The Conan Compendium

by Various Authors

  The dark-faced man bore a look of intense concentration. Such was his inner absorption that he seemed hardly aware of those around him. It was as if all his energies were focused upon one single objective.

  Among the retinue of Duke Villagro could be seen the sinister features of Zarono the buccaneer and, also, a hooded figure that some recognized as that of the Setite priest, Menkara, whom they knew vaguely as one of Villagro's hangers-on.

  Ferdrugo feebly droned on, but now he neared the end of the document. Then the audience froze in amazement as the import of the words reached their astounded ears:

  "… and thus, by these presents, We, Ferdrugo of Zingara, renounce the throne in favor of Our daughter and heiress, the Princess Royal Chabela, and wed her in absentia to her betrothed and your next king, the high prince Thoth-Amon of Stygia! Long live queen and long! Long live Chabela and Thoth-Amon, thus created queen and king of the ancient and imperishable kingdom of Zingaral"

  All over the chamber, jaws sagged and eyes widened in astonishment. No visage showed greater shock than that of Duke Villagro bf Kordava. He goggled at old King Ferdrugo; his sallow features paled to a leaden hue. His thin, rouged lips writhed back in a voiceless snarl, exposing yellowed teeth.

  Villagro turned as if to speak to the tall, silent figure beside him. The impassive Stygian gave him a quiet smile, brushed aside his hand, and ascended the steps to the top of the dais as if to receive the plaudits of the throng.

  But there were no plaudits― only a rising buzz of astonishment and indignation.

  Over the rising hum of voices rose die quavering tones of King Ferdrugo: "Kneel, my son!"

  The tall Stygian halted in front of the Zamoran king and dropped to one knee. He raised both hands, lifted the Cobra Crown from his head, and gently laid it on the green-and-black stone of the dais beside him.

  Ferdrugo stepped forward and took from his own head the plain ancient crown of the hero-king Ra-miro. He turned it about and, with quivering hands, lowered it gently down upon Thoth-Amon's shaven skull.

  His face sick with the full realization of his ally's treachery, Villagro snatched at the ornamental dagger he wore at his girdle. Perhaps he meant to throw caution to the winds and drive the steel into the back of the great magician as he knelt. But then he released the dagger as his staring eyes focused with maniacal intensity upon the Cobra Crown> where it rested beside the kneeling Thoth-Amon. He knew, or thought he knew, something of its powers. In reporting to him, Zarono had explained: From what Menkara told me and from what Thoth-Amon let slip on the voyage hither, Your Grace, I believe that it works as follows. It amplifies and multiplies the power of the human mind to affect the minds of other beings. Thus Menkara, who is at best a middling wizard, can control the mind of one other person―in this case, our doddering king. Thoth-Amon, a magician of vastly greater powers, can govern several other minds at once. But he who wears the Crown, if he knows the proper methods, can by the Crown's power rule the minds of hundreds or even thousands of other beings. He can, for instance, drive a regiment of soldiers, utterly reek-man of them be slain. He could dispatch a lion, a venomous serpent, or other deadly wild beast to seek out and destroy his enemy.

  "None could stand against the wearer of the Cobra Crown. He could not be killed by ambush or assassination, for the Crown would convey to him the thoughts of those preparing the deed, and none could get within catapult shot of him without coming under his governance. Mortals like you and me, my lord, are ever plagued by the failure of our hirelings to carry out our commands―as when my sailors let the princess slip out of our grasp. But Thoth-Amon need fear no such blunders. When he issues a mental command, it will be carried out exactly, even at the cost of the henchman's life."

  And now, to seal Thoth-Amon's elevation to the throne, Ferdrugo was, with his own hands, placing the ancient crown of Zingara upon the Stygian's swarthy pate.

  To do so, however, it was necessary for Thoth-Amon to doff the Cobra Crown. In this act, Duke Villagro saw his opportunity.

  Moving with a swiftness that belied his years, the duke hurled aside his velvet chaperon and bounded up the steps of the dais. Since Thoth-Amon was not wearing the Cobra Crown, the wizard had no warning of his former ally's action until Villagro snatched up the Cobra Crown and clapped it upon his own head.

  As the duke started forward, he heard a muffled, guttural exclamation, which he recognized as the voice of the nearby Menkara. With the Crown on his head, Villagro whirled, to see Menkara coming swiftly up behind him with a bared dagger in his bony fist.

  As soon as the Cobra Crown settled upon his dyed and curled hair, Villagro was conscious of a host of sensations pouring through his mind. It seemed as if the unspoken thoughts of every person in the chamber rushed into his consciousness at once, in a buzzing, booming confusion. No magician, Villagro could not sort out these random thoughts.

  As Menkara neared him, the duke in desperation focused his mind upon the priest, at whom he thrust out his fingers in what he conceived to be a wizardly gesture.

  With all his might, he concentrated on the mental picture of Menkara falling over backward, as if knocked down by a mighty blow of the fist.

  And Menkara's rush did, in fact, slow and halt at the bottom step of the dais.

  As if struck, Menkara staggered back. His dagger tinkled to the pavement.

  Aleonine roar from behind him caused Villagro to whirl again. It came from Thoth-Amon, who had risen to his feet and turned about.

  "Dog! For this you shall die!" shouted the Stygian, speaking Zingaran with a guttural accent.

  "Die thyself!" replied Villagro, extending his fingers toward Thoth-Amon.

  The mighty wizard was not to be easily overcome, even with the help of the Cobra Crown, because the wearer of that Crown was ignorant of and unpractised in its use. For a straining, quivering instant, the two men faced each other in a deadlocked contest of wills. The power of Villagro over others' minds with the Crown roughly equaled the powers of Thoth-Amon, one of the greatest magicians of the age, without it. They strained and staggered, but neither yielded.

  Below, the nobles and officials regarded the tableau with slack-jawed astonishment. There were many brave men among them, who would instantly have rallied to whichever side stood for the welfare of Zingara―but in these chaotic moments, who could tell which side that was? A king reduced to imbecility, a sinister foreign sorcerer, and a notoriously unscrupulous and conniving duke…

  who could say where lay the right?

  Behind him, Villagro heard Menkara muttering a spell. He felt his own mental strength weakening. Before him Thoth-Amon seemed to grow in stature and might…

  Then a sudden eruption of noise shook the room and brought all eyes about to stare at the source. A crowd of rough, ragged seamen boiled suddenly out of a portal on a balcony above the hall. At their head strode a bronzed giant with an unshorn mane of raven-black hair and burning eyes of volcanic blue under heavy black brows, with a huge cutlass clenched in one mighty fist.

  Zarono uttered a shout of astonishment: "Cortanl By all the gods and devils―here!"

  Seeing the burly barbarian appear so suddenly, the sallow-faced buccaneer paled.

  Then his lean, wolfish countenance grew grim, and his hard black eyes blazed with wrath. He slid his rapier from its sheath.

  The interruption had also distracted Thoth-Amon, who turned his swarthy, golden-crowned head to stare. Had he worn the Cobra Crown, he would have known of the approach of Conan and his men before they appeared; but he had doffed the magical headpiece just before they came within its range.

  After a glance at the intruders, Villagro returned his attention to Thoth-Amon.

  The Stygian, he knew, was by far the more dangerous foe. If he could, by the unpractised use of the Crown, vanquish Thoth-Amon, then Conan could easily be disposed of by the same means. But, if he turned his full attention on Conan, Thoth-Amon would wipe him out as easily as swatting an insect.

  Conan strode to the
head of the stair and wind-milled his arms for attention.

  "Ho, lords of Zingaral" he boomed. "Vile treason and blackest magic have enmeshed your ldng in their toils!" One brawny arm shot out, pointing at the silent figure of the Stygian. "No prince of Stygia he, but Hell's most stinking spawn! A sorcerer from the unholy depths of Stygia, come to steal the ancient throne of Zingara from its royal house. No blacker villain than Thoth-Amon has ever soiled the earth!

  Your king's wits have been stolen by some wizardly trick, so that he knows not what he says; he but parrots the thoughts that this would-be usurper puts into his mind!'

  The assemblage wavered, some persuaded by Conan's words and some not. One fat nobleman cried: "What madness is this? A wild-eyed rogue of a pirate, bursting into the palace during a sacred ceremony, waving his sword and shouting nonsense? Guards, arrest those rascaUions!"

  A babble arose, over which Conan roared: "Look at the king and see the truth of my words, you simpletons!"

  Beside his throne, pale and shrunken, Ferdrugo wavered, plucking at his wispy white beard. "What ―what is happening here, my lords?" he quavered. His bewildered gaze swept from face to face. Then he noticed the document in his hand. "What―what is this? Was I reading it?" he murmured. "It makes no sense . .

  ."

  It was obvious that King Ferdrugo did not recognize the proclamation that he had just read. Thoth-Amon, distracted by his contest with Villagro and Conan's intrusion, had let slip his mental control of Ferdrugo's will. Now his attention was forcibly brought back to the duke.

  When Thoth-Amon had turned toward Conan, Villagro had hurled his will, amplified a thousandfold by the Cobra Crown, at the looming form of the Stygian.

  Thoth-Amon staggered under the impact, nearly fell, and clutched the arm of the throne to steady himself. The Zingaran crown―which, being too small for him, rode unsteadily on his swarthy scalp―fell from his head and struck the stone of the dais with a clang.

  Then he rallied. With the whites of his eyes showing in a hypnotic glare, he in turn sent Villagro staggering with a mental blast.

  "Give me the Cobra Crown, fool!" snarled Thoth-Amon.

  "Never!" shrilled Villagro.

  The duke felt an increase of the mental power opposing him. Behind him he felt, without seeing, the mind-force of Menkara added to that of Thoth-Amon. The priest of Set had rallied to the side of his master. Again Villagro felt himself weakening, his mental defenses crumbling.

  Eyes swung back to where Conan and his buccaneers stood at the head of the stairs. The air was taut and crackling with suspense. It was one of those moments when the fate of nations is balanced on a knife blade―when a single word, a look, or a gesture can turn the tide of events and topple empires.

  And then, in that momentary silence, the word was spoken. The figure of a young girl appeared at Conan's side. She was well-rounded, with sleek olive skin, dark flashing eyes, and hair of silken jet. Though her buxom young body was garbed in a rough sailor's costume, it came to the lords of Zingara that they had seen her before, in more sumptuous rainment.

  "The princess!" gasped a baron.

  "Eh? Chabela?" muttered the old king, peering nervously about. All saw that it was truly she. But, before a babble of questions could arise, the girl spoke: "Nobles of Zingara, Captain Conan speaks the truth! Yonder black-hearted Stygian schemer has caught my father in his magical toils. Conan rescued me from the sorcerer, and we have raced back to Kordava to forestall his usurpation! Strike him down, guards!"

  The captain of the royal guard snapped an order to his troops and ripped out his sword with a rasp of steel against leather. He advanced at the head of his men.

  Conan and nine sailors clattered down the stairs, blades flashing in the lamplight. Chabela remained at the head of the stairs with Ninus, the priest of Mitra. The little man dropped to his knees, and his high voice rose in a.frantic prayer:

  "O Lord Mitra, great prince of light!" he intoned. "Stand by us in this hour against the dark power of Setl In the divine name of Sraosha and by the unthinkable name, Zurvan, lord of infinite time, we pray and conjure thee!

  Strike with thine holy fire, that the Old Serpent be smitten and fall from his high place!"

  Whether Thoth-Amon weakened from his titanic mental exertions, or whether Villagro's command of the Cobra Crown was becoming stronger with practice, or whether in sooth Mitra took a hand in the contest, Thoth-Amon seemed to pale, shrink, and weaken. He reeled back a step. Villagro opened his mouth for a shout of triumph.

  Before the cry could come forth, Thoth-Amon played his last card. His long, brown forefinger shot out toward the duke of Kordava. A nimbus of jade-green radiance flickered into being about the finger and elongated into a beam of emerald light.

  The beam struck the head of Duke Villagro and the diamond-crusted crown on that head, bathing it in a blinding emerald refulgence. Then the gold itself of the crown glowed red.

  Villagro uttered a piercing scream. He reeled back, clutching at his head as if trying to tear off the crown. Black smoke curled up as his black-dyed hair blazed.

  Then the room was bathed in a blinding blue light as lightning flashed just outside the chamber, filling the tall windows with a furious glare. One of the windows shattered with a tinkle of glass. A narrow sheet of rain poured slantingly in. To some in the chamber, half blinded by the glare and wholly deafened by the earth-shaking boom of thunder that instantly followed, it seemed that a tendril of lightning flicked through the broken window, to lash downward like a cosmic whip at the stricken duke of Kordava.

  Villagro fell headlong, face down upon the pavement. The Cobra Crown came off and rolled across the marble, leaving Villagro's body with its hair burnt to a mere stubble and the skin around the skull, where the crown had touched it, seared to a black crisp.

  So ended the ambitious dreams of Duke Villa-. gro, who, dissatisfied with his ducal coronet, had yearned after kingly crowns and died of a surfeit of dreams.

  Chapter Twenty

  RED BLOOD AND COLD STEEL

  For three heartbeats, this startling event held all the living persons in the chamber in a state of frozen shock. Thoth-Amon was the first to recover his wits.

  "Menkara! Zarono!" he bellowed. "Come here!" As the priest of Set and the buccaneer approached, the latter with his rapier in hand, the Stygian wizard said: "Collect your men and Villagro's partisans! Strike hard and fasti If you do not, your heads will answer for itl With Conan on the king's side, you have no chance of making your peace with the old regime!"

  "Where are your spells?" snarled Zarono. "Why don't you sweep our foes away with a wave of your hand?"

  "I will do what I can; but magic, too, has its limitations. To your arms!"

  "You are right," said Zarono, spinning on his heel. "Men!" he shouted. "The duke is dead, but the prince of Stygia lives! If our swords put him on the throne, we shall all be lords! To me!"

  "All loyal Zingarans to me!" roared Conan. "Strike for your king and your princess, and save Zingara from the rule of that devil from the Stygian hellsl"

  There was a general movement as the two parties sorted themselves out. Most of Villagro's partisans streamed toward Zarono, while most of the noblemen and officials clustered around Conan and his seamen. Some, uncertain which side to take or merely timid, slipped out of the hall.

  It was soon to be seen that Zarono's party was the larger. While some palace guards joined Conan's faction, a larger number of men-at-arms, being Villagro's henchmen, sided with Zarono. All these soldiers were in half-armor, which gave them an advantage in battle.

  "You are outnumbered!" shouted Thoth-Amon, from the dais. "Surrender, and you will be allowed to flee with your lives!"

  Conan responded with a loud, impolite suggestion to Thoth-Amon, as to what to do with his proposal.

  "Out swords for Thoth-Amon, king of Zingara!" cried Zarono, rushing upon the nearest man of Conan's party.

  Swords began to clash here and there. In a glittering rush, the tw
o factions surged together. The rasp and chime of sword against sword resounded. The hall was alive with struggling, shouting, fighting men. Sword clanged against sword, helmet, cuirass, and buckler. Here a man fell, weltering in his blood; there another. Wounds began to stream crimson, and screams of agony rose from men wounded to death.

  Conan grinned recklessly, white teeth flashing in his bronzed, heavy-featured face. The time for words was over. Although the years had taught him a measure of caution and responsibility, beneath his veneer of maturity there was still nothing that the grim barbarian relished more than a good free-for-all, and this looked to be the most glorious fight that had come his way in many a moon.

  He leaped from the stairway, where he had stood, and came down on the nearest of Zarono's men. He bowled the man over and descended upon him with his bootheels with such force as to snap the fellow's spine. Landing like a cat on all fours, Conan kicked the next man in the belly and thrust his sword between the ribs of the man who bent to assist his fallen comrade.

  He plunged on, moving as lithely as a striking panther, despite his size, and cutting down the Zingarans like ripe wheat. He towered over the Zingarans, who were on the average a small people, the light swords with which they tried to parry the blows of his huge cutlass snapped at the impact, and men fell before him with a head or an arm shorn off. Behind him raged his buccaneers, swinging their cutlasses.

  Most of the Zingarans on both sides were skilled swordsmen, scions of a people that had raised swordplay to a fine art. But Conan, though a barbarian born and bred, had made a lif e-long career of fighting and had studied it with the concentration of a connoisseur. While wintering in Kordava, he had employed his spare time in taking lessons in the refined Zingaran arts of swordplay from the great Master Valerio, whose fencing academy was reputed to turn out the finest swordsmen in several kingdoms.