other nullified this
 
145
  Parrying shrewdly, Nestor was forced back, step after step. Narrowly he watched
146
  his opponent, waiting for the other's attack to slow from sheer fatigue. But
147
  the Cimmerian seemed not to know what fatigue was.
 
148
  Making a backhand cut, Nestor slit Conan's tunic over the chest but did not
149
  quite reach the skin. In a blinding return thrust, Conan's point glanced off
150
  Nestor's breastplate, plowing a groove in the bronze.
 
151
  As Nestor stepped back from another furious attack, a stone turned under his
152
  foot. Conan aimed a terrific cut at the Gunderman's neck. Had it gone as
153
  intended, Nestor's head would have flown from his shoulders; but, as he
154
  stumbled, the blow hit his crested helm instead. It struck with a heavy clang,
155
  bit into the iron, and hurled Nestor to the ground.
 
156
  Breathing deeply, Conan stepped forward, sword ready. His pursuer lay
157
  motionless with blood seeping from his cloven helmet. Youthful overconfidence
158
  in the force of his own blows convinced Conan that he had slain his antagonist.
159
  Sheathing his sword, he turned back toward the city of the ancients.
 
160
  The Cimmerian approached the gate. This consisted of two massive valves, twice
161
  as high as a man, made of foot-thick timbers sheathed in bronze. Conan pushed
162
  against the valves, grunting, but without effect. He drew his sword and struck
163
  the bronze with the pommel. From the way the gates sagged, Conan guessed that
164
  the wood of the doors had rotted away; but the bronze was too thick to hew
165
  through without spoiling the edge of his blade. And there was an easier way.
 
166
  Thirty paces north of the gate, the wall had crumbled so that its lowest point
167
  was less than twenty feet above the ground. At the same time, a pile of
168
  tailings against the foot of the wall rose to within six or eight feet of the
169
  broken edge.
 
170
  Conan approached the broken section, drew back a few paces, and then ran
171
  forward. He bounded up the slope of the tailings, leaped into the air, and
172
  caught the broken edge of the wall. A grunt, a heave, and a scramble, and he
173
  was over the edge, ignoring scratches and bruises. He stared down into the city.
 
174
  Inside the wall was a cleared space, where for centuries plant life had been
175
  waging war upon the ancient pavement. The paving slabs were cracked and up-
176
  ended. Between them, grass, weeds, and a few scrubby trees had forced their way.
 
177
  Beyond the cleared area lay the ruins of one of the poorer districts. Here the
178
  one-story hovels of mud brick had slumped into mere mounds of dirt. Beyond
179
  them, white in the moonlight, Conan discerned the better-preserved buildings of
180
  stone—the temples, the palaces, and the houses of the nobles and the rich
181
  merchants. As with many ancient ruins, and aura of evil hung over the deserted
182
  city.
 
183
  Straining his ears, Conan stared right and left. Nothing moved. The only sound
184
  was the chirp of crickets.
 
185
  Conan, too, had heard the tales of the doom that haunted Larsha. Although the
186
  supernatural roused panicky, atavistic fears in his barbarian's soul, he
187
  hardened himself with the thought that, when a supernatural being took material
188
  form, it could be hurt or killed by material weapons, just like any earthly man
189
  or monster. He had not come this far to be stopped from a try at the treasure
190
  by man, beast, or demon.
 
191
  According to the tales, the fabled treasure of Larsha lay in the royal palace.
192
  Gripping his scabbarded sword in his left hand, the young thief dropped from
193
  the inner side of the broken wall. An instant later, he was threading his way
194
  through the winding streets toward the center of the city. He made no more
195
  noise than a shadow.
 
196
  Ruin encompassed him on every side. Here and there the front of a house had
197
  fallen into the street, forcing Conan to detour or to scramble over piles of
198
  broken brick and marble. The gibbous moon was now high in the sky, washing the
 
200
  but with the portico, upheld by four massive marble columns, still intact.
201
  Along the edge of the roof, a row of marble gargoyles peered down—statues of
202
  monsters of bygone days, half demon and half beast.
 
203
  Conan tried to remember the scraps of legend that he had overheard in the
204
  wineshops of the Maul, concerning the abandonment of Larsha. There was
205
  something about a curse sent by an angered god, many centuries before, in
206
  punishment for deeds so wicked that they made the crimes and vices of Shadizar
207
  look like virtues—
 
208
  He started for the center of the city again but now noticed something
209
  peculiar. His sandals tended to stick to the shattered pavement, as if it were
210
  covered with warm pitch. The soles made sucking noises as he raised his feet.
 
211
  He stooped and felt the ground. It was coated with a film of a colorless,
212
  sticky substance, now nearly dry.
 
213
  Hand on hilt, Conan glared about him in the moon-light But no sound came to
214
  his ears. He resumed his advance. Again his sandals made sucking noises as he
215
  raised them. He halted, turning his head. He could have sworn that similar
216
  sucking noises came to his ears from a distance. For an instant, he thought
217
  they might be the echoes of his own footsteps. But he had passed the half-
218
  ruined temple, and now no walls rose on either side of him to reflect the sound.
 
219
  Again he advanced, then halted. Again he heard the sucking sound, and this
220
  time it did not cease when he froze to immobility. In fact, it became louder.
221
  His keen hearing located it as coming from directly in front of him. Since he
222
  could see nothing moving in the street before him, the source of the sound must
223
  be in a side street or in one of the ruined buildings.
 
224
  The sound increased to an indescribable slithering, gurgling hiss. Even
225
  Conan's iron nerves were shaken by the strain of waiting for the unknown source
226
  of the sound to appear.
 
227
  At last, around the next corner poured a huge, slimy mass, leprous gray in the
228
  moonlight. It glided into the street before him and swiftly advanced upon him,
229
  silent save for the sucking sound of its peculiar method of locomotion. From
230
  its front end rose a pair of hornlike projections, at least ten feet long, with
231
  a shorter pair below. The long horns bent this way and that, and Conan saw that
232
  they bore eyes on their ends.
 
233
  The creature was, in fact, a slug, like the harmless garden slug that leaves a
234
  trail of slime in its nightly wanderings. This slug, however, was fifty feet
235
  long and as thick through the middle as Conan was tall. Moreover, it moved as
236
  fast as a man could run. The fetid smell of the thing wafted ahead of it.
 
237
  Momentarily paralyzed with astonishment, Conan stared at the vast mass of
238
  rubbery flesh bearing down upon him. The slug emitted a sound like that of a
239
  man spitting, but magnified many times over.
 
240
  Galvanized into action at last, the Cimmerian leaped sideways. As he did so, a
241
  jet of liquid flashed through the night air, just where he had stood. A tiny
242
  droplet struck his shoulder and burned like a coal of fire.
 
243
  Conan turned and ran back the way he had come, his long legs flashing in the
244
  moonlight. Again he had to bound over piles of broken masonary. His ears told
245
  him that the slug was close behind. Perhaps it was gaining. He dared not turn
246
  to look, lest he trip over some marble fragment and go sprawling; the monster
247
  would be upon him before he could regain his feet.
 
248
  Again came that spitting sound. Conan leaped frantically to one side; again
249
  the jet of liquid flashed past him. Even if he kept ahead of the slug all the
250
  way to the city wall, the next shot would probably hit its mark.
 
251
  Conan dodged around a corner to put obstacles between himself and the slug. He
252
  raced down a narrow zigzag street, then around another corner. He was lost in
253
  the maze of streets, he knew; but the main thing was to keep turning corners so
 
255
  the stench indicated that it was following his trail. Once, when he paused to
256
  catch his breath, he looked back to see the slug pouring around the last corner
257
  he had turned.
 
258
  On and on he went, dodging this way and that through the maze of the ancient
259
  city. If he could not outrun the slug, perhaps he could tire it. A man, he
260
  knew, could outlast almost any animal in a long-distance run. But the slug
261
  seemed tireless.
 
262
  Something about the buildings he was passing struck him as familiar. Then he
263
  realized that he was coming to the half-ruined temple he had passed just before
264
  he met the slug. A quick glance showed him that the upper parts of the building
265
  could be reached by an active climber.
 
266
  Conan bounded up a pile of rubbish to the top of the broken wall. Leaping from
267
  stone to stone, he made his way up the jagged profile of the wall to an
268
  unruined section facing the street. He found himself on a stretch of roof
269
  behind the row of marble gargoyles. He approached them, treading softly lest
270
  the half-ruined roof collapse beneath him and detouring around holes through
271
  which a man could fall into the chambers below.
 
272
  The sound and smell of the slug came to him from the street. Realizing that it
273
  had lost his track and uncertain as to which way to turn, the creature had
274
  evidently stopped in front of the temple. Very cautiously—for he was sure the
275
  slug could see him in the moonlight—Conan peered past one of the statues and
276
  down into the street.
 
277
  There lay the great, grayish mass, on which the moon shone moistly. The eye
278
  stalks wavered this way and that, seeking the creature's prey. Beneath them,
279
  the shorter horns swept back and forth a little above the ground, as if
280
  smelling for the Cimmerian's trail.
 
281
  Conan felt certain that the slug would soon pick up his trail. He had no doubt
282
  that it could slither up the sides of the building quite as readily as he had
283
  climbed it.
 
284
  He put a hand against a gargoyle—a nightmarish statue with a humanoid body,
285
  bat's wings, and a reptilian head—and pushed. The statue rocked a trifle with a
286
  faint crunching noise.
 
287
  At the sound, the horns of the slug whipped upward toward the roof of the
288
  temple. The slug's head came around, bending its body into a sharp curve. The
289
  head approached the front of the temple and began to slide up one of the huge
290
  pillars, directly below the place where Conan crouched with bared teeth.
 
291
  A sword, Conan thought, would be of little use against such a monstrosity.
292
  Like other lowly forms of life, it could survive damage that would instantly
293
  destroy a higher creature.
 
294
  Up the pillar came the slug's head, the eyes on their stalks swiveling back
295
  and forth. At the present rate, the monster's head would reach the edge of the
296
  roof while most of its body still lay in the street below.
 
297
  Then Conan saw what he must do. He hurled himself at the gargoyle. With a
298
  mighty heave, he sent it tumbling over the edge of the roof. Instead of the
299
  crash that such a mass of marble would ordinarily make on striking the
300
  pavement, there floated up the sound of a moist, squashy impact, followed by a
301
  heavy thud as the forward part of the slug's body fell back to earth.
 
302
  When Conan risked a glance over the parapet, he saw that the statue had sunk
303
  into the slug's body until it was almost buried. The great, gray mass writhed
304
  and lashed like a worm on a fisherman's hook. A blow of the tail made the front
305
  of the temple tremble; somewhere in the interior a few loose stones fell
306
  clattering. Conan wondered if the whole structure were about to collapse
307
  beneath him, burying him in the debris.
 
308
  "So much for you!" snarled the Cimmerian.
 
309
  He went along the row of gargoyles until he found another that was loose and
310
  directly over part of the slug's body. Down it went with another squashing
311
  impact. A third missed and shattered on the pavement. A fourth and smaller
312
  statue he picked bodily up and, muscles cracking with the strain, hurled
313
  outward so that it fell on the writhing head.
 
314
  As the beast's convulsions slowly subsided, Conan pushed over two more
315
  gargoyles to make sure. When the body no longer writhed, he clambered down to
316
  the street. He approached the great, stinking mass cautiously, sword out. At
 
318
  oozed out, and rippling morions ran through the wet, gray skin. But, even
319
  though parts might retain signs of independent life, the slug as a whole was
320
  dead.
 
321
  Conan was still slashing furiously when a voice made him whirl about. It said:
 
322
  "I've got you this time!"
 
323
  It was Nestor, approaching sword in hand, with a bloodstained bandage around
324
  his head in place of his helmet. The Gunderman stopped at the sight of the
325
  slug. "Mitra! What is this?"
 
326
  "It's the spook of Larsha," said Conan, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous
327
  accent "It chased me over half the city before I slew it." As Nestor stared
328
  incredulously, the Cimmerian continued: "What do you here? How many times must
329
  I kill you before you stay dead?"
 
330
  "You shall see how dead I am," grated Nestor, bringing his sword up to guard.
 
331
  "What happened to your soldiers?"
 
332
  "Dead in that rock slide you rigged, as you soon shall be—"
 
333
  "Look, you fool," said Conan, "why waste your strength on sword strokes, when
334
  there's more wealth here than the pair of us can carry away—if the tales are
335
  true? You are a good man of your hands; why not join me to raid the treasure of
336
  Larsha instead?"
 
337
  "I must do my duty and avenge my men! Defend yourself, dog or a barbarian!"
 
338
  "By Crom, I'll fight if you like!" growled Conan, bringing up his sword. "But
339
  think, man! If you go back to Shadizar, they'll crucify you for losing your
340
  command—even if you took my head with you, which I do not think you can do. If
341
  one tenth of the stories are true, you'll get more from your share of the loot
342
  than you'd earn in a hundred years as a mercenary captain."
 
343
  Nestor had lowered his blade and stepped back. Now he stood mute, thinking
344
  deeply. Conan added: "Besides, you'll never make real warriors of these
345
  poltroons of Zamorians!"
 
346
  The Gunderman sighed and sheathed his sword. "You are right, damn you. Until
347
  this venture is over, we'll fight back to back and go equal shares on the loot,
348
  eh?" He held out his hand.
 
349
  "Done!" said Conan, sheathing likewise and clasping the other's hand. "If we
350
  have to run for it and get separated, let's meet at the fountain of Ninus."
 
351
  The royal palace of Larsha stood in the center of the city, in the midst of a
352
  broad plaza. It was the one structure that had not crumbled with age, and this
353
  for a simple reason. It was carved out of a single crag or hillock of rock that
 
355
  been the construction of this building, however, that close inspection was
356
  needed to show that it was not an ordinary composite structure, lines engraved
357
  in the black, basaltic surface imitated the joints between building stones.
 
358
  Treading softly, Conan and Nestor peered into the dark interior. "We shall
359
  need light," said Nestor. "I do not care to walk into another slug like that in
360
  the dark."
 
361
  "I don't smell another slug," said Conan, "but the treasure might have another
362
  guardian."
 
363
  He turned back and hewed down a pine sapling that thrust up through the broken
364
  pavement. Then he lopped its limbs and cut it into short lengths. Whittling a
365
  pile of shavings with his sword, he started a small fire with flint and steel.
 
367
  ignited them. The resinous wood burned vigorously. He handed one torch to
368
  Nestor, and each of them thrust half the spare billets through his girdle.
369
  Then, swords out, they again approached the palace.
 
370
  Inside the archway, the flickering yellow flames of the torches were reflected
371
  from polished walls of black stone; but underfoot the dust lay inches thick.
372
  Several bats, hanging from bits of stone carving overhead, squeaked angrily and
373
  whirred away into deeper darkness.
 
374
  They passed between statues of horrific aspect, set in niches on either side.
375
  Dark hallways opened on either hand. They crossed a throne room. The throne,
376
  carved of the same black stone as the rest of the building, still stood. Other
377
  chairs and divans, being made of wood, had crumbled into dust, leaving a litter
378
  of nails, metallic ornaments, and semi-precious stones on the floor.
 
379
  "It must have stood vacant for thousands of years," whispered Nestor.
 
380
  They traversed several chambers, which might have been a king's private
381
  apartments; but the absence of perishable furnishings made it impossible to
382
  tell. They found themselves before a door. Conan put his torch close to it.
 
383
  It was a stout door, set in an arch of stone and made of massive timbers,
384
  bound together with brackets of green-filmed copper. Conan poked the door with
385
  his sword. The blade entered easily; a little shower of dusty fragments, pale
386
  in the torchlight, sifted down.
 
387
  "It's rotten," growled Nestor, kicking out. His boot went into the wood almost
388
  as easily as Conan's sword had done. A copper fitting fell to the floor with a
389
  dull clank.
 
390
  In a moment they had battered down the rotten timbers in a shower of wood
391
  dust. They stooped, thrusting their torches ahead of them into the opening.
392
  Light, reflected from silver, gold, and jewels, winked back at them.
 
393
  Nestor pushed through the opening, then backed out so suddenly that he bumped
394
  into Conan. "There are men in there!" he hissed.
 
395
  "Let's see." Conan thrust his head into the opening and peered right and left.
396
  "They're dead. Come on!"
 
397
  Inside, they stared about them until their torches burned down to their hands
398
  and they had to light a new pair. Around the room, seven giant warriors, each
399
  at least seven feet tall, sprawled in chairs. Their heads lay against the chair
 
402
  with age. Their skins were brown and waxy-looking, like those of mummies, and
403
  grizzled beards hung down to their waists. Copper-bladed bills and pikes leaned
404
  against the wall beside them or lay on the floor.
 
405
  In the center of the room rose an altar, of black basalt like the rest of the
406
  palace. Near the altar, on the floor, several chests of treasure had lain. The
407
  wood of these chests had rotted away; the chests had burst open, letting a
408
  glittering drift of treasure pour out on the floor.
 
409
  Conan stepped close to one of the immobile warriors and touched the man's leg
410
  with the point of his sword. The body lay still. He murmured:
 
411
  "The ancients must have mummified them, as they tell me the priests do with
412
  the dead in Stygia."
 
413
  Nestor looked uneasily at the seven still forms. The feeble flames of the
414
  torches seemed unable to push the dense darkness back to the sable walls and
415
  roof of the chamber.
 
416
  The block of black stone in the middle of the room rose to waist height. On
417
  its flat, polished top, inlaid in narrow strips of ivory, was a diagram of
418
  interlaced circles and triangles. The whole formed a seven-pointed star. The
 
420
  Conan did not recognize. He could read Zamorian and write it after a fashion,
421
  and he had smatterings of Hyrkanian and Corinthian; but these cryptic glyphs
422
  were beyond him.
 
423
  In any case, he was more interested in the things that lay on top of the
424
  altar. On each point of the star, winking in the ruddy, wavering light of the
425
  torches, lay a great green jewel, larger than a hen's egg. At the center of the
426
  diagram stood a green statuette of a serpent with up-reared head, apparently
427
  carved from jade.
 
428
  Conan moved his torch close to the seven great, glowing gems. "I want those,"
429
  he grunted. "You can have the rest."
 
430
  "No, you don't!" snapped Nestor. "Those are worth more than all the other
431
  treasure in this room put together. I will have them!"
 
432
  Tension crackled between the two men, and their free hands stole toward their
433
  hilts. For a space they stood silently, glaring at each other. Then Nestor said:
 
434
  "Then let us divide them, as we agreed to do."
 
435
  "You cannot divide seven by two," said Conan. "Let us flip one of these coins
436
  for them. The winner takes the seven jewels, while the other man has his pick
437
  of the rest. Does that suit you?"
 
438
  Conan picked a coin out of one of the heaps that marked the places where the
439
  chests had lain. Although he had acquired a good working knowledge of coins in
440
  his career as a thief, this was entirely unfamiliar. One side bore a face, but
441
  whether of a man, a demon, or an owl he could not tell. The other side was
442
  covered with symbols like those on the altar.
 
443
  Conan showed the coin to Nestor. The two treasure hunters grunted agreement.
444
  Conan flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on his left
445
  wrist. He extended the wrist, with the coin still covered, toward Nestor.
 
446
  "Heads," said the Gunderman.
 
447
  Conan removed his hand from the coin. Nestor peered and growled: "Ishtar curse
448
  the thing! You win. Hold my torch a moment."
 
449
  Conan, alert for any treacherous move, took the torch. But Nestor merely
450
  untied the strap of his cloak and spread the garment on the dusty floor. He
451
  began shoveling handfuls of gold and gems from the heaps on the floor into a
452
  pile on the cloak.
 
453
  "Don't load yourself so heavily that you can't run," said Conan. "We are not
454
  out of this yet, and it's a long walk back to Shadizar."
 
455
  "I can handle it," said Nestor. He gathered up the comers of the cloak, slung
456
  the improvised bag over his back, and held out a hand for his torch.
 
457
  Conan handed it to him and stepped to the altar. One by one he took the great,
458
  green jewels and thrust them into the leathern sack that hung from his
459
  shoulders.
 
460
  When all seven had been removed from the altar top, he paused, looking at the
461
  jade serpent. "This will fetch a pretty price," he said. Snatching it up, he
462
  thrust it, too, into his booty bag.
 
463
  "Why not take some of the remaining gold and jewels, too?" asked Nestor. "I
464
  have all I can carry."
 
465
  "You've got the best stuff," said Conan. "Besides, I don't need any more. Man,
466
  with these I can buy a kingdom! Or a dukedom, anyway, and all the wine I can
467
  drink and women I—"
 
468
  A sound caused the plunderers to whirl, staring wildly. Around the walls, the
469
  seven mummified warriors were coming to life. Their heads came up, their mouths
470
  closed, and air hissed into their ancient, withered lungs. Their joints creaked
471
  like rusty hinges as they picked up their pikes and bills and rose to their
472
  feet.
 
473
  "Run!" yelled Nestor, hurling his torch at the nearest giant and snatching out
474
  his sword.
 
475
  The torch struck the giant in the chest, fell to the floor, and went out.
476
  Having both hands free, Conan retained his torch while he drew his sword. The
477
  light of the remaining torch flickered feebly on the green of the ancient
478
  copper harness as the giants closed in on the pair.
 
479
  Conan ducked the sweep of a bill and knocked the thrust of a pike aside.
480
  Between him and the door, Nestor engaged a giant who was moving to block their
481
  escape. The Gunderman parried a thrust and struck a fierce, backhanded blow at
482
  his enemy's thigh. The blade bit, but only a little way; it was like chopping
483
  wood. The giant staggered, and Nestor hewed at another. The point of a pike
484
  glanced off his dented cuirass.
 
485
  The giants moved slowly, or the treasure hunters would have fallen before
486
  their first onset. Leaping, dodging, and whirling, Conan avoided blows that
487
  would have stretched him senseless on the dusty floor. Again and again his
 
489
  decapitated a living man only staggered these creatures from another age. He
490
  landed a chop on the hand of one attacker, maiming the member and causing the
491
  giant to drop his pike.
 
492
  He dodged the thrust of another pike and put every ounce of strength into a
493
  low forehand cut at the giant's ankle. The blade bit half through, and the
494
  giant crashed to the floor.
 
495
  "Out!" bellowed Conan, leaping over the fallen body.
 
496
  He and Nestor raced out the door and through halls and chambers. For an
497
  instant Conan feared they were lost, but he caught a glimpse of light ahead.
498
  The two dashed out the main portal of the palace. Behind them came the clatter
499
  and tramp of the guardians. Overhead, the sky had paled and the stars were
500
  going out with the coming of dawn.
 
501
  "Head for the wall," panted Nestor. "I think we can outrun them."
 
502
  As they reached the far side of the plaza, Conan glanced back. "Look!" he cried.
 
503
  One by one, the giants emerged from the palace. And one by one, as they came
504
  into the growing light, they sank to the pavement and crumbled into dust,
505
  leaving their plumed copper helmets, their scaled cuirasses, and their other
506
  accouterments in heaps on the ground.
 
507
  "Well, that's that," said Nestor. "But how shall we get back into Shadizar
508
  without being arrested? It will be day-light long before we get there."
 
509
  Conan grinned. "There's a way of getting in that we thieves know. Near the
510
  northeast corner of the wall stands a clump of trees. If you poke around among
511
  the shrubs that mask the wall, you will find a kind of culvert—I suppose to let
 
513
  grating, but that has rusted away. If you are not too fat, you can worm your
514
  way through it. You come out in a lot where people dump rubbish from houses
515
  that have been torn down."
 
516
  "Good," said Nestor. "I'll—"
 
517
  A deep rumble cut off his words. The earth heaved and rocked and trembled,
518
  throwing him to the ground and staggering the Cimmerian.
 
519
  "Look out!" yelled Conan.
 
520
  As Nestor started to scramble up, Conan caught his arm and dragged him back
521
  toward the center of the plaza. As he did so, the wall of a nearby building
522
  fell over into the plaza. It smashed down just where the two had been standing,
523
  but its mighty crash was lost in the thunder of the earthquake.
 
524
  "Let's get out of here!" shouted Nestor.
 
525
  Steering by the moon, now low in the western sky, they ran zigzag through the
526
  streets. On either side of them, walls and columns leaned, crumbled, and
527
  crashed. The noise was deafening. Clouds of dust arose, making the fugitives
528
  cough.
 
529
  Conan skidded to a halt and leaped back to avoid being crushed under the front
530
  of a collapsing temple. He staggered as fresh tremors shook the earth beneath
531
  him. He scrambled over piles of ruin, some old and some freshly made. He leaped
532
  madly out from under a falling column drum. Fragments of stone and brick struck
533
  him; one laid open a cut along his jaw. Another glanced from his shin, making
534
  him curse by the gods of all the lands he had visited.
 
535
  At last he reached the city wall. It was a wall no longer, having been shaken
536
  down to a low ridge of broken stone.
 
537
  Limping, coughing, and panting, Conan climbed the ridge and turned to look
538
  back. Nestor was no longer with him. Probably, he thought, the Gunderman had
539
  been caught under a falling wall. Conan listened but could hear no cry for help.
 
540
  The rumble of quaking earth and falling masonry died away. The light of the
541
  low moon glistened on the vast cloud of dust that covered the city. Then a dawn
542
  breeze sprang up and slowly wafted the dust away.
 
543
  Sitting on the crest of the ridge of ruin that marked the site of the wall,
544
  Conan stared back across the site of Larsha. The city bore an aspect entirely
545
  different from when he had entered it. Not a single building remained upright
 
548
  going back to the palace on some future occasion to collect the rest of the
549
  treasure. An army of workmen would have to clear away the wreckage before the
550
  valuables could be salvaged.
 
551
  All of Larsha had fallen into heaps of rubble. As far as he could see in the
552
  growing light, nothing moved in the city. The only sound was the belated fall
553
  of an occasional stone.
 
554
  Conan felt his booty bag, to make sure that he still had had his loot, and
555
  turned his face westward, towards Shadizar. Behind him, the rising sun shot a
556
  spear of light against his broad back.
 
557
  The following night, Conan swaggered into his favorite tavern, that of
558
  Abuletes, in the Maul. The low, smoke-stained room stank of sweat and sour
559
  wine. At crowded tables, thieves and murderers drank ale and wine, diced,
560
  argued, sang, quarreled, and blustered. It was deemed a dull evening here when
561
  at least one customer was not stabbed in a brawl.
 
562
  Across the room, Conan sighted his sweetheart of the moment, drinking alone at
563
  a small table. This was Semiramis, a strongly-built, black-haired woman several
564
  years older than the Cimmerian.
 
565
  "Ho there, Semiramis!" roared Conan, pushing his way across. "I've got
566
  something to show you! Abuletes! A jug of your best Kyrian! I'm in luck
567
  tonight!"
 
568
  Had Conan been older, caution would have stopped him from openly boasting of
569
  his plunder, let alone displaying it. As it was, he strode up to Semiramis'
570
  table and up-ended the leathern sack containing the seven great, green gems.
 
571
  The jewels cascaded out of the bag, thumped the wine-wet table top—and
572
  crumbled instantly into fine green powder, which sparkled in the candlelight.
 
573
  Conan dropped the sack and stood with his mouth agape, while nearby drinkers
574
  burst into raucous laughter.
 
575
  "Crom and Mannanan!" the Cimmerian breathed at last. "This time, it seems, I
576
  was too clever for my own good." Then he bethought him of the jade serpent,
577
  still in the bag. "Well, I have something that will pay for a few good
578
  carousals, anyway."
 
579
  Moved by curiosity, Semiramis picked up the sack from the table. Then she
580
  dropped it with a scream.
 
581
  "It's—it's alive!" she cried.
 
582
  "What—" began Conan, but a shout from the doorway cut him off :
 
583
  "There he is, men! Seize him!"
 
584
  A fat magistrate had entered the tavern, followed by a squad of the night
585
  watch, armed with bills. The other customers fell silent, staring woodenly into
586
  space as if they knew nothing of Conan or of any of the other riffraff who were
587
  Abuletes' guests.
 
588
  The magistrate pushed toward Conan's table. Whipping out his sword, the
589
  Cimmerian put his back against the wall. His blue eyes blazed dangerously, and
590
  his teeth showed in the candle light.
 
591
  "Take me if you can, dogs!" he snarled. "I've done nothing against your stupid
592
  laws!" Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered to Semiramis: "Grab the bag
593
  and get out of here. If they get me, if's yours."
 
594
  "I—I'm afraid of it!" whimpered the woman.
 
595
  "Oh-ho!" chortled the magistrate, coming forward. "Nothing, eh? Nothing but to
596
  rob our leading citizens blind! There's evidence enough to lop your head off a
597
  hundred times over! And then you slew Nestor's soldiers and persuaded him to
598
  join you in a raid on the ruins of Larsha, eh? We found him earlier this
599
  evening, drunk and boasting of his feat. The villain got away from us, but you
600
  shan't!"
 
601
  As the watachmen formed a half-circle around Conan, bills pointing toward his
602
  breast, the magistrate noticed the sack on the table. "Whaf's this, your latest
603
  loot? We'll see—"
 
604
  The fat man thrust a hand into the sack. For an instant he fumbled. Then his
605
  eyes widened; his mouth opened to emit an appalling shriek. He jerked his hand
606
  out of the bag. A jade-green snake, alive and writhing, had thrown a loop
607
  around his wrist and had sunk its fangs into his hand.
 
608
  Cries of horror and amazement arose. A watchman sprang back and fell over a
609
  table, smashing mugs and splashing liquors. Another stepped forward to catch
610
  the magistrate as he tottered and fell. A third dropped his bill and, screaming
611
  hysterically, broke for the door.
 
612
  Panic seized the customers. Some jammed themselves into the door, struggling
613
  to get out. A couple started fighting with knives, while another thief, locked
614
  in combat with a watchman, rolled on the floor. One of the candles was knocked
615
  over; then another, leaving the room but dimly lit by the little earthenware
616
  lamp over the counter.
 
617
  In the gloom, Conan caught Semiramis' wrist and hauled her to her feet. He
618
  beat the panic-stricken mob aside with the flat of his sword and forced his way
619
  through the throng to the door. Out in the night, the two ran, rounding several
620
  corners to throw off pursuit. Then they stopped to breathe. Conan said:
 
621
  "This city will be too cursed hot for me after this. I'm on my way. Good-bye,
622
  Semiramis."
 
623
  "Would you not care to spend a last night with me?"
 
624
  "Not this time. I must try to catch that rascal Nestor. If the fool hadn't
625
  blabbed, the law would not have gotten on my trail so quickly. He has all the
626
  treasure a man can carry, while I ended up with naught. Maybe I can persuade
627
  him to give me half; if not—" He thumbed the edge of his sword.
 
628
  Semiramis sighed. "There will always be a hideout for you in Shadizar, while I
629
  live. Give me a last kiss."
 
630
  They embraced briefly. Then Conan was gone, like a shadow in the night.
 
631
  On the Corinthian Road that leads west from Shadizar, three bowshots from the
632
  city walls, stands the fountain of Ninus. According to the story, Ninus was a
633
  rich merchant who suffered from a wasting disease. A god visited him in his
 
635
  to Shadizar from the west, so that travelers could wash and quench their thirst
636
  before entering the city. Ninus built the fountain, but the tale does not tell
637
  whether he recovered from his sickness.
 
638
  Half an hour after his escape from Abuletes' tavern, Conan found Nestor,
639
  sitting on the curbing of Ninus' fountain.
 
640
  "How did you make out with your seven matchless gems?" asked Nestor.
 
641
  Conan told what had befallen his share of the loot "Now," he said,
642
  "since—thanks to your loose tongue—I must leave Shadizar, and since I have none
643
  of the treasure left, it would be only right for you to divide your remaining
644
  portion with me."
 
645
  Nestor gave a barking, mirthless laugh. "My share? Boy, here is half of what I
646
  have left." From his girdle he brought out two pieces of gold and tossed one to
647
  Conan, who caught it. "I owe it to you for pulling me away from that falling
648
  wall."
 
649
  "What happened to you?"
 
650
  "When the watch cornered me in the dive, I managed to cast a table and bowl a
651
  few over. Then I picked up the bright stuff in my cloak, slung it over my back,
652
  and started for the door. One who tried to halt me I cut down; but another
 
657
  my head were adorning a spike over the West Gate, I left while the leaving was
658
  good. When I got outside the city, I looked in my mantle, but all I found were
659
  those two coins, caught in a fold. You're welcome to one of them."
 
660
  Conan stood scowling for a moment. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. A low
661
  laugh rumbled in his throat; his head went back as he burst into a thunderous
662
  guffaw. "A fine pair of treasure-seekers we are! Crom, but the gods have had
663
  sport with us! What a joke!" Nestor smiled wryly. "I am glad you see the
664
  amusing side of it. But after this I do not think Shadizar will be safe for
665
  either of us."
 
666
  "Whither are you bound?" asked Conan.
 
667
  "I'll head east, to seek a mercenary post in Turan. They say King Yildiz is
668
  hiring fighters to whip his raggle-taggle horde into a real army. Why not come
669
  with me, lad? You're cut out for a soldier."
 
670
  Conan shook his head. "Not for me, marching back and forth on the drill ground
671
  all day while some fatheaded officer bawls: "Forward, march! Present, pikes!' I
672
  hear there are good pickings in the West; I'll try that for a while."
 
673
  "Well, may your barbarous gods go with you," said Nestor. "If you change your
674
  mind, ask for me in the barracks at Aghrapur. Farewell!"
 
675
  "Farewell," replied Conan. Without further words, he stepped out on the
676
  Corinthian Road and soon was lost to view in the night.
677
+ THE END
 
 
 
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