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Frank Herbert - Children of Dune.txt
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Frank Herbert - Dune Messiah.txt
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TheHallOfTheDead.txt
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Robert E. Howard - The Hall Of The Dead
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ROBERT E. HOWARD
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THE HALL OF THE DEAD
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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
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@@ -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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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,
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@@ -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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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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"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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"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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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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-
|
366 |
A sword, Conan thought, would be of little use against such a monstrosity.
|
367 |
Like other lowly forms of life, it could survive damage that would instantly
|
368 |
destroy a higher creature.
|
369 |
-
|
370 |
Up the pillar came the slug's head, the eyes on their stalks swiveling back
|
371 |
and forth. At the present rate, the monster's head would reach the edge of the
|
372 |
roof while most of its body still lay in the street below.
|
373 |
-
|
374 |
Then Conan saw what he must do. He hurled himself at the gargoyle. With a
|
375 |
mighty heave, he sent it tumbling over the edge of the roof. Instead of the
|
376 |
crash that such a mass of marble would ordinarily make on striking the
|
377 |
pavement, there floated up the sound of a moist, squashy impact, followed by a
|
378 |
heavy thud as the forward part of the slug's body fell back to earth.
|
379 |
-
|
380 |
When Conan risked a glance over the parapet, he saw that the statue had sunk
|
381 |
into the slug's body until it was almost buried. The great, gray mass writhed
|
382 |
and lashed like a worm on a fisherman's hook. A blow of the tail made the front
|
383 |
of the temple tremble; somewhere in the interior a few loose stones fell
|
384 |
clattering. Conan wondered if the whole structure were about to collapse
|
385 |
beneath him, burying him in the debris.
|
386 |
-
|
387 |
"So much for you!" snarled the Cimmerian.
|
388 |
-
|
389 |
He went along the row of gargoyles until he found another that was loose and
|
390 |
directly over part of the slug's body. Down it went with another squashing
|
391 |
impact. A third missed and shattered on the pavement. A fourth and smaller
|
392 |
statue he picked bodily up and, muscles cracking with the strain, hurled
|
393 |
outward so that it fell on the writhing head.
|
394 |
-
|
395 |
As the beast's convulsions slowly subsided, Conan pushed over two more
|
396 |
gargoyles to make sure. When the body no longer writhed, he clambered down to
|
397 |
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
|
|
399 |
oozed out, and rippling morions ran through the wet, gray skin. But, even
|
400 |
though parts might retain signs of independent life, the slug as a whole was
|
401 |
dead.
|
402 |
-
|
403 |
Conan was still slashing furiously when a voice made him whirl about. It said:
|
404 |
-
|
405 |
"I've got you this time!"
|
406 |
-
|
407 |
It was Nestor, approaching sword in hand, with a bloodstained bandage around
|
408 |
his head in place of his helmet. The Gunderman stopped at the sight of the
|
409 |
slug. "Mitra! What is this?"
|
410 |
-
|
411 |
"It's the spook of Larsha," said Conan, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous
|
412 |
accent "It chased me over half the city before I slew it." As Nestor stared
|
413 |
incredulously, the Cimmerian continued: "What do you here? How many times must
|
414 |
I kill you before you stay dead?"
|
415 |
-
|
416 |
"You shall see how dead I am," grated Nestor, bringing his sword up to guard.
|
417 |
-
|
418 |
"What happened to your soldiers?"
|
419 |
-
|
420 |
"Dead in that rock slide you rigged, as you soon shall be—"
|
421 |
-
|
422 |
"Look, you fool," said Conan, "why waste your strength on sword strokes, when
|
423 |
there's more wealth here than the pair of us can carry away—if the tales are
|
424 |
true? You are a good man of your hands; why not join me to raid the treasure of
|
425 |
Larsha instead?"
|
426 |
-
|
427 |
"I must do my duty and avenge my men! Defend yourself, dog or a barbarian!"
|
428 |
-
|
429 |
"By Crom, I'll fight if you like!" growled Conan, bringing up his sword. "But
|
430 |
think, man! If you go back to Shadizar, they'll crucify you for losing your
|
431 |
command—even if you took my head with you, which I do not think you can do. If
|
432 |
one tenth of the stories are true, you'll get more from your share of the loot
|
433 |
than you'd earn in a hundred years as a mercenary captain."
|
434 |
-
|
435 |
Nestor had lowered his blade and stepped back. Now he stood mute, thinking
|
436 |
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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