The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  "This is an ancient map of this part of Stygia," she explained. "I found it before we left. It dates back to the days of Old Stygia, and shows the city of Pteion and its environs. I doubt that the map will be of much use, but I noticed that it depicted an oasis near the eastern highlands. Do you think it might still be there, Conan?"

  The barbarian squinted at the map, lifting a thick forearm to shade his eyes. "It may be. I have heard of an old oasis in the dune sea, though not from anyone who claimed to have seen it with his own eyes. This part of the world is wisely avoided by most. Only men who wish to travel in secrecy cross these sands." Conan nudged his camel forward, and the travelers started down the gentle slope into the dunes.

  Neesa pulled her hood over her tousled locks and said, "Do the caravans fear becoming lost amid the trackless sand? Traveling by night, as you say, could they not steer by the stars?"

  "They fear losing their way, as they fear the heat and the absence of water, but they also fear the slumbering sorcery of the dead city of Pteion. These sands are said to be accursed."

  "We are not going near Pteion," put in Zelandra. "We shall skirt its evil rains by many miles. Your barbaric superstitions do you little credit, Conan. These sands are no more accursed than the grassy hills of Shem."

  The Cimmerian made no reply. His blue eyes smoldered against his bronzed face as he scanned the horizon uneasily.

  As the party rode into the sea of sand, the sun lifted into the sky and seemed to halt there, suspended in the heavens like a torch in a sconce. The camels labored over the dunes steadily, if unenthusiastically, occasionally snorting and moaning their distaste for the task.

  Neesa followed Conan's example and draped herself in her cloak so that not an inch of skin was exposed to the merciless sun. Closing her eyes against the glare, she settled back in the swaying saddle and tried to doze. Between the movement of the camel and the steady creaking of her gear, she could almost imagine herself back on the deck of Temoten's ferry. A cry from Zelandra snapped the scribe back into full awareness.

  "Look there! Is that not a palm?" The sorceress stood in her stirrups at the crest of a tall dune. "Conan, is that our oasis?"

  The barbarian pulled at his mount's reins, urging the camel up the dune's face until he was at Zelandra's side. Heng Shih pointed to the southeast, where a fleck of emerald glimmered in the haze of heat.

  "It looks like it," agreed Conan, "though it is» nowhere near where it is shown on your map."

  Zelandra's high brows knitted in impatience. "Well, one could hardly expect the oasis to be in exactly the same position after the passage of so many centuries. Let us go fill our waterskins and lounge in the shade for a time. It will do us all good."

  The Cimmerian said nothing, and the travelers turned from their trail.

  The distant palms beckoned, wavering like a green flame on the face of the desert. Conan watched the palms draw nearer, coming into view as his camel slogged up a dune, then dropping from sight as his mount descended into the valleys between each hill of sand. Unlike his civilized companions, the barbarian had never learned to distrust or disregard his instincts. He was troubled by a vague and creeping unease.

  The terrain altered as the party proceeded. The dunes flattened, and the sand became a hardened skin that crunched beneath their camels'

  feet! Conan stared at the oasis, now close enough for him to discern lazily swaying palms and the thick cluster of ground vegetation that marked the location of the waterhole. His nostrils flared.

  "Something is amiss," said the barbarian. "The oasis appears green, yet I smell no water."

  "For the love of Ishtar, Conan, would you attempt to contain your barbarian superstitions?" Zelandra sounded exasperated. "Pteion is many miles away. This oasis is a blessing that we shall not overlook. We¦"

  A wave of beat rolled over the travelers. Though the sky was clear, the sun brightened as if it had emerged from behind a thick wall of clouds.

  Ahead, the oasis blurred like a waking dream, its outlines softening in the harsh glare. The brightness made Conan squint and look down. He saw that he rode over a hardened surface of solidified sand. The sculpted dunes had flattened into an uneven plain of fused glass. The ground resembled the congealed bottom of a glass-blower's forge. Conan jerked his camel to a halt, looked up, and saw that the oasis had vanished.

  Where the palms and brush had been was now a stout, flat-topped cone of dark stone, standing almost as tall as a man. Its deep gray hue contrasted sharply with the ochre tones of the desert. The sands around the cone were frozen in concentric whorls of fused glass. It sat at the center of a mile-wide spiral of seared sand, like a gray spider in a web of brittle stone. The earth around it was strewn with dark debris.

  A sheet of white fire rippled across the sky, and a cry went up from the party. The camels bellowed and stumbled as the air itself seemed to turn to flame. Conan dismounted, seizing the reins of his reeling mount, and pulled away from the false oasis.

  "Come away!" he roared. "Sorcery!"

  The heat intensified incredibly, dazzling their eyes and searing their skin. Heng Shih and Neesa could not control their mounts. The camels reared and staggered, with their riders pulling at the reins in vain.

  Conan saw Zelandra jump awkwardly from her saddle and fall, rolling on the ground beside her camel's stamping feet.

  "Dismount!" bellowed the barbarian. "Leave the camels and flee or we'll be cooked in our skins!" Neesa and Heng Shih tried to obey as Zelandra scrambled away from her frenzied mount. Conan moved to help her. Hell seemed to swallow them all.

  Blinding white fire filled the air. Breathing scorched the lips and tongue. The Cimmerian reached for Zelandra, and saw the sleeve of his burnoose was smoldering along the full length of his arm. Blisters sprang up on the back of his exposed hand.

  "No!" shouted the sorceress, "Stand away from me!" Conan stepped back, and Zelandra knelt, lifting her hands to the incandescent sky.

  "Dar-Asthkoth la Ithaqua!" her voice wailed. "Brykal Ithaqua Ftagn!"

  The sky immediately lost much of its brilliance, and the heat waned.

  Conan threw back the hood of his burnoose and looked about wildly. The acrid stench of burnt cloth filled the hot, still air. Heng Shih had been hurled from his camel's back. He rose from all fours, and limped to the side of his mistress. The Khitan drew his scimitar, as if his blade might protect Zelandra from the unnatural heat. Neesa had stayed in her saddle and succeeded in calming her mount, while the remainder of the camels milled about in a state of near panic.

  Above the beleaguered party arced a translucent dome of azure light.

  The Lady Zelandra raised her palms to it, as though holding it aloft.

  Her breath came in short, harsh gasps. Outside the dome's circumference, the air blazed with rippling fire. The ominous cone of gray stone wavered in and out of visibility.

  "What in the name of the gods is happening?" cried Neesa. She swung her long legs over her saddle and dismounted, hastening to Conan's side.

  The barbarian brushed roughly at the smoking hem of her cloak, extinguishing the embers glowing there.

  "Some sort of sorcerous sentinel," he rumbled, "trying to burn us to death like insects under a glass. It's a good thing that Zelandra made quick use of her power, else we might all be piles of smoking bone by now."

  "Is it a weapon of Ethram-Fal's?" asked the scribe.

  "No," rasped the kneeling sorceress, "it is very old. And very hungry."

  Her hands trembled, and a hot wind blew over the huddled group. "I can't hold it much longer. Our only hope is that it tires before I do."

  "What is it?" Neesa's voice quavered. "What does it want with us?"

  Zelandra did not answer. She had clenched her eyes shut and was now a study in stark concentration. Heng Shih knelt beside her, putting a reassuring hand on her slim shoulder.

  "I can't say what it is," said Conan, "but I can tell you that it means to slay us. Look." Neesa's gaze followed the barbarian'
s outstretched arm and fell upon a gruesome sight. Some twenty feet ahead of the travelers was a cluster of blackened bone, lying half-sunken into the fused glass of the desert floor. The jagged ribs of a camel were plainly visible, but more disturbing still was a scattered collection of rounded mounds that appeared to be charred human skulls.

  "The cursed thing lures travelers by shamming the appearance of an oasis, and then cooks them to death when they come to drink."

  "Why?" burst out Neesa, horror edging her voice with hysteria. "Would it kill us without reason?"

  "It is hungry." Zelandra spoke without opening her eyes. The face of the sorceress was tense and drawn, as though she suffered a ceaseless pain she could barely endure. "It wants to burn us to death and feast upon our released souls. My resistance has made it curious. Look to its stone well, I think that it has come out to look us over."

  Conan looked, and shuddered as though a spider had scurried down his spine. The space between Zelandra's protective dome and the gray stone well had cleared somewhat. Something hung above the well's dark prominence, floating suspended in the air. It was a shimmering tower of reflective light. It looked as though the desert's common mirage of distant, glistening water had been twisted into a living coil. The demon swayed like a stationary cyclone. Conan felt the distinct and unpleasant sensation of being watched.

  The air outside the dome blazed up anew. White fire pressed in upon Zelandra's magical barrier, drawing a low moan from the sorceress.

  "Ah, Ishtar, but it's strong! It is some guardian demon of old, freed of its well, yet bound to its guard post. I feel its mind. It knows only hunger and hatred. Ah!" The demon's body swelled suddenly, and the blue dome above the party dimmed and lowered. A flash of infernal heat fell upon the travelers, then dissipated as Zelandra marshaled her strength. "Damn! It means to have us all. Heng Shih, get me some lotus."

  The Khitan obediently unlaced the silver box from Zelandra's girdle.

  Tilting the lid open, he found the seashell within, and scooped up a bit of the deep-green powder. He held it to his.mistress's face and, when she opened her mouth, poured it under her tongue.

  "Derketo," Zelandra cursed, shuddering. Then a terrible smile slowly spread over her features. Her teeth were smeared with green. Above them, the azure dome rose and darkened.

  "How's that, old devil?" Zelandra opened her eyes and gazed upon the swaying form of her demon nemesis. Her voice was softer, almost sensual. "You've never met anyone like me before, have you?"

  The whirling coil suddenly stretched up to twice its height, shooting skyward in a flash of blue-white light. Zelandra screamed hoarsely as her protective barrier was struck with enough force to drive it down directly over their heads. Neesa cried out and dropped to her knees, involuntarily lifting her arms to shield her head. The azure dome flickered, admitting quick pulsations of fiery heat.

  "I can't hold it! I can't hold it!"

  "Can steel harm it?" Conan had drawn his scimitar, and crouched beside the kneeling sorceress. His eyes blazed with reckless desperation.

  "Strong blows might dissipate it momentarily, but it can't be slain by physical weapons. Don't be a fool! Ah!" Zelandra grimaced with effort as the demon hammered at her shield with all of its eldritch might.

  Conan lunged to his camel's side, and pulled a waterskin from its place beside the saddle. He tore it open, then upended the skin over his head. The Cimmerian poured water over his burnoose, trying to soak himself completely.

  "Have you gone mad?" cried Neesa, grasping at the barbarian's arm.

  Conan shook her off.

  "It's our only chance. If I can distract it, flee." Without another word the Cimmerian leapt through Zelandra's barrier into the inferno beyond. Breaking out of the azure dome, Conan felt a flash of sharp chill, as if he had splashed through an icy waterfall, then the demon's heat hit him like a toppling wall. Conan sprinted across the brittle sands with steam bursting from his sodden burnoose. It was like running across a lava flow. White light drove tears from the barbarian's eyes, but he could see the undulating coil of the demon's body ahead. He steered toward it, bounding over the blackened remains of a luckless caravan, and sliding to a stop before the gray cone of rock. It was a well of sorts. The tip of the cone was missing, revealing a shaft dropping away into darkness. A circular plate of gray stone, the size of a wagon's wheel, lay against the side of the well. The demon towered twenty feet above Conan, rising in sparkling, unbroken coils from the well's open mouth. It swung from side to side, then drew itself down, as if to examine the diminutive form of the man who dared approach it.

  Conan heard the moisture sizzling from his burnoose, and smelled hair burning. The hilt of his sword seared his palm. He lashed out at the demon with a savage cry. It was like cleaving cobwebs. His blade passed through its insubstantial form, but pulled a trail of glittering shadow-substance after it. The temperature dropped abruptly, though Conan scarcely noticed. With another war cry, he slashed his scimitar across the top of the well again, and yet again. The demon fell in upon itself, telescoping, until it stood only half a man taller than the barbarian. It bent over him, as if in benediction, and Oman's burnoose burst into flames.

  The Cimmerian dropped and rolled on the hard ground, trying to smother the fire. Scorching pain bloomed along his shoulders and arms, then ceased abruptly. The flames died. Rolling onto his back, Conan saw the azure dome suspended above him. He jumped to his feet, heard the cries of his comrades, and realized that Zelandra was protecting him at their expense. The barbarian's sword" whipped across the mouth of the well again and again, shredding the demon-thing's substance, drawing its attention back to himself. It dropped lower in the well. Sorcerous heat pressed upon the azure barrier, but could not penetrate. The twisted coil of rippling light shuddered, then dropped from view into the well.

  The air was suddenly much cooler, and the sun less bright. The normal, fierce heat of the desert seemed pleasantly temperate after the demon's onslaught. Conan leaned against the faceted stone wall and fought for breath, peering into the well's blackness. A surge of heat billowed up from within and dried his eyeballs.

  "Seal it!" Zelandra's voice carried across the blasted sand. "It will gather its strength and come back more powerful than before!"

  Conan staggered back from the well. His eyes were drawn to the heavy plate of gray stone that leaned against the well's side. He bent and gripped it The barbarian's arms stretched to their limit, his hands fastening onto the plate's rim and clamping tight. The great disk of stone had been carved, worked, and fashioned to cap the well. Weird runes, half obliterated by time, rose beneath his straining fingers.

  Conan heaved up, muscles cracking in his mighty frame. The breath exploded from between his teeth. Balancing the massive plate against his heaving breast, the Cimmerian took a single, unsteady step, and the demon thrust itself from the well again.

  The shimmering body of the creature shed a hellish heat and rose, resembling a cyclone of broken mirrors. With a convulsive heave, Conan dropped the lid. It fell across the well's mouth with a hollow boom, like distant thunder. The demon's body was lopped off cleanly. Its upper, half dissipated like smoke on the wind, its luster fading rapidly to shadow. The stone lid rattled once, as if thrust up from within; then it was still.

  Conan slumped against the well, drawing breaths that seemed as sweet as the wine of Kyros. His comrades joined him, stumbling across the fused sand.

  "Get away from the well," snapped Zelandra. "I'll seal its bonds with magic." The sorceress muttered a brief incantation, then slapped her palms down on the well's cap. The plate of stone glowed a dusky, auroral blue, and a faint keening sound pained Conan's ears. Zelandra turned from the well with a triumphant grin.

  "Congratulations, my friends. We have defeated a guardian demon that has haunted this desert since Acheron warred with Old Stygia." The lady's face was pinched with strain, yet lit by an unnatural energy.

  She clutched her silver box of Emerald Lotus, gesturing w
ith it. "Our barbarian friend was right again. We must learn to cease underestimating him. That was a creature of Pteion, set to guard its borders more than thirty centuries ago. I could feel its age as I grappled with it. It has a mind of sorts, and intelligence. If only I could stay and study it. What wonders the demon must have known in its youth."

  Conan doffed his blackened burnoose, baring flesh scorched scarlet.

  Wordlessly, he began rummaging through the pack camel's provisions, looking for new clothing. The barbarian shot a glance at Heng Shih, and smiled. The Khitan had lost his turban when he fell from his camel, and now his pate was reddened and dotted with angry blisters. His golden kimono was worn, dirty, and bore spots of black char. He noticed the Cimmerian's attention and grimaced, touching his blistered scalp ruefully.

  "Can it get but of the well now?" asked Neesa.

  "No, child," said Zelandra grandly. "My power has sealed the demon away until I see fit to set it free. Originally, all one had to do was open the well to release it, but I have fused the stone with sorcery. Go ahead, Conan, just try to lift the lid now. Even you shan't be able to do it. Ga on. Try it."

  "I believe you, milady," said Conan dryly, continuing his search through the provisions.

  "But it got out of the well before," murmured Neesa dubiously.

  "Some fool must have lifted the lid," said Zelandra. "Probably many years ago, though there is no sure way to tell. Pteor knows why anyone would do such a thing."

  "Probably looking for treasure. The poor devils must have thought they had found a Stygian tomb." The Cimmerian finally found another burnoose in a saddlebag, and pulled it over his stinging shoulders. It was too small, but it would have to do.

  "They found their deaths. As we might have if not for my lotus."

  Zelandra examined her silver box with pride.

  "And Conan's courage," said Neesa.

  "Yes. Yes, of course," said the sorceress absently. She opened the silver box and stared within. Zelandra's eyes grew vague and distant.

  She licked her lips slowly. Her right hand seemed to rise of its own accord, stroking gently around the box's silver-chased rim.