The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  "I need a sword," Conan said, "something with heft and length. And a cloak."

  "I have a stock of both," Gold-tooth replied. "And breeches, tunics, boots-"

  "Aye, boots."

  The proprietor led Conan to a second room, filled with supplies. Conan tried on several pairs of boots, but found none large enough. He settled for some thick-soled sandals with leg lashings; they would do well enough, since he was riding and not walking. A well-spun cloak, dyed indigo, was draped over his shoulders, and he nodded. It would suffice. Finally, he chose a sword. He found a double-edged blade as long as the distance between his outstretched fingertips and the middle of his chest. The handle was more ornate than he liked, but the steel seemed sound, and the edges were of sufficient sharpness to shave hair from the back of one hand. He would rather have had his own broadsword, but this one would have to do.

  "A wise choice," Gold-tooth said. "The steel is of the many-folds variety, brought all the way from Turan."

  "Do you know gems?" Conan asked.

  "Why, certainly. I am passing familiar with-"

  "Examine this, then." Conan dug into his belt purse and produced the single emerald remaining from the booty he had attempted to remove from Lemparius's household. He flipped the stone at the man's face.

  Gold-tooth deftly picked the jewel from the air. He held it up to the light and squinted at the emerald. From his jacket he produced an eyeglass, and used the instrument to peer at the stone. Conan saw the man's eyes widen at the sight of the emerald.

  "Well?"

  "It-ah-has some value," Gold-tooth said. From the way he spoke, Conan thought the man's mouth had gone dry.

  "Enough to pay for our supplies?"

  The merchant started to smile, stopped, then turned the expression into a frown. "It-ah-would go some way as payment, yes. Perhaps . . . half, I would think."

  Conan had dealt with men such as Gold-tooth; they would lie to their own mothers without a second thought, especially when matters of money were in question.

  "In Zamora," Conan began, "such a precious stone would buy a dozen horses and five times the supplies you have furnished."

  Gold-tooth's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained bland. "Perhaps it is so; however, this is not Zamora. Perhaps I might allow three-quarters of the debt for this-ah-bauble."

  Conan shook his head, and his blue eyes sent a penetrating gaze at the small man. "I have not the time to play bargaining games with you. You shall have the stone for our supplies; speak no more about it."

  "Oh? It seems to me that I hold the upper hand here, outlander. I can choose not to trade." Despite his words, he maintained his hold on the emerald, greed showing in his face.

  Conan pulled his new sword from its stiff leathern sheath and aimed the point of the blade at Gold-tooth's throat. "No more of your unctuous babble, merchant! Accept the trade and live. Refuse at your peril!"

  "I-ah-have-ah-men I can call!" Gold-tooth's voice trembled. He licked his lips, flashing his tooth at Conan.

  "Do," Conan said. "Such would make my day. A thick coat of blood upon your stock would no doubt improve its appearance. Call your men."

  Gold-tooth swallowed dryly, and licked his lips again. "I find that-ah-I am willing to accept the loss on-ah-the trade as you suggest-in the interests of maintaining-ah-good market relations."

  Conan grinned. "I thought you might see it so." He turned and walked quickly from the room, his cape flaring behind him. He found Vitarius and the sisters awaiting him.

  "Mount," Conan commanded. "It is time we departed this rabbit warren."

  Lemparius waved his left arm at his men and yelled loudly in his anger.

  "Fifty solons to the man who brings me the barbar! Breathing. And slow torture to the man responsible if the barbarian dies before I see him again."

  A hundred men stared at the senator, nodding. None spoke.

  "Go. I will not have him escape!"

  The deputies left the courtyard at a double-time pace, accompanied by Lemparius's curses. His left fist clenched tightly, but not his right-that arm was securely bandaged and strapped to his body, protection for the wound which ran from elbow to wrist in length, and to the bone. Had such a wound been inflicted by an ordinary weapon, it would already have been healed; since the cut was made by his own saber-tooth knife, which bore a cat-enchantment, it would fare as any normal man's surgery.

  Damn the barbarian! He would learn the meaning of pain once he was returned. Djuvula would have no need of his heart, of that Lemparius was certain-he could fill her needs. But Conan owed him for this injury.

  Loganaro was close to panic. The barbarian and his party were leaving, an idiot could see that. How was he to stop them? The thought of facing Lemparius made the fat agent shudder. On the other hand, the idea of trying to stand against the truculent barbarian also had little appeal.

  The four mounted their horses as Loganaro watched. By Yama, he could not simply allow them to leave! He must delay them somehow, must invent some story that would keep the barbarian in Mornstadinos until he could gather help.

  With that thought Loganaro ran forward, mind working frantically.

  "Sir," he called, "delay a moment! You remember me, don't you? I am Loganaro, we met in the village-" He stopped and gawked at Conan. Two things he noticed at once: The barbarian was pulling his sword-a new blade, from its look-and at his side he carried Lemparius's curved knife, sheathless, through his belt!

  Conan stared at the fat man, intending to behead him. But there were people about; somebody might call the deputies, and he had enough to worry about as it was. Then a thought struck him, and Conan smiled. He sheathed his sword, recalling the conversation he had overheard while pretending to be unconscious in the witch's bedchamber. "Nay, fat one,"

  he said, "I shall not spit your carcass on my new steel. That would be too merciful."

  "Y-young sir, what can you mean? I have done you no harm-"

  "Through no lack of trying, I'll wager. I see you recognize the knife I carry."

  "N-n-no, I've never seen it-"

  "Its former owner is your master, cur. I speak of Lemparius, senator and werepanther."

  "Werepanther?"

  "Ah, you did not know this? No matter. He is not your problem, doomed one. There is a woman, a witch-"

  "Djuvula!"

  Conan smiled. "Aye, you know of her too. Well that you should, for she wishes to make tripe of your guts."

  "But-but-why?"

  "Your former master gave you to her, dog. It seems the lady does not care for your manner of changing alliances. In trying to serve two, you have been abandoned by both."

  "No!"

  Conan laughed again. "Were I you, fat one, I would relocate my business to another city. Or another country. And quickly."

  Loganaro turned and sprinted away, uttering oaths as he ran. It was one of the funniest things Conan had ever seen, and he laughed so hard, he nearly was unhorsed.

  Vitarius said, "I was not aware you knew such a subdolous weasel as Loganaro, Conan."

  Conan's laugh dwindled to a chuckle. "Only in passing," he said.

  Vitarius led the way through the alleys and back streets toward the west gate of Mornstadinos. Eldia and Kinna followed close behind, and Conan brought up the rear, watching carefully for signs of pursuit. He saw a group of five deputies once, but they were at cross-angles to his path, moving away. Good.

  The west gate was unguarded, save by a single man. This one leaned on his pike, engaged in ribald conversation with a dark short-haired trull with a heavily painted face. As Conan rode past the sentry, the man, intent on arguing over the price the woman was asking for her favors, did not even look up.

  The sun was past the mid-afternoon point when the four rode unhampered from Mornstadinos. Conan could hardly recall any place he was happier to leave. Weighed against the double-dealing and intrigue of the citizens he had encountered in Mornstadinos, an attack upon a wizard in a magically fortified castle seemed almost an i
nsignificant task.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Several hours out of Mornstadinos the party of four stopped to allow their horses rest. Aside from themselves Conan had seen no other travelers. The Corinthian road was empty.

  Vitarius drank from a goatskin, splashing wine into his mouth until it dribbled down his chin. He passed the skin to Conan, who filled his own mouth several times, swallowing noisily.

  Eldia and Kinna moved toward a thick stand of bushes. Conan called to them. "Careful."

  Kinna waved the staff she carried. "Do not worry. I can attend to the rabbits and ground monks with this."

  Vitarius said. "You had a story you were going to tell."

  "Aye." Conan began to speak of his recent adventures. Shortly after he had started, the women returned.

  When he finished, Kinna shook her head. "It seems you live a life charmed of the gods, Conan."

  "Perhaps. I do not depend upon gods, however." He patted his sword with one callused hand. "Steel is much better. A good sword acts as a man demands and is as good as the man who wields it. Gods act for their own reasons, and cannot be depended upon in times of danger."

  "Think you that the senator will send pursuit?" Eldia asked.

  The Cimmerian shrugged. "Possible. He has no love for me. If the whoremonger at the gate recalls our passage, Lemparius might well dispatch his minions our way. At the crest of the last hill I looked back, but saw no dust along the road. If we are pursued, we have several hours on them."

  Kinna nodded.

  "That will likely be the least of our worries," Vitarius said.

  "Sovartus has set certain . . . wards upon the roads leading away from Mornstadinos. We are five days ride from Dodligia Plain, upon which his foul castle rests. Before then we must pass whatever guards he has posted-not to mention the Bloddolk Forest."

  "Bloddolk Forest?" the young Cimmerian repeated.

  "Aye. A place of strange fauna and stranger flora. It lies away from the Corinthian road, to the north, along a side path. We must travel that way to reach Sovartus's domain. Not many men essay to ride that path; of those who do, few return."

  Conan shrugged. The forest was in the future, not something to worry about now. "Best we resume riding," he said. "If men do follow, we are gained upon as we sit."

  The four mounted their horses and moved off.

  Djuvula swayed, sweat drenching her naked form. She moaned once, and clenched more tightly the clothing she held. Conan's clothing.

  Djavul watched with interest, but without any stirring of carnal passion for the unclothed woman. His interest lay in finding the savage who had wounded him.

  Djuvula collapsed. After a moment she arose, breathing deeply. She walked to where she had hung her robe, donned the garment, then turned toward her demon half-brother. "He rides the Corinthian road," she said. "With the girl and the others. They are half a day out."

  Djavul nodded. "Good. I shall go and find them."

  "Carefully, brother. They are no less than they were the last time you confronted them."

  Djavul waved his injured arm. Already at the stump a new growth could be seen, the outline of tiny fingers. "I have learned some caution in dealing with the Firechild. I shall bide my time until an opportune moment presents itself."

  "See that you do. And remember, I want the barbarian's living heart-I care not for what shape the rest of him might be in."

  Djavul grinned; slime dripped from his fangs. "You shall have it, sister dear. He will hardly have any use for it after I am done with him."

  Djavul vanished amid his booming-bruise of color.

  Three days after the barbarian's escape from her chamber, Djuvula had a visitor, or, rather, two visitors. One was Lemparius; the other, Loganaro.

  The senator shoved the fat man into the room before him. Loganaro's hands were bound, and his pasty face was stained with sweat and fear.

  "A present for you, dear one," Lemparius said.

  Djuvula smiled, showing even white teeth. "Why, Lemparius, how delightful! He's just what I wanted."

  "Ah, good. I thought it might be so. And there is the matter of something I wanted as well, lady."

  Djuvula's smiled increased. "I recall. What of your . . . injuries?"

  "The . . . first is healed. The cut nearly so-I have had it stitched with saber-cat mane hair."

  "Come into my bedchamber, then. Loganaro will wait for us here, won't you?"

  Loganaro was too frightened to speak; he merely nodded dumbly.

  Djuvula took Lemparius by the arm and led him into her chamber.

  A long time passed, it seemed to Loganaro. Small cries occasionally issued forth from the bedchamber, but Loganaro knew these sounds were not those of pain.

  After what seemed like years-hours, certainly-the chamber door opened, and Lemparius stumbled out. He looked as if he had been embattled; his face was flushed, his naked form was covered with sweat, and he moved as might a man twice his age. After a moment Djuvula followed the senator into the antechamber. She, too, was nude.

  "Come, Lemparius." she said, "we have only begun."

  Lemparius shook his head. "Nay, woman. l am finished. I can do no more."

  "What of your enhancement?" Her voice was as sweet as that of a young virgin nun. Loganaro swallowed dryly. He had no desire to be party to this.

  "Do not mock me, woman! No man could do better!"

  "You deceive yourself. Many have done so," Djuvula said. Her voice sharpened a little. She had one fist clenched tightly next to her bare leg.

  Lemparius growled. The sound startled Loganaro with its animal overtones.

  "In fact," Djuvula continued, "I suspect an average eunuch might do nearly as well."

  The senator snarled. "Witch! You will be sorry!"

  Loganaro watched in horror as the man he knew shifted shape, becoming a great tawny cat that lashed its tail rapidly back and forth. The beast faced the woman, roaring.

  Loganaro edged toward the exit to the antechamber. His heart pounded as if a maddened drummer worked it.

  "So," Djuvula said, "you would turn the beast loose upon me, would you?"

  The panther advanced a step toward her.

  Loganaro sidled closer to the portal. They did not seem to notice him.

  By Mitra, Yama, and Set, if he escaped this, he would reform, he would become a priest, he would never do another dishonest thing as long as he lived!

  Djuvula raised her clenched fist in front of her face. "You are a poor loser, Senator. Turn and leave now, and I shall forgive you your ill grace."

  The cat took another step toward the woman and lashed its tail faster.

  It began to settle into a crouch, preparing to spring.

  Loganaro reached the doorway. With his bound hands he caught the latch and lifted it.

  Djuvula made a backhand toss at the panther with her fist, opening her fingers as she did so; a fine white powder sprayed from her palm into the face of the animal.

  The cat sneezed: once, twice, a third time. It backed away a step and batted at its face with one paw.

  "You have just been enspelled, cat-who-was-a-senator," Djuvula said, laughing. "I suspected you might try such as this. So now, there are three things you can no longer do: You cannot attack me, you cannot change your form back to that which you were, and you cannot enjoy the company of female panthers, should you manage to find any." The witch laughed again, the sound deep and throaty and totally amused.

  The panther snarled and leaped toward the woman, but seemed to meet an invisible wall two paces from her. It rebounded, recoiled, leaped again, and again hit the same wall.

  Djuvula put her hands upon her smooth hips and continued to laugh at the panther.

  Loganaro waited no longer. He jerked open the door and ran. For one so portly, he moved faster than he would have believed possible. He did not stop running until he had covered half the distance to the west gate. Then he slowed only long enough to catch his breath before he started running again.


  "We'll camp here for the night," Conan said. Ahead, he could see the edges of the forest Vitarius seemed to dread so. Despite his apparent lack of concern, the Cimmerian himself had no particular desire to camp in there.

  The evening gloom was deepening as Conan gathered wood for the fire. He had the feeling he was being watched, no matter that he could see no one regardless of how fast he turned. He had learned to trust his instincts, and so resolved to stay alert.

  When he mentioned his feeling to Vitarius, the old man nodded. "Aye,"

  he said, "I feel the prickle of a stare from hidden eyes as you do. It may be nothing, or some animal, but we are close to the forest and it would be wise to take precautions. I shall mount a small spell, a warning enchantment to surround our camp. If anything larger than a rat tries to approach, we shall know of it."

  Reluctantly, Conan nodded. He could do without any forms of thaumaturgy were it up to him; still, if someone-or something-watched and he could not see it with his own sharp eyes, then it was apt to be more lamialike than natural. One witch was enough; let the magician cast his spell-Conan would sleep lightly with his blade at hand.

  Once the fire was blazing he felt better. No animal would venture close to fire, and the darkness was kept at bay by the dancing flames.

  After a cold meal of dried pork and legumes, Vitarius crawled into his blankets and quickly fell asleep. Eldia soon followed, wrapped in her robes and covers close to the fire. She looked much younger as the flickering shadows waved over her face.

  Kinna came to sit next to Conan. They stared at the fire quietly for a time, neither of them speaking. He felt the heat and presence of the girl next to him in a way different from the fire's warmth.

  Finally, Kinna spoke. "This is all so strange to me. You are a man of the world; you have seen many adventures. I, on the other hand, have spent nearly all my life as a farmer's daughter, never venturing far from home. Until now."

  Conan looked at the young woman, but said nothing.

  "I have never met a man as brave and strong as you, Conan. You risk your life for something that hardly concerns you."