The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  “Why did be not keep or destroy it?” Achilea asked.

  “That be could not do. These fragments are swathed in the most powerful spells. He could not bear its proximity for long, and he abandoned the thing in the wilderness once be had plumbed its secrets. In the fashion of such objects, it was found within days and soon rested in the hands of the fraternity.”

  “What is this fraternity?” Conan asked.

  “There is a sort of loose brotherhood among the masters of the thaumaturgic arts. We usually toil alone and often we are at odds, but in matters of very great peril, we cooperate and pool our knowledge.

  This we call the fraternity, and many of us have been at work on this problem since the safeguards were activated. Almost all that is known about Janagar is the product of our researches since that time, I was chosen to represent the brotherhood all during the final stage of the Sealing of Janagar, not because I am the greatest, far from it, but because I am unknown in the lands roundabout.

  “Now I arrive to find that not only has my Adversary preceded me, but Firagi has been here for a long time. In his customary fashion, he turned his situation to good account. He was captured and soon won himself a place as counselor to Omia and Abbadas. He probably instructed them on the nature of the world outside the desert. Doubtless this further inflamed the ambitions of Abbadas. By my arts, I can also detect that they used him for the same purpose they had intended for you.”

  “Crom!” Conan said. “They must have been desperate for breeding stock!”

  “Why did he guide the twins―your Adversary―to the city?” Achilea asked.

  “He may have had little choice. He was never much of a wizard, as I have intimated. He was probably sent out by Queen Omia to lure wayfarers into the city. They must have had their ways of knowing when any such were nigh. He could not have known what the Adversary was, although he surely would have understood that he did not conduct a pair of ordinary twins and their camels. And, as always, he was playing some game of his own. It is probably as crackbrained as all his doings.”

  “And you’ve no idea where your Adversary is?” Conan asked.

  “None. Two years ago, I would have known where to look for it, but it has learned much of the arts and is now adept at concealing itself. When you see it again, I doubt that it will look like your twins. Or their camels, for that matter.”

  “What!” Conan barked. “Why should we ever lay eyes upon it again? I, for one, intend to go and mount my camel and ride away from here. I am heartily sick of this place and all its doings, and am willing to take my chances with the desert!”

  “You forget that you are unarmed in the midst of my men,” Arsaces snapped. Conan bristled, but Achilea put a hand on his arm.

  “I think we are about to hear what he wants of us,” she said.

  “What is it?” Conan demanded sullenly.

  “Surely you have guessed by now,” Arsaces said. “I want you to go back into the underground city.”

  Fifteen

  The desert sun lowered, touched the western horizon and began to disappear beneath it. Conan stood upon the rim of the great sand bowl, his eyes taking in its slow demise. The once-perfect contours of the basin had grown ragged as wind and gravity caused sand to sink from the rim into the depression.

  Soon it would be night and time for the whirlwind-demons to resume their work. He knew thai on this night, the proceedings would be different, and undoubtedly a good deal livelier. Below him, he saw Achilea climbing up the face of the bowl-dune with her usual limber, long-legged strides. Soon she stood beside him. Half the globe of the sun was below the horizon.

  “It will be time ere long,” she said, the red blaze from the west illuminating her richly, her long, tawny hair streaming in the evening wind. “If this is the last sunset I am to see, at least it is a fair one.”

  “I do not like this,” Conan said. “I care nothing for these wizards and their doings. They have our weapons, but I’ve been without a sword ere now. I am willing to chance the desert. What say you? Just you and I?”

  She smiled wanly and shook her head. “Nay, I remember last time too well. I’ll not venture out again upon those sands without good robes and a mount, even if it must be a smelly camel. And I could never desert my followers, few as they are.”

  “I suppose that is wisest Well, we’ve come out of that city alive once. Perhaps we can do it again.”

  As always, he detested not being his own master.

  “Conan,” she said, “have you not wondered how I came to Jose my throne?”

  This was something unexpected. “Aye, that I have.”

  “You have heard the tales of how my nation propagates itself? How we take captive men and keep them only long enough to breed children with us?”

  “I have heard this,” he admitted.

  “It is true. Not long after I was made queen, we had such a ceremony. I chose carefully from among our captives. He was an Aesir youth, a wandering adventurer like you, but with sun-colored hair and a laughing mouth and merry eyes, unlike your sour Cimmerian visage.” She smiled at his look of consternation. “We were together for the stipulated month, and in that time, I conceived a love for him that surpassed anything I had ever felt before.”

  “That was unfortunate,” Conan said, “since you had to slay him at the end of it.”

  “That was my first sin,” she told him. “His name was Aethelwulf, and I could not bear the thought that he would be no more. So before the crone could cut his throat upon the great stone of sacrifice, I stole into the prison cave, knocked his guard unconscious and cut his bonds. I never saw him again and I was not seen doing it, but suspicion fell upon me anyway. It was my sister, Briseis, who began the rumors. They haunted me for months. It was said that Achilea was too tenderhearted to be queen, that she had defied the gods of our people.”

  Conan loosed an honest laugh. ‘1 think that only your tribe or a barbarian like me could ever consider you tenderhearted!”

  “Whatever the case, it was just the beginning. In time, I was brought to the birthing-chair to deliver my child.”

  Conan thought he knew what was coming, but he said nothing. Now only a sliver of the sun remained above the horizon.

  “The child was male. The time of year was a bad one; there would be no passing caravan to take it and the other males off our hands, so it was sent to the House of the Crones to be slain after the ancient custom. I could not stand the thought. I rose from the birth ing-chair and fought my way through the midwives and snatched up my sword. Somehow I found the strength to stagger to the House of the Crones and there I found the eldest sister with her blade poised above the babe’s throat. I hewed her gray head from her shoulders. Then I slew the other crones and I took up the babe.

  “Outside, I ran to my horse. All the others stood out of my way, for I was a sight to horrify a dragon! I rode to the crest of a hill near the village, and below me, I saw my sister rousing the others to pursue, flogging laggards with her whip. I raised the child above my head and screamed defiance at her.

  Then I rode away,

  “For months, I lived alone as an animal, nursing my child and living by my skills as a hunter. Then my sisters of my wilderness year found me. They were sick of Briseis and would rather follow me as outlaws. There were a score of them then. Lombi, Payna and Ekun are all that survive. So now you know. Even Jeyba, who was closer to me than any other man since Aethelwulf, never knew the whole story.”

  “What became of the bairn?” Conan asked.

  “It was not a life an infant could survive,” she said. “I gave him to a family of hunters in the mountains and visited him from time to time over the years, I named him Wulf for his father, since we have no male names among my people. He is about twelve years old now, if he lives. Time to begin his warrior training.”

  Conan was silent for a minute. Then: “Achilea, you are the greatest woman I have ever known. Not just great in size and strength and courage, but in heart. You are the o
nly true queen I have ever known, and ere now, I have known women who sat upon thrones. Had I been Aethelwulf, I would have fought your whole nation to keep you.”

  She smiled, leaned forward, and their lips met. He crushed her to him, and her own arms, scarcely less powerful than his, returned the embrace. If tigers kissed, it would have been like the kiss of the Amazon and the Cimmerian. Then they broke apart.

  “Come,” she said. “Let us get our weapons and go die together.” She sounded truly happy. The last sliver of sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

  They entered the city with their swords bare in their hands. Conan and Achilea were in the lead, with the three wild women close behind. Well behind them followed me men of Arsaces, nervous but ready with sword, bow and crossbow. Last of all came Arsaces himself, with his crystalline homunculus perched upon his shoulder like a pet bird.

  “A slow and cautious man, our Arsaces,” Conan said with a wolfish scowl.

  “It is doubtless the best course when dealing with the foes he faces,” Achilea said, “Give me clean bloodshed and bare steel any time.”

  “Aye, I― What is that?” There was a rustling, flapping noise all around them. The Cimmerian halted.

  “It is just the whirlwind-demons beginning their night’s work,” Arsaces shouted from behind them.

  “Pay them no mind and proceed.”

  Proceed they did, but as for ignoring the demons, that was impossible. There came sounds of stone being rent and broken, glass being shattered, and an indescribable hissing noise. Dominating all was a choking stench of acid that soon had them coughing as a yellow fog came rolling down the walls of the high buildings, behaving more like a thin liquid than proper smoke. It formed an ankle-high layer upon the street, and the skin of their feet began to sting and burn.

  “Crom, let’s get out of this!” Conan said, sprinting for the nearest stairway. Achilea and her women ran like fallow deer and the warriors shuffled along behind, lumbered by their armor and desert robes.

  The wizard strode along in a dignified manner, ignoring all discomfort.

  In the higher elevations of the city, the air was still clear. Soon they were at the great plaza before the temple. The temple door stood open and they could see lights flickering within.

  “We’ll have company soon,” Conan said. “Are you ready?”

  “I am always ready,” Achilea said, her long fingers flexing on the rough grip of her sword. Behind them, the hired warriors waited, and atop the buildings that fringed the plaza, other creatures gathered.

  “I hate the idea of fighting on the same side as those things,” the Cimmerian muttered.

  “When you are gravely outnumbered,” Achilea pointed out, “you cannot be picky about your allies.”

  “Let’s go,” Conan said. The time for hesitation was past. For good or ill, it was time to commence the night’s work. They had gone no more than a dozen paces when warriors came boiling from within the temple. The shouted and gave voice to hideous, ululating war cries, and the air began to hum with crossbow bolts, few of which found targets in the uncertain light. Many of the underground warriors waved torches and these produced a multitude of shifting shadows, further confusing the sight.

  The first warriors to reach the Cimmerian and the Amazon queen went down amid screams and blood. The hired warriors spread out and made their weapons felt. The underground folk were smaller and at a disadvantage in a hand-to-hand encounter, but their numbers were overwhelming. Two of Arsaces’s warriors went down screaming and another fell soundlessly, a bolt protruding from an eye socket. Then the whirlwind-demons joined the fray.

  Conan had fought his way within twenty paces of the temple door when they were surrounded by reeking, flapping, shadowy forms. The Cimmerian could not discern clearly what they looked like, and he was not certain that he wanted to. Within moments, he was being showered by bloody offal that had been shredded by no weapon of steel. The masked warriors fell back in panic-stricken horror and Conan and his companions hewed at their bare backs. This was a desperate fight against overwhelming odds, and there was no place for the niceties of chivalry.

  Inside the temple, vapor torches burned in sconces, and huge flames leapt from the upturned hands of the bronze goddess. Standing before the gate to the underworld, Conan saw Abbadas, shouting and haranguing his warriors. His voice betrayed growing fear and panic.

  “No! Get back our there, you worms! They are destroying the city and it is not time yet! The Great Spell of Unchanging must be maintained for a while longer!” His words went unheard, for the invading warriors and the whirlwind-demons were already within the temple.

  But now the tide of the fight began to shift and resistance stiffened, for the demons could not abide the light of the torches and must perforce lurk within the shadows, snatching at masked guards as they chanced too close. Even so, the panic spread by their presence and, most of all, by their acid stench, prevented any genuine rallying on the part of the underground people. Some tried to run past Abbadas for whatever refuge the lower city had to offer, but he cut down many with his sword and flogged the others back into the fray with a short, thick whip.

  “Back, cowards!” he cried. “We are safe as long as the fires burn high!” Under his repeated shriekings and scourg-ings, the masked warriors formed a thick cordon beneath the feet of the gigantic

  idol, thus blocking the door. Conan, Achilea and the few remaining hired warriors carved at the line, inflicting casualties, but there were always oncoming warriors to take the places of the fallen. The battle seemed about to reach a stalemate when a new and horrifying factor entered.

  The Adversary dropped from its lurking place at the top of the dome.

  Screams of surprise and terror greeted its arrival and for a few paralyzed seconds, the Cimmerian gaped at the thing that he had known as the twins Yolanthe and Monandas and their two unusual camels.

  Now it had reverted to the shape natural to it in its own plane. He judged it to mass at least a ton. It was roughly circular, covered with coarse, bristling hair and fringed at its base with short tentacles that glowed crimson and green. It had six long, jointed arms tipped with hooked pincers. Most frightening of all were its eyes. Glaring and slit-pupiled, the three orbs atop the blasphemous form glowed with a hideous intelligence that made the mindless whirlwind-demons seem innocuous by contrast.

  For long, tense seconds, the mass of struggling humans stood still and silent, stunned with horror at this new apparition. The tension was shattered when the six long, hairy arms shot out with unnatural swiftness and snatched up six squirming, writhing humans. The pincers pulped diem, and six vertical orifices, lined with curved, thornlike teeth, gaped open upon the body between the arms. The pincers thrust the shredded bodies into the mouths. The orifices closed and the Adversary began, hideously, to grow,

  The voice of Arsaces rose, thundering above the din of the resumed battle, and violet light began to flash around him.

  Suddenly, the underground city seemed to Conan to be a good place to visit. With near-maniacal fury, he began to hew at the line before him, his sword a glittering whirlwind that made even lionhearted Achilea stand back in awe of his savagery. Then he was distracted by a blood-chilling scream.

  “My queen!”

  Conan whirled, and a wave of horror rushed over him. One of the pincers had grasped Ekun and begun to raise her from the floor. Even in the din of battle and panic, he distinctly beard the thick bones of her pelvis snap in the merciless grip.

  Without the slightest hesitation, Achilea spun on a bare heel and thrust her sword unerringly through the suffering woman’s heart. “Die clean, my sister!” Her reward was a look of unutterable gratitude that quickly faded. Ekun was dead before her queen’s steel left her heart. With two fingers of her left hand, Achilea wiped the woman’s blood from the tip of her blade and drew a red line from her hairline to her lips. Payna and Lombi reached out to touch the blade and performed the same gesture, The monstrous thing lurched higher, new
ly fed upon human flesh. Then it was enveloped in a violet net as Arsaces flung his handful of crystals over it. The stones darted about like glittering wasps, trailing glowing strands of light The stumpy tentacles flashed multiple colors, some of them painful for human eyes to behold, as the creature left off devouring human prey to fight its wizardly enemy.

  Conan wanted to see no more. He returned to the fray with redoubled fury. In moments, he and Achilea had carved a path through the resisting warriors and were within the idol. Payna and Lombi were close behind. The hired warriors were all dead or had fled, they knew not which. With a last few killing blows, the way to the spiral ramp was open. They ran for it, every stride putting more distance between themselves and the horrors behind.

  “Abbadas!” Conan shouted as they ran down the spiral. “Where are you? Come meet me, dog! See if I die as easily as your murdered queen!” Nothing answered him save his own echo.

  Minutes later, they were in the underground warren off the main corridor. With his unerring memory, the Cimmerian guided them through the pathways they had taken in their escape from the city.

  They passed many inhabitants, but these drew aside with fear. All the warriors were above, either fighting or dead.

  “Which way?” Achilea cried as they came to a fork in the passages.

  “Here!” Conan said, taking the one that led to the right From before them came creaking, groaning and hissing sounds. A hundred long strides later, they passed through a doorway and into the

  vapor-works. First Conan darted within, closely followed by Achilea. Payna was after her queen, and last was Lombi. At Lombi’s sudden gasp, they runted to see her standing with a stunned expression, looking down at the foot of bloody steel that had suddenly appeared from between her breasts. The blade withdrew and the light in her eyes faded. Stiff-legged, she toppled like a falling tree. Behind her stood Abbadas, holding a stained sword.

  The usurper’s mask was off for a change, revealing a hard-planed face whose contours were not quite human. Upon it sat a took of sensual satisfaction as be dabbled his fingers in the blood coating his blade. He raised his wet fingertips to his tongue and licked them, managing to smile at the surviving three while he did so.