The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

Out upon the street, alt was as it had been. The warriors and worshipers, the horses and elephants―all were gone as if they had never existed.

  “This way,” Conan said, more to break the awful silence than because his companions needed the direction. As they walked through the city of silence, something that had been puzzling him crystallized in

  his mind

  “A little while back,” he said to Achilea, “you said that this city is exactly as its inhabitants left it when they fled.”

  “Aye, so I did. What of it?”

  He gazed up at a fretted balcony as they passed. A row of vases lined its rail, lacking only flowers.

  “Have you been in many cities?”

  “A few,” she replied, frowning. “None this splendid. What of it?”

  “I have been in many,” the Cimmerian said, “and they are never this perfect! Nobody builds a city, complete in all things, and moves into it. Cities grow, like great beasts do. They start as whelps; villages by a stream, or an inlet, or where roads or caravan traits cross. Some grow into good-sized towns and a few become great cities like this one―” he paused and amended “-―as this one was. But always they are growing or being repaired. Old buildings are torn down and new ones are raised. Fires gut whole blocks of houses and shops.

  “I have seen towns where the temples were always under construction because each of a dozen cults was trying to build theirs bigger than all the others. A fresh-painted house stands next to one on which all the paint has long since flaked off. They are never this perfect!”

  “You are thinking too much, Conan,” Achilea said, frowning. “I would not expect this of you.”

  He ignored her jibe, “Somehow, I do not think that the people of Janagar, fleeing in panic, paused to tidy up their city and finish all its building projects before they locked the gates behind them.”

  “The woman is right, Conan,” Kye-Dee chided him. “You think too much.” To the wild Hyrkanian, cities were as alien as the stars, so he could discern no oddity about this one. His desires were simple and all he wanted was to find a way to take loot without being struck horribly dead.

  As they progressed through the city, they climbed. Toward the center, there were more stairs than streets. Many tunes they became lost in the maze, entered buildings that had only a single exit, or had to cross from one rooftop or balcony to another, but always they drew nearer the huge building. Often they saw objects of value and were tempted to appropriate them, but the unfortunate Hyrkanian’s fate stayed their greedy hands.

  At last they passed through a low tunnel and emerged onto a great plaza before the central edifice.

  There they paused in wonder and gaped. From a distance, the structure had seemed very large. Standing before it, its size was stupefying. The facade was so high that they could not see the colossal dome at alt.

  Lining the parapet atop the building were statues like those they had seen being carried by the elephants in their vision of the Janagar of long ago. From where they stood, the statues appeared to be about man-height, but Conan made a quick estimation of the height of the facade and realized that me things were probably nearer thirty feet tall. So vast a building stunned the human eye’s ability to judge proportion.

  Every square foot of the stonework of the place was carved in unbelievably intricate detail. From their vantage, they could not make out the individual figures or the overall design, but the immediate impression was one of the mind-boggling labor involved. All the visible stone was of marble―-marble of a hundred hues and polished to such brilliance that it was as if the whole building was made of glass and illuminated from within.

  “Have you ever seen so great a structure?” Achilea gasped.

  “A few,” Conan said. “Those were in Stygia, and even there, I never saw any as high. And this is just the front of the place. Remember what we saw from the tower. The dome doubles the height of the building.”

  “How could mortal hands have built such a thing?” she wondered, “They did not,” said Kye-Dee. “It is clear to me that this place was built by gods or giants.”

  Conan was almost inclined to credit him. The thought of mere men toiling for untold years, probably over many generations, to erect this oppressively massive edifice was alien to him. It was marvelous, but it seemed detestable that men should spend their lives in such a pursuit. Surely, he thought, these people must have had the souls of ants,

  “Nothing to be gained by standing around here,” he said, settling the weapon-belt around his lean hips. They walked across the broad plaza surfaced with black and white paving stones set in eye-dazzling geometric patterns. It seemed to take forever to reach the vast building. It appeared to recede before them at their approach. But in time, they stood directly beneath its clifflike facade, gaping at the infinite intricacy of the carvings thereon, which were set row upon row running in continuous bands, interrupted only by windows and the single great entryway.

  Each band was crowded with life-size human figures, and if the activities of the sculptures in the temple where the Hyrkanian had died had been scabrous, these were almost supernaturally so. Ekun walked to one especially tangled group of figures and peered at it closely. “That is impossible,” she announced at length. “You would need three legs.”

  “Some of their gods or demons had a superfluity of limbs,” said Kye-Dee. “Maybe some of the folk of Janagar were likewise equipped.”

  Conan was not interested in the carvings. He went to the great doorway and studied it. The twin doors were nearly as large and massive as me city gate. They rose straight for nearly a score of paces and then arched to a point in the center. Around the doorway was a band of carving that looked at first

  like entwined vines, a design much used in the city. Closer examination revealed that it did not depict vines, but rather, innumerable serpents, their eyes made of gleaming gems. So realistic were they that the Cimmerian almost expected to see forked tongues flickering in and out of their mouths. Achilea joined him before the door.

  “We will need a ram to force this,” she said.

  “Perhaps we can go in through the roof,” Conan mused. “At least this will not be difficult to climb.”

  “You may climb it,” said Kye-Dee. “I will gladly cheer you on. But I am not going to scale that cliff, no matter how many handholds it provides.” The other Hyrkanians agreed vociferously.

  “Cowards!” Achilea sneered.

  “Men are not intended to climb rocks like lizards!” Kye-Dee said, offended.

  Jeyba walked to the great door and felt its massive timbers. Idly he gave it a shove, and the door swung inward as easily as would a house door hung on well-oiled hinges, yielding only a slight groan and creak.

  “Perhaps this will not be as difficult as we had thought,” Achilea said.

  “Don’t say that until we see what lies within,” Conan told her. He drew his sword and strode to the opening. Not to be outdone, Achilea drew her own blade and hurried to walk beside him. Her women and the dwarf were close behind, and the Hyrkanians came last, arrows fitted to the strings of their bows.

  Nervous and as alert as cats, the little band walked through a high-arched passageway that was like a great tunnel through the thick walls of the building. As with the outside, its walls bore decorations, but the light within was too dim for them to make out their nature. The heat and glare of the desert day disappeared as they left the door behind them. The air inside was faintly musty, but breathable. Ahead of them, they could see that the tunnel opened into a gigantic room where there was more light.

  As they reached the end of the tunnel, they gazed with wonder at the immensity of the cavernous interior. Before they could take it in, a huge, shaggy shape loomed up beside them, bellowing. A Hyrkanian spun and drew his bow, but Conan slapped the weapon aside. The arrow soared off into the distance and was broken against an unseen wall.

  “That’s a camel, you fool!” Conan barked.

  The Hyrkanian, bristling at Conan’s unwont
ed action, grinned sheepishly when he realized his mistake. ‘I thought it was a demon,” he said, shrugging.

  The camel whose life the Cimmerian had saved was one of the tall, white ones. Its mate stood just beyond it, along with the smaller, local camel that Amram had been riding. The animals were placidly chewing their cud. They seemed to be slightly indignant at this intrusion.

  “This is the first sign we’ve had of those three,” Achilea said. “You were right, Conan.”

  Slowly, they walked into the vastness of the interior chamber. The light that fell upon the tesselated floor was multicolored and it stained the mosaic in neat, geometric lozenges. Peering upward, they saw that the huge dome overhead was made entirely of glass panels set into a lattice of metal. The individual panels were made tiny by distance, but Conan estimated that each one had to cover the area of a small house. He had never seen such huge panes in his life.

  They were halfway across the floor before they realized that the hulking shape at the far end of the chamber was not a part of the building, but rather, an immense idol. The angle of the sunlight left it largely shrouded in gloom, hence their tardiness in recognizing it for what it was. By its location, Conan estimated that it would be fully illuminated only at sunset.

  “Is this a god?” Kye-Dee inquired.

  “A goddess, if anything,” Achilea said dryly.

  The figure was vaguely pyramidal in shape: a nude, anthropoid figure seated cross-legged, its multiple arms outstretched, some of its hands grasping weapons, others holding implements of no readily discernible function. Two arms extended straight out from the figure’s shoulders, their palms open and empty. The torso bore a dozen breasts arranged in a triple row between shoulders and navel. Its face was serenely beautiful, but the long, narrow eyes carried an expression of inhuman malice. Enormous

  jewels gleamed in forehead, eyes and navel. They approached the looming sculpture in awe and trepidation.

  “Why would anyone build such a thing?” Achilea asked. “It must be a hundred paces from one knee to the other.”

  “I do not know,” Conan said, “but I am weary of this.” He drew a deep bream and bellowed, “Monandas! Yolanthe! Amram! Come out and face us! We would have a few words with you!”

  The shouted words echoed from wall to wall of the temple chamber for a long time. Then they faded and a great silence reigned.

  “Now what?” the dwarf said. Gingerly, he rapped his knuckles upon the gigantic shin of me goddess. The greater part of the idol seemed to be made of bronze, although no rivets or joints between plates were visible. The method of its construction was a marvel on a par with everything else they had seen.

  “Well,” Achilea said, irritated, “where do we―” Her words ended abruptly when the idol emitted a long, deep groan from its innards.

  “What is this?” Jeyba said, alarmed. There was more groaning and creaking, as if something massive were shifting within the idol. They backed away from the huge thing, looking upward as if expecting to see the heavy arms come to life and reach for them. A rushing, hissing sound came from above and they looked around them in near panic.

  With a dazzling burst of light, flames erupted from the upturned palms of the outstretched pair of hands. The curled fingers seemed to be grasping great balls of flame, and the glaring, fund tongues of fire cast shifting shadows across the face of the goddess, giving her an even more sinister expression. To their horror, the narrow eyelids opened wider, exposing scarlet irises dotted with many small, black pupils.

  The jeweled eyes glowed with an inner fire. The Hyrkanians yammered spells to avert evil and made as if to run.

  “Hold!” Conan shouted. “This is no goddess! It is a great automaton, worked by machinery!”

  “What of that?” said Kye-Dee. “I want no part of it.”

  “I run from no puppet,” said Achilea, “even if it is the biggest puppet in the world!” Her women crowded close beside her, and Jeyba stood just before them, his bludgeon cradled in his hands.

  Conan stood poised, ready to fight or to run, as circumstances should dictate. Had the twins brought this prodigy about? Were they inside, operating the incredibly ancient machinery that sail, against all reason, worked?

  There was a rushing of feet and a clatter of harness as a double file of bizarre human figures came running from behind the idol. Within five seconds, they had the intruders surrounded. Conan estimated that there were at least a hundred of them, and more were coming. They were partially clad in bits and pieces of strange armor, but they wore no other clothes. Their numbers were of women as well as of men. All carried weapons and some had nets and ropes. All wore masks.

  The Hyrkanian who had almost shot the camel drew his bow and loosed. The hard-driven shaft punched easily through a breastplate of black leather and silvery metal and a woman went down, spraying scarlet.

  “No!” Conan shouted. “They are too many!”

  But the Hyrkanians were too overwrought to hear. At the sight of blood, two more drew their bows as the first reached for another arrow. Instantly, they were enveloped in the meshes of thrown nets, and the nets were followed by viciously barbed javelins. The men squalled like enraged panthers as they were harpooned until they choked on their own blood. Kye-Dee screamed and half-drew his short saber, but the Cimmerian knocked him to the floor with a blow of his massive fist “Be still, idiot!” he hissed.

  “But they slew my countrymen!” Kye-Dee wailed.

  “You countrymen were fools and they died like fools,” Conan said pitilessly. “If you want to live, obey orders for a change.”

  The strange warriors crowded in all around them. They were short but well-muscled, their skins the whitest Conan had ever seen. Of their faces he could tell nothing, for all were grotesquely masked. The masks appeared to be of hammered metal, some bearing the long beaks of birds, others the muzzles of animals, yet others with snarling monkey faces. Their armor was made of leather and polished metal.

  None wore full armor, only breastplates and greaves and bracers on their forearms, and all of it was spiky, jagged and ornate.

  Conan doubted that his band could carve a way through the line of these strange warriors; they would be speared long before they reached the door.

  A man in especially ornate armor strode up to them. In his hands be carried a poleax equipped with wicked spikes and hooks and this weapon he pointed toward Conan’s broad chest.

  “Lower your weapons!” the man cried, his words so twisted that the Cimmerian could scarcely understand them. He repeated the words, this time more shrilly.

  “What does he want?” Achilea asked.

  “He wants us to disarm,” Conan told her.

  “Never! If this means a fight to the death, so be it, but I’ll not be helpless among strangers!”

  “Just keep your hands well away from your weapons,” Conan said. “Perhaps that will be enough.”

  The man barked something and a net came sailing out to blossom open and envelop Achilea. Conan began to draw his sword, only to have a weighted cord whip around his wrist and slow his hand Then another net settled over him. He struggled against the meshes, but even his iron strength could not prevail against their tough fibers. He heard squalls and he twisted his bead around to see that the others were being as efficiently immobilized.

  The warriors were well practiced in this maneuver, for they quickly overwhelmed their victims by weight of numbers and trussed them soundly. It took many of them to overcome the Cimmerian, but they had numbers to spare. In minutes, he lay on his belly, his hands bound securely behind him, his ankles shackled with two feet of chain between them. When all were similarly trussed, they were hauled to their feet and the nets and ropes removed from them.

  “So much for your orders, Cimmerian!” Kye-Dee spat. “We should have fought our way out!”

  “You would have died,” Conan said. “We still live and we’ll get out of this. Your men probably got us into it. What people do not meet intruders with arms? There wa
s no cause to kill that woman.” Though he held his words steady, inwardly he seethed with anger.

  “But there was supposed to be no one here!” Kye-Dee protested.

  “These folk seem to have their own opinions on the matter,” Jeyba remarked.

  The man who had spoken stepped aside as a woman came forward to eye the captives closely. She wore a mask of blackened steel in the form of a hawk’s face, trimmed with a ruff of white feathers. An abbreviated mantle of black and silver scales covered her shoulders, and closely molded greaves encased her lower legs and knees. Similar guards graced both forearms. A belt of black and silver plates rode her lissome hips, supporting a dagger and a short sword. Except for these items, she was naked, “Who are you?” she asked in a husky voice through the gaping beak of her mask. She was a small woman, of a slender but wiry build.

  “I am Conan of Cimmeria,” came the answer, “and this is Queen Achilea of the Amazons. The rest are our followers. We come in search of our friends, whose camels stand yonder.” He jerked his head back over one shoulder, indicating the beasts.

  “And to do this, you had to slay one of us?” She pointed toward the dead woman, who was being carried toward the great idol.

  “It was an error,” Conan said. “We expected to find no one here and the fool panicked. He died for it, as did two of the others. The rest of us made no attempt to harm you.” He had no idea if this would appeal to her sense of fairness, but he deemed it worth a try.

  The woman stepped closer until she stood inches from the towering Cimmerian. With the forefinger of a fine-boned hand, she traced the massive muscles of his chest. “You do not look like the desert men

  who sometimes stumble upon the Forbidden City. What is your land?”

  “Cimmeria lies far, far to the north of here,” he answered.

  “Are your countrymen all as large and as strong as you?”

  “Almost,” he said.

  She stepped as close to Achilea and examined her minutely, lightly punching her cobblestoned belly, feeling the rippling muscles of arms and legs and body as if me queen were a camel she contemplated buying. With the back of one hand, she stroked Achilea’s cheek.