The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  He had a spear in his left hand and the broadsword-blazing in his right as he plunged to the trail.

  ***

  Kubwande and the warriors watching the rear whirled at the sudden din, raising spears and shields, waiting for the jungle to sprout enemies, or at least answers. Curiosity might eat at them, but it was the honor of a Bamula warrior to watch only where he had sworn to watch and not let his eyes wander like a woman's.

  Only when Idosso shouted, "All men to the fore!" was the rearguard released from its oath. Then curiosity lent wings to Kubwande's feet as he led his men forward to Idosso's aid.

  It was not at once clear what aid the senior chief might need. He gripped one Fish-Eater woman by her nose ring and the waist of her skirt, while another warrior was kneeling on the back of a second woman.

  The second woman was entirely naked, save for the rawhide thongs now being swiftly looped about her wrists. A hobble hung from the warrior's loinguard, ready to encircle the woman's ankles.

  "Idosso, it will be a sad day for the Bamulas when a warrior such as you needs help with two Fish-Eater women!" Kubwande said. He hoped the flattery would take the edge off the statement.

  Idosso's woman kicked sharply backward, landing a bare foot in the big warrior's groin hard enough to make him grunt. His hands tightened, ready to twist and tear.

  Kubwande's breath caught. He had heard of what Idosso could do to captive women if angered. He did not wish to see it, and indeed wished that it not happen at all, if he could contrive this without a challenge to Idosso.

  "There were three women," Idosso said. "All had been making offerings to the unknown spirit. Then something frightened them. They will not tell me what."

  "If it is peril for them as well as for us, they will tell without torture. If it is peril only for us, they will die before they warn us."

  "That may take a while," Idosso growled.

  "Too long, if one has escaped and even now runs to warn her folk,"

  Kubwande said. "True, they are only Fish-Eaters

  The woman on the ground made a foul suggestion about what Kubwande could do with his manhood. The woman in Idosso's grip looked ready to spit in someone's face. Kubwande hoped she would not.

  "”and one Bamula is worth ten of them. But we are so deep in Fish-Eater land that they may come ten times ten for each of us. Then all we will have is a praise-song over our bones instead of an answer."

  "True. Also, bones enjoy no woman's flesh." Idosso let go of the nose ring, shifting his grip to the woman's arm. In spite of her kicks, he gripped both wrists in one gigantic hand.

  "Now, girl, you earn our being kind to you. What brought you here, and what frightened you?"

  Kubwande saw the play of hatred, doubt, and fear on the woman's face, and at last her decision to speak, before Idosso had done more than twist her wrists lightly. That showed wisdom, facing Idosso, or indeed, many Bamulas.

  "We¦ we came to offer to the unknown spirit, who has taken a man's form," the woman said.

  "A man's form? When? And what kind of man?" Kubwande's questions leapt like spears before Idosso could open his mouth.

  Idosso looked a savage curse at the lesser chief, but ere he could gather wits or words for more, a crashing of trampled jungle foliage made everyone snatch weapons. Then the curtain of leaves to the right flew apart, and a thin brown-skinned man clad only in a dirty white loincloth leapt onto the trail. Kubwande saw blood on the mans arms and thighs.

  He also saw blood on the tusks of the colossal boar that followed the man into view a moment later. Even Bamula warriors needed a moment to gather courage and wits to face a creature that size, high as Idosso's waist at the shoulders and grizzled with age that brought cunning without taking away strength.

  Another man who ran from the shadows down the trail had no such hesitation. His spear flew as swiftly and as truly as if his eye had commanded his arm without the need for thought.

  Only a shifting of the boars feet kept the spear from striking a mortal blow. It pierced deep into the beast's flank, but did not reach his life.

  Instead, it drew his attention to the newcomer. The boar whirled with a squeal of rage and pain. Then it lowered its head and lunged for the spearman.

  Kubwande raised his own spear, but found that he could not throw without risk of hitting either a comrade or the man. As the man flung a second spear, aimed to gouge the boars back, Kubwande had a clear look at him for the first time.

  No warrior of this band save Idosso could have looked the man in the eye. His hair was as dark as any jungle dwellers, but long and straight, and the Black Kingdoms had never given birth to such a pale skin. No land that Kubwande knew had ever produced those fierce blue eyes, like a lion's in all but color.

  It seemed to the Bamula warrior that they now knew what form the unknown spirit had taken.

  Two

  Conan had just time to notice something odd about the wounded man, the boar's first victim. Then he had to give all his attention to the beast, lest he become its next one.

  An ordinary broadsword was not the best weapon against a boar perhaps slowed, perhaps weakened, but yet with tusks and muscle enough to be deadly if it reached close quarters. That was the problem with the broadsword: only by chance could it keep the boar at arm's length.

  By chance, or by a single swift cut.

  The boar whuffled. Conan shifted to a two-handed grip, although the sword's hilt barely had room for both his broad hands.

  The boar's hooves churned earth as it charged. Conan crouched, swung, and leapt aside in a single flow of movement as swift and smooth as the strike of a viper.

  The sword sheared through the boar's forelegs. Sheer momentum carried the beast forward, to ram its snout into a tree. There it thrashed and scrabbled frantically with bloody stumps of forelegs and intact hindlegs.

  Then the Cimmerian's sword came down like an executioners axe, on the back of the bristly neck. Flesh and bone parted, a final bellow ended in silence, and the boar lay still.

  Conan studied the blade for nicks, then wiped it quickly on the boar's hide. The jungle was as hard as the sea on a good weapon. The broadsword was not his whole arsenal, but it would be his weapon of choice as long as rust did not eat it like a crocodile gulping down a baby.

  Only when he was satisfied at the condition of his weapon did the Cimmerian rise from a crouch to face the watching men. He recognized them as Bamulas from their headdresses and tattoos, and as alert and wary from their stances and lifted spears. It seemed best to make a gesture of peace toward them, lest some of those spears fly because of some witling's fear.

  Conan thrust the broadsword into its scabbard and crossed both arms on his chest. "I am Conan the Cimmerian. I am here in peace. I make you a gift of this boar."

  Most of the spear-points and shields dipped a trifle. The Bamulas seemed to understand him. Now would they believe him? He hoped the pirates' cant he had learned aboard Tigress would be enough. The crew had been of a score of different tribes, and their common tongue was a stew of words from all, flavored with Shemitish and even Stygian words for good measure.

  Before Conan could speak again, a woman broke away from the grip of the tallest Bamula and ran toward the Cimmerian. At this, one of the Bamulas flung a spear, and Conan's sword leapt from its scabbard with the speed of thought.

  The spear fell harmlessly to the ground, cloven in two as neatly as any butcher ever divided a sausage, and the woman flung herself at Conan's feet. She babbled and wept at the same time, speaking too quickly for him to follow more than one word in five. It seemed likely that she was asking for his protection, and it seemed certain that the Bamulas would be displeased if he granted it.

  Nonetheless, no woman had ever called on the Cimmerian for protection without receiving at least some measure of it. He put his foot lightly on the back of her neck, a gesture he had seen Belit make in claiming lordship over certain prisoners.

  The tall Bamula who had been holding her frowned. "Is t
his your woman?"

  he asked.

  "I could ask you the same," Conan said. "I take no man's woman, but I wonder what a Bamula does here with a Fish-Eater girl."

  "I am Idosso, a qamu of the Bamulas, lords of this land," the man said.

  "The girl is my prize."

  "The last I heard, this was the land of the Fish-Eaters," Conan said mildly.

  "The Fish-Eaters have only what the Bamulas allow them," Idosso said.

  This drew a glare from a second woman Conan now saw for the first time, lying bound and entirely bare on the ground among the other warriors.

  The woman at Conan's feet raised her head. He gently pushed it back down. Idosso seemed a man with a long tongue and a short temper, the sort best not angered without need, in any land.

  "Pardon, qamus Idosso and Conan," a Bamula warrior said. "But I think we need to take thought for this man." He pointed at the boar's victim, now sitting with his back to a tree, his eyes closed. "He babbles in no tongue I have ever heard."

  Conan saw Idosso frown at the Cimmerian being given the honorific title, and he recognized a cunning trap. The warrior who spoke was no giant like Idosso, who had nearly Conan's own height and thews, but his eyes told of sharp wits that he made useful in place of sheer strength.

  "Why do you ask me”?" Conan said.

  "Kubwande, son of D'beno, iqako of the Bamulas as was D'Beno before me, is he who speaks," the warrior said, making several gestures of obvious formality whose exact nature Conan did not recognize.

  He did recognize, though, the wisdom of taking every chance for politeness when he faced odds of twenty to one, and the twenty all stout fighting men. Judging by his first sight of Bamulas, they were living up to their reputation.

  Kubwande was hardly as fair to the eyes as Belit, but he seemed as ready to give Conan a friendly welcome among strangers.

  "Kubwande, I will help this wounded man if you will tell me why you think I know his speech. I will also take nothing that any Bamula claims as his, nor shed the blood of any who does not seek mine. By Crom and Mitra, I swear it."

  Those last names some warriors clearly recognized; Conan saw gestures of aversion. The two women stared wide-eyed at him.

  "The women say you are the flesh of the Fish-Eaters' unknown spirit,"

  Kubwande said. "They were on their way from offering to you when we met them."

  "They have part of the truth, anyway," Conan said. "I am flesh, and need food. But not as badly as this poor wretch needs help."

  Conan knelt beside the wounded man. No, dying”he had the look the Cimmerian had seen too often, on many battlefields. The boar had struck deep enough to reach the man's life, which would flee his body no matter if three kings' doctors did their best for him.

  Conan's best was not that good, but he had survived enough wounds of his own and tended more than a few wounded comrades. His hands were firm but light as he bound the man's wounds, listening all the while for some words that would explain the mystery of his appearance here.

  For it was a mystery. By garb and appearance, the man was a Vendhyan, and Vendhya was half a years hard journey from the Black Coast! Perhaps he had fled slavery in Stygia, where folk of every race on earth, and (so it was whispered) some not of earth, toiled under the lash of Stygian slavemasters.

  But Stygia was also a good long journey from this jungle trail, and the man showed no marks of either a journey or slavery. He was slim but well-fleshed under the brown skin, his hands showed no callouses from years of brutal labor, and his back showed no wounds save those from thorns and the boar.

  Then the man began to babble in his dying delirium, calling for his mother, and the mystery deepened. Certainly the man was a Vendhyan; Conan had spent enough time in that land to do more than separate a few jewels from its rich lords. He had warred, wenched, and learned the tongue the dying man was now speaking.

  But he was not speaking to much purpose, as was only to be expected of the dying. Conan knew that no shaking or shouting would bring the man to his senses, and held his peace. What the gods wanted the man to say, he would. Otherwise he would take his secret with him”and Conan did not find it in him to blame the man, dying as he was, alone and far from home.

  Suddenly the man's eyes widened and he sat up with a shriek of indescribable terror. He flung one arm up so violently that Conan's dressing of his wounds tore free and blood flowed again. The Cimmerian turned to look where the bloody hand was pointing, but saw only air and jungle before it.

  "The gate!" the man cried out. "The demon's gate! It opens again. The demon calls. Beware, beware, be

  Blood gurgled in the Vendhyan's throat and trickled from the corner of his mouth. His arm fell back limp, and although his eyes remained open, they saw nothing.

  Conan was reaching to close those staring eyes when he felt something prod his back. He turned his head, to see a young Bamula warrior holding a spear with two hands, neither of them entirely steady.

  Slowly, Conan rose to his full height. Just as slowly, he turned around. The warrior raised the spear until its point touched Conan's chest.

  Then two massive arms swung like bludgeons. The first rammed into the pit of the warrior's stomach, doubling and lifting him at the same time to meet the second fist on his jaw. He flew backward through a gap in the Bamula ranks and fetched up in a tangle of vine.

  Conan waited to see that the warrior was still breathing, then picked up the fallen spear. Without apparent effort, he snapped the stout shaft in two.

  "The next man who prods me, I will feed his own spear," the Cimmerian said. "The Bamulas have no name for being fools, so what ate his wits?"

  Kubwande met Conan's eyes without flinching. "He thought you were a demon, for knowing the speech of the stranger."

  A demon, and the Vendhyan had spoken of a demon's gate. It seemed that the man had left behind him an even deeper mystery!

  Conan looked at the fallen warrior, who was struggling to rise. "I am no more a demon than you are," he growled. He strode to the dead boar and drew his own spears from the carcase. "Have you ever heard of Amra, the pale-skinned warrior, companion to Belit of Tigress?"

  Even this far inland, that was a name to conjure with in the Black Kingdoms. The fallen man nodded as two comrades helped him to his feet.

  To speak the truth did not avoid peril if the Bamulas had received injury at Belit's hands or at those of one who followed her. Conan knew of no such incident, and he and Belit had sailed, loved, and fought together for so long that he doubted she'd had many secrets from him.

  But it was always the one secret a man did not learn that doomed him, and if so, Conan would soon follow the Vendhyan.

  At least then he could ask the man what his dying babblings had meant.

  But no hostility showed in the chiseled black faces or watchful dark eyes around Conan. Then Kubwande spoke, in accents of surprise and pleasure.

  "You are he?"

  "The very man. No need to worry about my being a Fish-Eater spirit or a demon."

  "Eh," Idosso said. "We heard that Belit was dead and Tigress no more.

  Also her warriors."

  "You heard the truth," Conan said. He kept his voice level. "She fell afoul of the ugliest sort of magick and died of it, with most of her men. I avenged the dead, sent the living home, and gave Belit and her ship to the sea."

  His tongue grew more nimble as he spoke of Tigress's last voyage, and his eyes no longer saw the Bamulas around him. When he finished speaking, it seemed that they too no longer saw what lay around them, but instead, the burning ship carrying the Queen of the Black Coast to her ocean grave.

  "Were there any Bamulas among those who lived?" Kubwande asked after a long silence.

  "None who called themselves so," Conan said. "Also, some of those who lived were of a mind to seize another ship and go on bedeviling the Stygians. I was not. I had a sign from the gods to go inland and find new friends there."

  In truth, he had lacked the heart to look
again at the sea, the shroud of a beloved battle-comrade. But he had given the Bamulas all the truth they deserved, and if they still doubted him, they could send him to join Belit!

  Whether Conan's tale or what they saw in his eyes and in the calloused hands gripping the spears won over the Bamulas, he saw them lowering spears and unslinging shields. Two of them bent to lift the dead Vendhyan. Others improvised a litter of spears, to bear the dead boar.

  "Will you follow us, Amra?" Kubwande asked when the warriors were ready to depart.

  Conan shook his head, then handed Kubwande one of the spears. "Take this as a pledge of my friendship for the Bamulas, but do not ask me to come with you. My vision said I must stay apart from all men yet a while longer."

  "But the Fish-Eaters”?" asked.the young warrior who'd paid for his spear-prodding with a sore jaw and belly.

  Conan laughed at the youths concern. "I am as good a man as any Bamula, and which of you would fear Fish-Eaters?"

  The two women's sharp looks and Idosso's raised hand reminded Conan of a last matter. "I wish that these women decide freely whose they shall be. This also my vision has told me to ask."

  The two women stared at each other, then at Idosso, and finally at Conan. The one with the nose ornament pointed at Idosso.

  Conan had long, since understood that women had no more sense than men, but these women's decision seemed altogether foolish.

  "May I ask why?"

  "You are god-touched, Amra. We cannot be to you as women to a man.

  Idosso is only a warrior at which words the man grunted very like the boar "”and not¦ not¦"

  "A speaker of demons' tongues?"

  The women looked bleak as Idosso howled with laughter. Conan bit back curses on the women and sharp replies to the big chief.

  "So be it. But I owe the women this much for their offerings. If they are ill-treated, I will learn of it, and those who ill-treat them will answer to me."

  Idosso's stance said how little he cared about that, and Conan wondered if he should press his claim more vigorously in spite of the women's fancies. Idosso seemed likely to be a harsh master, but also likely to be in a fury over losing the women. Not because they were so rare among the Black Kingdoms, but out of a surfeit of pride.