Conan the Liberator

by Lyon Sprague de Camp

“My daughter. She’s dead,” said Silvanus. “He took her. If the gods vouchsafe me a single chance, I will tear his throat out with my very teeth.” The captain’s voice shook, and his hands trembled with the intensity of his emotion.

  A savage gleam of blue balefire shone in Conan’s eyes. His oflBcers stirred uneasily, knowing that mistreatment of women roused the ruthless Cimmerian’s furious indignation. He showed the miniature around and returned it to Silvanus, saying:

  “We want more information on Count Ulric’s army. How many are they?”

  “Nearly twenty-five thousand, I believe.”

  “Whence did Ulric get so many? The Army of the North had no such strength when I left the mad king’s service.”

  “Many of Prince Numitor’s Frontiersmen, when they recovered from their panic, rallied and joined Count Ulric. And the regiment of the Black Dragons was ordered from Tarantia.”

  “What befell Numitor after the rout?

  “He slew himself in despair over his failure.”

  THE KEY TO THE CITY

  “Are you certain?” asked Conan, “Amulius Procas was said to have killed himself, but I know that he was murdered.”

  “There is no doubt of it, sir. Prince Numitor stabbed himself before witnesses.”

  “A pity,” said Trocero. “He was the most decent of the lot, if too simple-hearted for a bloody civil war.”

  Conan rumbled: “This calls for discussion. Pal-lantides, find sleeping quarters for Captain Silvanus and his men; then rejoin us here. Good-night, Captain.”

  Publius, who had said Uttle, now spoke up: “A moment, if you please, Captain Silvanus. Who was yoiu- father?”

  The oflBcer, at the tent flap, turned. “Silvius Macro, sir. Why do you ask?”

  “I knew him when I served the king as treasurer. Good-night”

  When the captain had departed, Conan said: "Well, what think you? At least, it’s good to have men deserting to us—^not from us—for a change.”

  “I think,” said Prospero, “that Thulandra Thuu seeks to plant a new assassin in our midst. He’U but await to chance to shde a knife between your ribs, then ride like a fiend from hell.”

  Trocero said: “I disagree. He looked to me like a straightforward yoimg oflBcer, not like one of Numedides’ feUow-debauchees or Thulandra’s en-sorceled minions.”

  “You cannot trust appearances," rejoined Prospero. "An apple may look never so rosy and still be fiUed with worms.”

  “If you vdll permit me,” interrupted Publius, “I knew the young man’s father. He was a fine, upstanding citizen—and still is, if he lives.”

  “Like father not always is like son,” gnmibled Prospero.

  “Prospero,” said Conan, “your concern for my

  safety does me honor. But a man must take his chances, especially in war. However much you guard me against a secret dagger, Ulric is like to kill us one and all, unless by some sudden stroke we can reverse our fortunes.”

  For an instant there was silence as Conan sat brooding, his deep-set blue eyes focused on the ground before him. At last he said:

  “I have a plan—a perilous plan, yet fraught with no more danger than our present situation. Tarantia is defenseless, stripped of her soldiery, whilst mad Numedides plays immortal god upon his throne. A band of desperate men, disguised as Dragons of the Household Guard, might reach the palace and— “

  “Conanl” shouted Trocero. “An inspiration from the godsl 111 lead the foray.'’

  ”You are too important to Poitain, my lord," said Prospero. “It is I who— "

  “Neither of you goes," said Conan firmly, “Poitanians are not greatly loved in the central provinces, whose people have not forgotten your invasion of their land during the war with King Vilerus.”

  “Who then?'’ asked Trocero. “Pallantides?'’

  Conan shook his full black mane, and his face glowed with the lust of battle. “I shall perform this task as best I may, or die in the trying. Ill choose a squad of seasoned veterans, and we’ll borrow surcoats and helmets from Captain Silvanus’ men. Silvanus— 1'11 bring him, also, to identify us at the gates. Aye, he is the key to the city.”

  Pubhus held up a cautionary hand. “A moment, gentlemen. Conan’s plan might weU succeed in ordinary warfare. But in Tarantia you deal not merely with a demented king but also with a malevolent sorcerer, whose mystic passes and words of magic can move mountains and call demons from the earth or sea or sky.”

  THE KEY TO THE CITY

  “Wizards don’t terrify me,” said Conan. "Years ago, in Khoraja, I faced one of the deadliest and slew him despite his flutterings and mutterijigs."

  “How did you that?” asked Trocero.

  "I threw my sword at him.”

  "Do not comit on such a feat again,” said Publius. "Your strength is great and your senses keener than those of common men; but fortune is not always kind, even to heroes.”

  "When my time comes, it comes,” growled Conan.

  “But your time may well be our time, too,” said Prospero. “Let me send for Dexitheus. A Mitrian priest knows more of the world beyond than we ordinary mortals do.”

  Conan gave in, albeit with ill grace.

  Dexitheus listened with folded hands to Conan’s plan. At length he spoke gravely; “Publius is right, Conan. Do not underestimate the power of Thulandra Thuu. We of the priesthood have some notion of the dark, nameless forces beyond man s fathoming.”

  “Whence comes this pestilent thaumaturge?” asked Trocero. “Men say he is a Vendhyan; others, a Stygian.”

  “Neither,” replied Dexitheus. “In my priestly brotherhood we call him a Lemurian, coming—I know not how—^from islands far beyond the known world, eastward, in the ocean beyond Khitai. These shrouded isles are all that remains of a once spacious land that sank beneath the waves. To outwit a sorcerer with powers such as his, our general needs more than material arms and armor.”

  Trocero asked; “Are there no wizards in this camp who would accept this service?”

  “Nay!” snorted Conan. “I have no use for tricksters such as those. I would not harbor one or seek his aid.”

  Dexitheus’ expression became doleful. “General, though you know it not, I am much discomfited,”

  “How so. Reverence?” said Conan. “I owe you

  CONAN THE LIBERATOH

  much and would not distress you without cause. Speak not in riddles, good friend/’

  “You have no use for wizards. General, calling them charlatans and quacks; yet there is one you count among your friends. You have need of a magician; yet you refuse the help of such a one.” Dexitheus paused and Conan beckoned him to continue.

  "Know, then, that in my youth I studied the black arts, albeit I advanced httle beyond the lowest grades of sorcery. Later I saw the Hght of Mitra and forswore aU dealings with demons and the forces of the occult. Had the priesthood learned of my wizardly past, I should not have been admitted to their order. Therefore, when I accompany you on this perilous mission— “

  'What, you?” cried Conan, frowning. "Wizard or no, you are too old to gallop a hundred leagues! You would not survive it.”

  “On the contrary, I am of tougher fiber than you think. The ascetic life lends me a vigor far beyond my years, and you will need me to cast a counter-spell or two. But when I accompany you, my secret will come out. I shall be forced to resign my holy oflBce—a sad ending to my life’s career.”

  “Meseems the use of magic for a worthy end is a forgivable sin,” said Conan.

  "To you, sir; not to my order, which is most intolerant in the matter. But I have no alternative; I shall use what powers I have for Aquilonia.” His sigh was heavy with tears too deep for thought.

  “After it’s over,” said Conan, “perchance I can persuade your priesthood to make exception to the rigor of their rules. Prepare, good friend, to leave within the hour.”

  “This very night?”

  “When better? If we wait upon the morrow, we may find the camp henmied
in by royalists. Prospero, pick me a troop of your most skillful mounted fighters.

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  See that each man has not one horse, but two, to allow for frequent changes. But do it quietly. We must out-nm the news of our departure. As for the rest of you, keep the men busy improving oiu: defenses whilst I am gone. To all of you, farewellP

  The half-moon barely cleared the treetops when a colmnn of horsemen, each leading a spare mount, issued stealthily from the rebel camp. In the lead rode Conan, wearing the helmet and white surooat of the Black Dragons. With him rode Captain Silvanus, and behind them trotted Dexitheus, priest of Mitra, likewise attired. Fifty of Ck)nan’s most trusted troopers followed, disguised in the same manner as their leaders.

  Under Silvanus’ guidance, the coliunn swimg wide of the royalist encampment When they were once again on the Tarantia road, they broke into a steady trot The moon set, and black night swallowed up the line of desperate men.

  DARKNESS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  The sun had set, and overhead a brilliant half-moon hung suspended in a cloudless sky. At the royal palace of Tarantia, the king’s solitary supper, served on gold platters in his private dining-room, had been cleared away. Save for a taster standing behind the royal armchair, two bodyguards stationed at the silver-studded doorway, and the footmen who served the royal meats, none had attended him to join in the repast.

  Thousands of lamps and candles blazed in the royal chambers—so bountiful the light that a stranger, entering, would wonder whether a coronation or a neighboring monarch’s visit occasioned this opulent display.

  Yet the palace seemed curiously deserted. Instead of the chatter of lovely ladies, chivahous youths, and high-ranking nobles of the kingdom, echoes from the past reverberated down the marble halls, empty save for a few guards, on whose silvered breastplates the multitude of candles were reflected. The guards were either adolescent boys or graybeard oldsters; for when the household guard marched south to confront the

  DARKNESS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  rebels, the king’s oflBcials had hastily replaced the corps of the Black Dragons with lads in training and retired veterans.

  The lamps and candles burned all night, as the long—fancying himself a sun god—deemed naught but the hght of day at night worthy of his exalted station. Thus, scurrying servants hastened from lamp to lamp to assiu^e sufficient oil in each and carried armfuls of candles from chandelier to chandeher to replace those that flickered out.

  As the king’s madness waxed, the courtiers and civil servants, normally in attendance, stole away. Foremost among these was Vibius Latro, who had offices and living quarters in the palace. The chancellor had sent a message to Numedides, begging a short leave of absence. His health, the note continued, was breaking down from long hours of work, and without a brief respite at his coimtry seat, he feared he could no longer further the interests of His Majesty.

  Having just flogged one of his concubines to death, Numedides, in rare good humor, granted his request. Latro forthwith loaded his family into a traveling carriage and set out for his estates, north of Tarantia. At the first crossroads, he veered eastward and, lashing his horses, raced for the Nemedian border two hundred leagues away. Other members of the king’s official family likewise found compelling reasons for a leave of absence and speedily departed.

  Nmnedides' throne in the Chamber of Private Audience stood upon a patterned Iranistani carpet, woven of fine wools artfuUy dyed to the color of rubies, jades, amethysts, and sapphires and shot through with threads of gold. The chair itself, an ornate structure, though less imposing than the Ruby Throne in the Public Throne Room, was tastelessly embellished with dragons, lions, swords, and stars. The

  CONAN THE LIBERATOR

  Numedides’ Throne

  heraldic eagle of the Numedidean dynasty soared up from the tall back, its wings and eyes studded with precious stones that sparkled in the generous candlelight

  DiVB£NE8S IN THE MOOhO^ICHT

  The king’s silver scepter—the ceremonial symbol of kingship—lay across the purple-pillowed seat, while the Sword of State, a great two-handed weapon, bejeweled of hilt and scabbard, reposed on one of the chair’s broad arms.

  Two persons stood in the chamber: King Numedides, wearing the slender golden circlet that was the crown of Aquilonia and a crimson robe bespotted with stains of food, wine, and vomit; and Alcina, clad in a clinging gown of sea-green silk.

  From opposite sides of the gilt throne they glared at each other. Alcina hissed:

  '^ou mangy old dog! I will die before I submit to your perversionsl You cannot catch me, you old, fat, filthy heap of oflFal! Go find a bitch or a sow to vent your lusts uponl Like to likel”

  "I said I would not hurt you, little spitfire!” wheezed Numedides. “But catch you I willl None can escape the desires of a king, let alone a godl Come herel”

  Nimiedides suddenly moved sidewise, in a feint at which he showed himself surprisingly nimble. Caught unawares, Alcina leaped back, losing the protection of the ornate chair. Then, with outspread arms and clutching hands, the long herded her into a comer far removed from either pair of double doors, whose pilastered frames adorned the walls to left and right of the ostentatious throne.

  Alcina’s fingers flew to her bodice and whipped out a slender dagger, tipped with the same poison ihat had slain Amulius Procas. “Keep back, I warn youl” she cried. “One prick of this, and you will diel”

  Numedides gave back a step. "You little fool, know you not that I am impervious to your envenomed bodkin?”

  "We shall soon see whether you are or not, if you approach me closer.”

  The king retreated to his throne and caught up his

  scepter. Then once more he stalked the trembling girL When Alcina raised her dagger, he struck a blow with his silver club, hitting her hand. The dagger spun away and bounced across the carpet, while Alcina, with a cry of anguish, caught her bruised hand to her breast.

  “Now, you little witch,” said Nimiedides, “we shaU—”

  The pair of doors on the right side of the audience chamber sprang open. Thulandra Thuu, leaning on his carven staff, stood on the threshold.

  “How came you here?” thundered Numedides. “The doors were lockedl”

  The dark-skinned sorcerer s siblant voice was the crack of a whip. “Your Majestyl I warned you not to molest my servants!"

  The Idng scowled. "We were just playing a harmless game. And who are you to warn a god of aught? Who is the ruler here?"

  Thulandra Thuu smiled a thin and bitter smile. “You reign here, but you do not rule. I do."

  Numedides' jowls empurpled with his waxing wrath. “You blasphemous ^otdl Out of my sight, ere I blast you with my lightnings!"

  “Calm yourself. Majesty. I have news— "

  The king’s voice rose to a scream: “I said get out! m show you— "

  Numedides’ groping hand brushed the hilt of the Sword of State. He drew the ponderous blade from its jewelled scabbard and advanced upon Thulandra Thuu, swinging the weapon with both hands. The sorcerer calmly awaited his approach.

  With an incoherent shriel^ the king whirled the sword in a decapitating blow. At the last instant Thulandra, whose expression had not changed, brought up his staff to parry. Steel and carven wood met with a ringing crash, as if Thulandra, too, wielded a

  DARKNESS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  massive sword. With a dexterous twirl of his staff, the sorcerer whipped the weapon from the king’s hands and sent it flying upwards, turning over and over in the air. As it descended, the blade struck Numedides in the face, laying open a finger-long gash in the king’s cheek. Blood trickled into his rusty beard.

  Numedides clapped a hand to his cheek and stared stupidly at the blood dripping from his fingers. “I bleed, just like a mortall" he mumbled. “How can that be?”

  'Tfou have a distance yet to go ere you wear the mantle of divinity," said Thulandra Thuu with a narrow smile.

  The king bellowed in a
sudden rage of fear: “Slaves! PagesI Phaedol ManiusI Where in the nine heUs are you? Your divine master is being murderedl'

  “It will do him no good," said Alcina, evenly. '‘He told me that he had ordered all his servants elsewhere in the palace, so I might scream my head off to no avail.” And she tossed back her night-tipped hair with her uninjured hand.

  “Where are my loyal subjects?" whimpered Numedides. “ValeriusI Procasl ThespiusI Gromell Volmanal Where are my courtiers? Where is Vibius Latro? Has everyone deserted me? Does no one love me any more, despite all I have done for Aquilonia?" The abandoned monarch began to weep.

  “As you know in your more lucid moments," the sorcerer said sternly, “Procas is dead; Vibius Latro has fled; and Gromel has deserted to the enemy. Volmana is fighting imder Count Ulric, as are the others. Now, pray sit down and listen; I have things of moment to relate."

  Waddling to the throne, Numedides sank down, his spotted robe billowing about him. He pulled a dirty kerchief from his sleeve and pressed it to his wounded cheek, where it grew red with blood.

  “Unless you can better control yourself,” said Thulandra Thuu, “I shall have to do away with you and rule directly, instead of through you as before/’

  “You never wiU be Idng!" mumbled Numedides. “Not a man in Aquilonia would obey you. You are not of royal blood. You are not an Aquilonian. You are not even a Hyborian. I begin to doubt if you are even a human being.” He paused, glowering. “So even if we hate each other, you need me as much as I need you.

  “Well, what is this news at which you hint? Good ^ news, I hope. Speak up, sir sorcerer; do not keep me in suspense!”

  “If you will but listen … I cast our horoscopes this afternoon and discovered the imminence of deadly peril.”

  “Peril? From what source?”

  “That I cannot say; the indications were unclear. It surely cannot be the rebel army. My visions on the astral plane, confirmed by yesterday’s message from Count Ulric, inform me that the rebels are penned beyond Elymia. They will soon retreat in face of hopeless odds, disperse in despair, or sufEer annihilation. We have naught to fear from them.”