Beyond the Black River

by Robert E. Howard

  5 The Children of Jhebbal Sag

  'Which way is the river?' Balthus was confused.

  'We don't dare try for the river now,' grunted Conan. 'The woods betweenthe village and the river are swarming with warriors. Come on! We'llhead in the last direction they'll expect us to go--west!'

  Looking back as they entered the thick growth, Balthus beheld the walldotted with black heads as the savages peered over. The Picts werebewildered. They had not gained the wall in time to see the fugitivestake cover. They had rushed to the wall expecting to repel an attack inforce. They had seen the body of the dead warrior. But no enemy was insight.

  Balthus realized that they did not yet know their prisoner had escaped.From other sounds he believed that the warriors, directed by the shrillvoice of Zogar Sag, were destroying the wounded serpent with arrows. Themonster was out of the shaman's control. A moment later the quality ofthe yells was altered. Screeches of rage rose in the night.

  Conan laughed grimly. He was leading Balthus along a narrow trail thatran west under the black branches, stepping as swiftly and surely as ifhe trod a well-lighted thoroughfare. Balthus stumbled after him, guidinghimself by feeling the dense wall on either hand.

  'They'll be after us now. Zogar's discovered you're gone, and he knowsmy head wasn't in the pile before the altar-hut. The dog! If I'd hadanother spear I'd have thrown it through him before I struck the snake.Keep to the trail. They can't track us by torchlight, and there are ascore of paths leading from the village. They'll follow those leading tothe river first--throw a cordon of warriors for miles along the bank,expecting us to try to break through. We won't take to the woods untilwe have to. We can make better time on this trail. Now buckle down to itand run as you never ran before.'

  'They got over their panic cursed quick!' panted Balthus, complying witha fresh burst of speed.

  'They're not afraid of anything, very long,' grunted Conan.

  For a space nothing was said between them. The fugitives devoted alltheir attention to covering distance. They were plunging deeper anddeeper into the wilderness and getting farther away from civilization atevery step, but Balthus did not question Conan's wisdom. The Cimmerianpresently took time to grunt: 'When we're far enough away from thevillage we'll swing back to the river in a big circle. No other villagewithin miles of Gwawela. All the Picts are gathered in that vicinity.We'll circle wide around them. They can't track us until daylight.They'll pick up our path then, but before dawn we'll leave the trail andtake to the woods.'

  They plunged on. The yells died out behind them. Balthus' breath waswhistling through his teeth. He felt a pain in his side, and runningbecame torture. He blundered against the bushes on each side of thetrail. Conan pulled up suddenly, turned and stared back down the dimpath.

  Somewhere the moon was rising, a dim white glow amidst a tangle ofbranches.

  'Shall we take to the woods?' panted Balthus.

  'Give me your ax,' murmured Conan softly. 'Something is close behindus.'

  'Then we'd better leave the trail!' exclaimed Balthus.

  Conan shook his head and drew his companion into a dense thicket. Themoon rose higher, making a dim light in the path.

  'We can't fight the whole tribe!' whispered Balthus.

  'No human being could have found our trail so quickly, or followed us soswiftly,' muttered Conan. 'Keep silent.'

  There followed a tense silence in which Balthus felt that his heartcould be heard pounding for miles away. Then abruptly, without a soundto announce its coming, a savage head appeared in the dim path. Balthus'heart jumped into his throat; at first glance he feared to look upon theawful head of the saber-tooth. But this head was smaller, more narrow;it was a leopard which stood there, snarling silently and glaring downthe trail. What wind there was was blowing toward the hiding men,concealing their scent. The beast lowered his head and snuffed thetrail, then moved forward uncertainly. A chill played down Balthus'spine. The brute was undoubtedly trailing them.

  And it was suspicious. It lifted its head, its eyes glowing like ballsof fire, and growled low in its throat. And at that instant Conan hurledthe ax.

  All the weight of arm and shoulder was behind the throw, and the ax wasa streak of silver in the dim moon. Almost before he realized what hadhappened, Balthus saw the leopard rolling on the ground in itsdeath-throes, the handle of the ax standing up from its head. The headof the weapon had split its narrow skull.

  Conan bounded from the bushes, wrenched his ax free and dragged the limpbody in among the trees, concealing it from the casual glance.

  'Now let's go, and go fast!' he grunted, leading the way southward, awayfrom the trail. 'There'll be warriors coming after that cat. As soon ashe got his wits back Zogar sent him after us. The Picts would followhim, but he'd leave them far behind. He'd circle the village until hehit our trail and then come after us like a streak. They couldn't keepup with him, but they'll have an idea as to our general direction.They'd follow, listening for his cry. Well, they won't hear that, butthey'll find the blood on the trail, and look around and find the bodyin the brush. They'll pick up our spoor there, if they can. Walk withcare.'

  He avoided clinging briars and low-hanging branches effortlessly,gliding between trees without touching the stems and always planting hisfeet in the places calculated to show least evidence of his passing; butwith Balthus it was slower, more laborious work.

  No sound came from behind them. They had covered more than a mile whenBalthus said: 'Does Zogar Sag catch leopard-cubs and train them forbloodhounds?'

  Conan shook his head. 'That was a leopard he called out of the woods.'

  'But,' Balthus persisted, 'if he can order the beasts to do his bidding,why doesn't he rouse them all and have them after us? The forest is fullof leopards; why send only one after us?'

  Conan did not reply for a space, and when he did it was with a curiousreticence.

  'He can't command all the animals. Only such as remember Jhebbal Sag.'

  'Jhebbal Sag?' Balthus repeated the ancient name hesitantly. He hadnever heard it spoken more than three or four times in his whole life.

  'Once all living things worshipped him. That was long ago, when beastsand men spoke one language. Men have forgotten him; even the beastsforget. Only a few remember. The men who remember Jhebbal Sag and thebeasts who remember are brothers and speak the same tongue.'

  Balthus did not reply; he had strained at a Pictish stake and seen thenighted jungle give up its fanged horrors at a shaman's call.

  'Civilized men laugh,' said Conan. 'But not one can tell me how ZogarSag can call pythons and tigers and leopards out of the wilderness andmake them do his bidding. They would say it is a lie, if they dared.That's the way with civilized men. When they can't explain something bytheir half-baked science, they refuse to believe it.'

  The people on the Tauran were closer to the primitive than mostAquilonians; superstitions persisted, whose sources were lost inantiquity. And Balthus had seen that which still prickled his flesh. Hecould not refute the monstrous thing which Conan's words implied.

  'I've heard that there's an ancient grove sacred to Jhebbal Sagsomewhere in this forest,' said Conan. 'I don't know. I've never seenit. But more beasts _remember_ in this country than any I've ever seen.'

  'Then others will be on our trail?'

  'They are now,' was Conan's disquieting answer. 'Zogar would never leaveour tracking to one beast alone.'

  'What are we to do, then?' asked Balthus uneasily, grasping his ax as hestared at the gloomy arches above him. His flesh crawled with themomentary expectation of ripping talons and fangs leaping from theshadows.

  'Wait!'

  Conan turned, squatted and with his knife began scratching a curioussymbol in the mold. Stooping to look at it over his shoulder, Balthusfelt a crawling of the flesh along his spine, he knew not why. He feltno wind against his face, but there was a rustling of leaves above themand a weird moaning swept ghostily through the branches. Conan glancedup inscrutably, then rose and stoo
d staring somberly down at the symbolhe had drawn.

  'What is it?' whispered Balthus. It looked archaic and meaningless tohim. He supposed that it was his ignorance of artistry which preventedhis identifying it as one of the conventional designs of some prevailingculture. But had he been the most erudite artist in the world, he wouldhave been no nearer the solution.

  'I saw it carved in the rock of a cave no human had visited for amillion years,' muttered Conan, 'in the uninhabited mountains beyond theSea of Vilayet, half a world away from this spot. Later I saw a blackwitch-finder of Kush scratch it in the sand of a nameless river. He toldme part of its meaning--it's sacred to Jhebbal Sag and the creatureswhich worship him. Watch!'

  They drew back among the dense foliage some yards away and waited intense silence. To the east drums muttered and somewhere to north andwest other drums answered. Balthus shivered, though he knew long milesof black forest separated him from the grim beaters of those drums whosedull pulsing was a sinister overture that set the dark stage for bloodydrama.

  Balthus found himself holding his breath. Then with a slight shaking ofthe leaves, the bushes parted and a magnificent panther came into view.The moonlight dappling through the leaves shone on its glossy coatrippling with the play of the great muscles beneath it.

  With its head held low it glided toward them. It was smelling out theirtrail. Then it halted as if frozen, its muzzle almost touching thesymbol cut in the mold. For a long space it crouched motionless; itflattened its long body and laid its head on the ground before the mark.And Balthus felt the short hairs stir on his scalp. For the attitude ofthe great carnivore was one of awe and adoration.

  Then the panther rose and backed away carefully, belly almost to theground. With his hind-quarters among the bushes he wheeled as if insudden panic and was gone like a flash of dappled light.

  Balthus mopped his brow with a trembling hand and glanced at Conan.

  The barbarian's eyes were smoldering with fires that never lit the eyesof men bred to the ideas of civilization. In that instant he was allwild, and had forgotten the man at his side. In his burning gaze Balthusglimpsed and vaguely recognized pristine images and half-embodiedmemories, shadows from Life's dawn, forgotten and repudiated bysophisticated races--ancient, primeval fantasms unnamed and nameless.

  Then the deeper fires were masked and Conan was silently leading the waydeeper into the forest.

  'We've no more to fear from the beasts,' he said after a while, 'butwe've left a sign for men to read. They won't follow our trail veryeasily, and until they find that symbol they won't know for sure we'veturned south. Even then it won't be easy to smell us out without thebeasts to aid them. But the woods south of the trail will be full ofwarriors looking for us. If we keep moving after daylight, we'll be sureto run into some of them. As soon as we find a good place we'll hide andwait until another night to swing back and make the river. We've got towarn Valannus, but it won't help him any if we get ourselves killed.'

  'Warn Valannus?'

  'Hell, the woods along the river are swarming with Picts! That's whythey got us. Zogar's brewing war-magic; no mere raid this time. He'sdone something no Pict has done in my memory--united as many as fifteenor sixteen clans. His magic did it; they'll follow a wizard farther thanthey will a war-chief. You saw the mob in the village; and there werehundreds hiding along the river bank that you didn't see. More coming,from the farther villages. He'll have at least three thousandfighting-men. I lay in the bushes and heard their talk as they wentpast. They mean to attack the fort; when, I don't know, but Zogardoesn't dare delay long. He's gathered them and whipped them into afrenzy. If he doesn't lead them into battle quickly, they'll fall toquarreling with one another. They're like blood-mad tigers.

  'I don't know whether they can take the fort or not. Anyway, we've gotto get back across the river and give the warning. The settlers on theVelitrium road must either get into the fort or back to Velitrium. Whilethe Picts are besieging the fort, war-parties will range the road far tothe east--might even cross Thunder River and raid the thickly settledcountry behind Velitrium.'

  As he talked he was leading the way deeper and deeper into the ancientwilderness. Presently he grunted with satisfaction. They had reached aspot where the underbrush was more scattered, and an outcropping ofstone was visible, wandering off southward. Balthus felt more secure asthey followed it. Not even a Pict could trail them over naked rock.

  'How did you get away?' he asked presently.

  Conan tapped his mail-shirt and helmet.

  'If more borderers would wear harness there'd be fewer skulls hanging onthe altar-huts. But most men make noise if they wear armor. They werewaiting on each side of the path, without moving. And when a Pict standsmotionless, the very beasts of the forest pass him without seeing him.They'd seen us crossing the river and got in their places. If they'dgone into ambush after we left the bank, I'd have had some hint of it.But they were waiting, and not even a leaf trembled. The devil himselfcouldn't have suspected anything. The first suspicion I had was when Iheard a shaft rasp against a bow as it was pulled back. I dropped andyelled for the men behind me to drop, but they were too slow, taken bysurprise like that.

  'Most of them fell at the first volley that raked us from both sides.Some of the arrows crossed the trail and struck Picts on the other side.I heard them howl.' He grinned with vicious satisfaction. 'Such of us aswere left plunged into the woods and closed with them. When I saw theothers were all down or taken, I broke through and outfooted the painteddevils through the darkness. They were all around me. I ran and crawledand sneaked, and sometimes I lay on my belly under the bushes while theypassed me on all sides.

  'I tried for the shore and found it lined with them, waiting for justsuch a move. But I'd have cut my way through and taken a chance onswimming, only I heard the drums pounding in the village and knew they'dtaken somebody alive.

  'They were all so engrossed in Zogar's magic that I was able to climbthe wall behind the altar-hut. There was a warrior supposed to bewatching at that point, but he was squatting behind the hut and peeringaround the corner at the ceremony. I came up behind him and broke hisneck with my hands before he knew what was happening. It was his spear Ithrew into the snake, and that's his ax you're carrying.'

  'But what was that--that thing you killed in the altar-hut?' askedBalthus, with a shiver at the memory of the dim-seen horror.

  'One of Zogar's gods. One of Jhebbal's children that didn't remember andhad to be kept chained to the altar. A bull ape. The Picts think they'resacred to the Hairy One who lives on the moon--the gorilla-god ofGullah.

  'It's getting light. Here's a good place to hide until we see how closethey're on our trail. Probably have to wait until night to break back tothe river.'

  A low hill pitched upward, girdled and covered with thick trees andbushes. Near the crest Conan slid into a tangle of jutting rocks,crowned by dense bushes. Lying among them they could see the junglebelow without being seen. It was a good place to hide or defend. Balthusdid not believe that even a Pict could have trailed them over the rockyground for the past four or five miles, but he was afraid of the beaststhat obeyed Zogar Sag. His faith in the curious symbol wavered a littlenow. But Conan had dismissed the possibility of beasts tracking them.

  A ghostly whiteness spread through the dense branches; the patches ofsky visible altered in hue, grew from pink to blue. Balthus felt thegnawing of hunger, though he had slaked his thirst at a stream they hadskirted. There was complete silence, except for an occasional chirp of abird. The drums were no longer to be heard. Balthus' thoughts revertedto the grim scene before the altar-hut.

  'Those were ostrich plumes Zogar Sag wore,' he said. 'I've seen them onthe helmets of knights who rode from the East to visit the barons of themarches. There are no ostriches in this forest, are there?'

  'They came from Kush,' answered Conan. 'West of here, many marches, liesthe seashore. Ships from Zingara occasionally come and trade weapons andornaments and wine to the coastal tribes f
or skins and copper ore andgold dust. Sometimes they trade ostrich plumes they got from theStygians, who in turn got them from the black tribes of Kush, which liessouth of Stygia. The Pictish shamans place great store by them. Butthere's much risk in such trade. The Picts are too likely to try toseize the ship. And the coast is dangerous to ships. I've sailed alongit when I was with the pirates of the Barachan Isles, which liesouthwest of Zingara.'

  Balthus looked at his companion with admiration.

  'I knew you hadn't spent your life on this frontier. You've mentionedseveral far places. You've traveled widely?'

  'I've roamed far; farther than any other man of my race ever wandered.I've seen all the great cities of the Hyborians, the Shemites, theStygians and the Hyrkanians. I've roamed in the unknown countries southof the black kingdoms of Kush, and east of the Sea of Vilayet. I've beena mercenary captain, a corsair, a _kozak_, a penniless vagabond, ageneral--hell, I've been everything except a king, and I may be that,before I die.' The fancy pleased him, and he grinned hardly. Then heshrugged his shoulders and stretched his mighty figure on the rocks.'This is as good life as any. I don't know how long I'll stay on thefrontier; a week, a month, a year. I have a roving foot. But it's aswell on the border as anywhere.'

  Balthus set himself to watch the forest below them. Momentarily heexpected to see fierce painted faces thrust through the leaves. But asthe hours passed no stealthy footfall disturbed the brooding quiet.Balthus believed the Picts had missed their trail and given up thechase. Conan grew restless.

  'We should have sighted parties scouring the woods for us. If they'vequit the chase, it's because they're after bigger game. They may begathering to cross the river and storm the fort.'

  'Would they come this far south if they lost the trail?'

  'They've lost the trail, all right; otherwise they'd have been on ournecks before now. Under ordinary circumstances they'd scour the woodsfor miles in every direction. Some of them should have passed withinsight of this hill. They must be preparing to cross the river. We've gotto take a chance and make for the river.'

  Creeping down the rocks Balthus felt his flesh crawl between hisshoulders as he momentarily expected a withering blast of arrows fromthe green masses about them. He feared that the Picts had discoveredthem and were lying about in ambush. But Conan was convinced no enemieswere near, and the Cimmerian was right.

  'We're miles to the south of the village,' grunted Conan. 'We'll hitstraight through for the river. I don't know how far down the riverthey've spread. We'll hope to hit it below them.'

  With haste that seemed reckless to Balthus they hurried eastward. Thewoods seemed empty of life. Conan believed that all the Picts weregathered in the vicinity of Gwawela, if indeed, they had not alreadycrossed the river. He did not believe they would cross in the daytime,however.

  'Some woodsman would be sure to see them and give the alarm. They'llcross above and below the fort, out of sight of the sentries. Thenothers will get in canoes and make straight across for the river wall.As soon as they attack, those hidden in the woods on the east shore willassail the fort from the other sides. They've tried that before, and gotthe guts shot and hacked out of them. But this time they've got enoughmen to make a real onslaught of it.'

  They pushed on without pausing, though Balthus gazed longingly at thesquirrels flitting among the branches, which he could have brought downwith a cast of his ax. With a sigh he drew up his broad belt. Theeverlasting silence and gloom of the primitive forest was beginning todepress him. He found himself thinking of the open groves andsun-dappled meadows of the Tauran, of the bluff cheer of his father'ssteep-thatched, diamond-paned house, of the fat cows browsing throughthe deep, lush grass, and the hearty fellowship of the brawny,bare-armed plowmen and herdsmen.

  He felt lonely, in spite of his companion. Conan was as much a part ofthis wilderness as Balthus was alien to it. The Cimmerian might havespent years among the great cities of the world; he might have walkedwith the rulers of civilization; he might even achieve his wild whimsome day and rule as king of a civilized nation; stranger things hadhappened. But he was no less a barbarian. He was concerned only with thenaked fundamentals of life. The warm intimacies of small, kindly things,the sentiments and delicious trivialities that make up so much ofcivilized men's lives were meaningless to him. A wolf was no less a wolfbecause a whim of chance caused him to run with the watchdogs. Bloodshedand violence and savagery were the natural elements of the life Conanknew; he could not, and would never, understand the little things thatare so dear to civilized men and women.

  The shadows were lengthening when they reached the river and peeredthrough the masking bushes. They could see up and down the river forabout a mile each way. The sullen stream lay bare and empty. Conanscowled across at the other shore.

  'We've got to take another chance here. We've got to swim the river. Wedon't know whether they've crossed or not. The woods over there may bealive with them. We've got to risk it. We're about six miles south ofGwawela.'

  He wheeled and ducked as a bow-string twanged. Something like a whiteflash of light streaked through the bushes. Balthus knew it was anarrow. Then with a tigerish bound Conan was through the bushes. Balthuscaught the gleam of steel as he whirled his sword, and heard a deathscream. The next instant he had broken through the bushes after theCimmerian.

  A Pict with a shattered skull lay face-down on the ground, his fingersspasmodically clawing at the grass. Half a dozen others were swarmingabout Conan, swords and axes lifted. They had cast away their bows,useless at such deadly close quarters. Their lower jaws were paintedwhite, contrasting vividly with their dark faces, and the designs ontheir muscular breasts differed from any Balthus had ever seen.

  One of them hurled his ax at Balthus and rushed after it with liftedknife. Balthus ducked and then caught the wrist that drove the knifelicking at his throat. They went to the ground together, rolling overand over. The Pict was like a wild beast, his muscles hard as steelstrings.

  Balthus was striving to maintain his hold on the wild man's wrist andbring his own ax into play, but so fast and furious was the strugglethat each attempt to strike was blocked. The Pict was wrenchingfuriously to free his knife hand, was clutching at Balthus' ax, anddriving his knees at the youth's groin. Suddenly he attempted to shifthis knife to his free hand, and in that instant Balthus, struggling upon one knee, split the painted head with a desperate blow of his ax.

  He sprang up and glared wildly about for his companion, expecting to seehim overwhelmed by numbers. Then he realized the full strength andferocity of the Cimmerian. Conan bestrode two of his attackers, shornhalf asunder by that terrible broadsword. As Balthus looked he saw theCimmerian beat down a thrusting shortsword, avoid the stroke of an axwith a cat-like sidewise spring which brought him within arm's length ofa squat savage stooping for a bow. Before the Pict could straighten, thered sword flailed down and clove him from shoulder to mid-breastbone,where the blade stuck. The remaining warriors rushed in, one from eitherside. Balthus hurled his ax with an accuracy that reduced the attackersto one, and Conan, abandoning his efforts to free his sword, wheeled andmet the remaining Pict with his bare hands. The stocky warrior, a headshorter than his tall enemy, leaped in, striking with his ax, at thesame time stabbing murderously with his knife. The knife broke on theCimmerian's mail, and the ax checked in midair as Conan's fingers lockedlike iron on the descending arm. A bone snapped loudly, and Balthus sawthe Pict wince and falter. The next instant he was swept off his feet,lifted high above the Cimmerian's head--he writhed in midair for aninstant, kicking and thrashing, and then was dashed headlong to theearth with such force that he rebounded, and then lay still, his limpposture telling of splintered limbs and a broken spine.

  'Come on!' Conan wrenched his sword free and snatched up an ax. 'Grab abow and a handful of arrows, and hurry! We've got to trust to our heelsagain. That yell was heard. They'll be here in no time. If we tried toswim now, they'd feather us with arrows before we reached midstream!'