The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  "Conan," she breathed at last. "Have you truly come for me, or is this another of the dreams these hellish people inflict with their drugs and spells? If so, it is a more effective torture than any they have tried thus far."

  "I am real, though I've no idea how to prove it." He grasped the chain in both hands and tried to pull it from the floor. "First let's get you free from this place, then we can think of some way to prove that I am real."

  He pulled on the chain until the veins swelled upon his brow, but even his great strength could not break chain or ring. He muttered a curse, and Alcuina, with the drugged fog clearing from her head, became aware of her extreme state of undress.

  "A liege man should not see his queen thus," she said, hiding her embarrassment. She made no futile effort to cover herself; there was too much flesh exposed for two hands even to make a beginning.

  Conan shrugged. "In the South they are not so fussy about clothes. Even queens sometimes wear little more than you are wearing now." He looked her up and down with frank admiration. "Have no fear, you've nothing that other women do not have. Perhaps a closer look is in order, just to make sure."

  "We have more important things to concern us," she said impatiently. "Can you not free me of this chain?"

  "We shall see. I had hoped to do this quietly, but" With a full-armed overhead swing, he brought his sword down upon the chain. There was a mighty clang and a few sparks, but the only other result was a nick in his blade. "Cursed hard steel they make hereabout," he muttered, studying the damaged edge in annoyance.

  Alcuina's sharply indrawn breath was the only warn-

  small window high on one wall admitted a faint light, and there was a single, circular door made of heavy timbers. He had never seen a round door before, and he wondered how it opened, since he could see no hinges.

  He lay on his belly and chose a link of one of the chains to work on. He was able to get enough slack to rub the link back and forth along the floor for at least a foot. It seemed futile, but given enough time he might wear a few links down enough to weaken them. At the moment he had nothing but time in any case.

  After what he judged to be an hour of this monotonous activity, he examined the link. The side he had rubbed was a bit shinier, but that was the extent of it. This could be a lengthy task. His work was abruptly interrupted when the round door rose into the lintel above it. At least that mystery was solved.

  He heard approaching footsteps, and a woman bearing a tray entered the cell. He had expected a neck-ringed slave, but this was one of the spectators of his fight. Unless he was much mistaken, it was the same one who had rendered him unconscious. He could not be sure, as the ones he had seen looked much alike.

  "Come over here, you silver-eyed trull," Conan said affably. "I'd like to wring your pretty neck."

  To his surprise she answered in a tongue he under-stood. "Ah, but then you would not be able to eat this splendid dinner I have brought you."

  Conan smelled the proffered viands and his mouth watered. "Well," he grumbled, "I agree. Give me the food, and I'll not kill you."

  "First, a small precaution."

  There was a rumbling sound and Conan looked down in stupefied puzzlement as two clamps grew from the floor of the cell and fastened securely about his ankles. Then something writhed about his arms, and they were jerked behind him and strongly pinioned. He was trussed like an ox in a slaughterhouse.

  The woman sat directly before him and set the tray between them. She wore a gown so sheer that it might as well have been altogether absent. The generous curves of her were almost as mouth-watering as the food, despite his hunger and the circumstances. She took a small piece of grilled meat on a skewer and inserted it daintily into his mouth.

  "My name is Sarissa," she said. "You may address me as mistress."

  "Not likely," Conan assured her. "How about some of that wine?"

  "Disobedience can be a painful experience here." Nonetheless, she gave him a drink from a crystal goblet.

  "I am used to pain. You cannot persuade me that way."

  She continued to feed him. "You have never experienced the kind of pain I can inflict. I have developed some truly exquisite varieties." Her trilling laughter was musical, and chilling. "But, no, pain is for ordinary slaves. You are special, and I have no wish to break you. You shall be the prize of my collection."

  "What kind of collection?" Conan growled.

  "Why, my collection of unique human specimens." She pushed a small morsel of bread into his mouth. He was uncomfortably aware of her delectable smell. "I have never had a true hero to experiment with. Life grows terribly dull here. You shall furnish us with endless pleasure. You fight like a wild beast, and you have such a superlative body." She ran her hands freely

  Che Games of the masters

  wonan was asleep, snoring upon the cold stone floor of his cell, when a sound awakened him. He sat up, straining his ears, and became aware that the collar was no longer about his throat. The collar and its chains lay upon the floor. He examined the collar, which now lay open, but he could find no trace of any fastening.

  "More wizardry," he muttered, dropping it to the floor. It had been the sound of the thing clanking to the floor that had awakened him, no doubt.

  He arose and began pacing tigerishly about the cell, stretching the stiffness out of cramped muscles. He had been released from the chain for a reason, and he wanted to be ready for whatever might befall him. With a rumbling sound the door rose.

  Conan crouched, facing it, and waited for whatever might enter. He was unarmed, but he had hands and feet and teeth, and he was prepared to use them. A time passed and nothing approached. Cautious as a hunting wolf, Conan went to the door. He leaped through and

  spun through a full circle. He was in a featureless corridor and there were no enemies in sight. In one direction there were a few more of the round doors and Aen a blank wall. In the other direction the corridor was shrouded in gloom.

  With a clank the door to his erstwhile cell dropped shut.

  "Did you think I would go back in?" he shouted to those he knew must be watching.

  He started down the dark corridor. A few paces along the stone hall he found his sword lying upon the stone. He snatched it up, and the rough feel of the grip immediately raised his spirits. All he needed now was somebody to kill with it. Preferably someone with sil-ver eyes.

  "I could use my tunic as well," he shouted. There was no response. "Ah, well," he muttered to himself, "better naked with a sword than in full armor with no weapon."

  He continued his exploration of the corridor. The fact that his sword had been returned to him meant that he would be needing it, and soon.

  He came to a stairway leading upward and began to chmb. Although there was no visible light source, the air was suffused with a faint, twilight radiance, which was just sufficient for him to make out his way. At the top of the stair he found another round door. Somehow he was sure that this did not merely lead into another dungeon cell. Slowly the door began to rise.

  Conan did not wait for it to open fully, but as soon as the gap was large enough to admit his body he dove to the floor and rolled under it, springing to his feet the moment he was on the other side.

  There were two fully-armored men in the circular

  room beyond the door, and they were startled by his impetuous entrance. Conan attacked immediately. He had no friends in this castle; anyone he encountered here except for Alcuina was an enemy. He chose the man on the right as the more exposed to assault and lunged with his sword extended in both hands. The point slid between the breastplate and steel gorget, and Conan jerked it out immediately, whirling to face the second man. The first, dead but unaware of the fact, advanced a step and then collapsed, blood spurting from beneath his gorget.

  The second approached cautiously. Both men were wearing the most elaborate plate armor Conan had ever seen. It was made of innumerable small plates, cunningly jointed to allow free movement. There were few weak spots,
and this man would not leave the gorget-breastplate joining exposed as the other had. Conan circled, sword held at full extension, point threatening his enemy's eyeslots. He preferred to use the edge, but he knew that the point was usually superior against armor such as this. Besides, this way he could keep the man at a greater distance while he sought out a weakness to exploit.

  The armored man held a long, slightly curved sword in both hands. It was single-edged, and that edge looked decidedly keen. Naked as he was, Conan wished to avoid that edge. Behind him the door descended into its slot.

  The foeman slid in, incredibly swift for a man in full armor, cutting at Conan's flank. Conan crossed his wrists and brought the sword around to block the opposing blade with its flat. Steel rang on steel, and he brought his blade up and around in a broad circle to smash into the man's shoulder. The man was staggered, but his armor was strong enough to withstand the blow. Both men took up their guard stances again.

  Once more the armored man attacked, confident in the protection of his harness. This time Conan did not counter with his sword, nor did he dodge. Instead he dropped his own weapon and stepped inside the range of the other sword. Gripping the other man's forward wrist in both powerful hands, Conan wrenched the hand loose from the hilt and twisted the arm down and back.

  Futilely the man sought to cut at Conan with the sword held in his left hand, but by this time Conan had stepped around almost behind his enemy and was wrenching the arm up along the spine. An audible snapping sound told him when the shoulder joint gave way. It was pointless to strike at a man in such armor, but an armored man could be wrestled as well as one without artificial protection. Releasing the arm, Conan took the helmet between his palms and rotated the head until it was facing almost directly backward. This time he could hear nothing through the steel, but unless the man's neck was flexible as an owl's he was dead. Conan dropped the lifeless hulk to the floor with a clatter.

  Now he had the leisure to examine his surroundings. The circular room was perhaps ten paces across, and looking up he saw that a gallery ran around its periphery, about ten feet from the floor. Just now the railing of the gallery was thronged with gaily dressed people, tfieir silver eyes alight with delight at the spectacle hdow.

  "Well done, hero," said the one he knew as Sarissa. "Was that better than fighting untrained slaves? Those elite bodyguards of a lord of the Shifting Land."

  A man clad all in cloth of gold called across to her,

  "Let me try three. Surely he cannot defeat three of my men at once!"

  "No," Sarissa answered, "next we must try something different. What shall it be?"

  As a hubbub broke out among the watchers, Conan saw Alcuina kneeling in their midst. She still wore only jewelry, and he was infuriated to see that her fair body was covered with the inflamed welts of the lash. Her wrists were secured to the railing by the ever-present chains. The fury writ upon her face matched his own.

  "Can you not at least let him have some garments?" she demanded.

  "What for?" shouted Conan defiantly. "I've more to be proud of than most men."

  "How refreshingly primitive," said one of the silver-eyed men. "Can he do anything besides fight?"

  Conan beckoned to him. "Come down here, popin-jay, and I will show you how I gut fish."

  This was answered with delighted laughter. Conan eyed the railing. It was a high leap, but he just might be able to get a hand on the railing and haul himself over. Then it would just be a matter of hewing down this mob of degenerates and releasing Alcuina. Then they could worry about finding a way out of this place.

  The plan had great appeal, especially the part about killing all these silver-eyed devils who were not content merely to kill a victim, but must humiliate him as well. He decided to kill the one in the golden robes first. He thought of going for Sarissa first, but a certain native squeamishness had always made him reluctant to kill women, however evil they might be.

  Without warning, Conan ran straight for the wall with the speed of a tiger, and like a tiger he leaped for the railing. His sword was too large to grip in his teeth, so he had only one free hand, and with it he barely got a sufficient grasp upon the railing and began to haul himself up. He heard a collective gasp and his blade was darting for the surprised man the instant his arm cleared the railing, but it never reached him. Conan felt a massive shock run from his hand through his whole body, and he jerked back, away from the railing. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and he fell crashing upon his back onto the cold, bloody stone floor.

  When he regained consciousness Conan was still in the circular room, but the spectators were all gone. He sat up, sore in every muscle. He knew that the fall could not account for this pain, and that it must be an aftereffect of the terrible, unseen blow that had come through the railing he had grasped. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat upon the stone floor.

  The two men he had killed had been taken away as well. There was a pile of objects on the floor, and he went to investigate. To his surprise it consisted of his clothes and possessions.

  He quickly donned his garments and strapped on his otber accoutrements. Even his ornaments had been re-lumed, including the massive arm-ring Alcuina had given him. Despite his earlier bravado, he felt far better attu resuming his clothes. He rammed his sword back Bo its sheath and clapped his helmet upon his disordered black locks. He now had everything he had come bo the castle with. His heavy cloak and winter clothes oe somewhere in the woods with Rerin. Now to find a way out of this pit.

  Clearly they did not intend for him to stay here, else could they have any fun with him? None of the

  pit's several doors stood open. He eyed the treacherous railing. Was it dangerous all the time? Many of the spectators had been leaning against it, and Alcuina had been tethered to it. Perhaps it had worked its spell only after he had grasped it. There was only one way to find out.

  For a second time he ran to the wall and leaped. This time, with his sword sheathed, he was able to grasp the railing with both hands. He hauled himself over it in a single motion, and this time there was no crippling, paralyzing jolt. He found himself upon a circular bal-cony and near a door. Without hesitation, cradling his sword in one hand, he went through the door. It was as good a course as any. He did not plan to leave the castle without Alcuina, if it meant searching every room.

  As before, he had the unmistakable feeling of being watched. He wondered what these people did for amusement when there were no errant wanderers to torment. Civilized people were all the same; they had no warrior virtues of their own and thus had to admire them in others. Well, he would show them something worth admiring before he killed them.

  "What will it be?" he called out. "I've killed your hell-scorpion, and I've killed your men. What do you want to see die now, you gutless eunuchs?"

  He continued down the corridor he had chosen. He passed many doors, none of them closed. He saw nothing of interest to him in the rooms and halls he passed. At another time he might have explored more closely, for they were full of treasures, but for once he was not interested in loot. He wanted Alcuina, he wanted out of this place, and he wanted to get back to the real world, in that order.

  His explorings brought him to a great hall from

  which many corridors branched. In the center of the room lay Alcuina, naked. Her ornaments had been taken from her, and her wrists and ankles were closely bound. She did not move.

  Conan halted without the room. He knew a trap when he saw one. He would be assaulted upon entering the room or trying to leave, he had no doubt. Now, while it seemed he had a little leisure, was a good time to decide upon his next move. The woman seemed to be unconscious. She did not appear to be tethered to any solid object, but merely lying upon a pile of silks that nested her own silken nudity. What was their game this time?

  Then he smiled. For certain, none of his blades would cut the cords that bound her. That meant that he would have to carry the queen to safety. It also meant that he would be
deprived of the use of one arm and a good deal of his mobility. Well, if they thought that would stop him, they knew little of Cimmerians in general and himself in particular.

  Like a man without a care in the world, he stepped into the room and crossed to where the queen lay. He scooped her up, threw her across his left shoulder, and gave her shapely bottom an affectionate pat. "Fear not, Alcuina, I'll have us out of this place shortly."

  "I shall believe that when it happens," said her woice, somewhat muffled by the wolfskins covering Conan's back. "And a mere swordsman is not entitled id touch his queen in so unseemly a fashion."

  "Regained your senses, eh? And your tongue as ell. swear by Crom, you are the touchiest wench I eier pledged my sword arm to. I follow you to the demon land, I kill monsters and men in your service, md all you can do is complain about a little pat on your

  royal backside. On top of all those stripes it should feel soothing."

  "Put me down, you hulking ape!" She began to wriggle about on his shoulder.

  "If I do that, how can I carry you away from here?"

  "Then at least carry me so I can see and breathe instead of smelling your mangy wolfhide!"

  "That would be inconvenient." He gave her bottom a harder slap, one that cracked loudly. "Now, be still and allow me to rescue you." Despite her writhings he held her easily.

  "Rescue! You idiot, you have walked into a trap any child could have anticipated!"

  "I know that, woman," said Conan with unwonted patience. "I have walked into many traps in my time, and I have walked out of all of them. Or crawled at any rate. Now, tell me, where do these people assemble to practice then magic?"

  "Assemble? Do you not want to get us away from here?"

  "You weary me with your questions. They want me to try to escape. Any way that I choose is sure to be fraught with perils. I hate to leave living enemies be-hind my back in any case. Where may I expect to find them?"

  She released a gusty sigh. "You are a brave man and a great fool. Ymir curse me if I ever employ a hero again. You must climb the large central tower. That is all I know of the place. It is there that Sarissa and her friends like to ply their whips and other instruments. I think it is the place where they amass to perform their abominable rites as well. It is full of strange wizardly things, and there is a great thing on the wall, like a