'Then what makes it valuable enough for someone else to steal it?'' Conan demanded.
'The scorpion is a thing of great mystery and magic,' Piris said, his voice gone even lower and breathier than usual. 'In the hands of a sorcerer, its powers would be immense! And its substance is absolutely unique. The stone from which it is carved is not obsidian, although it has rather that appearance. It was carved from a huge black diamond that fell from the heavens upon ancient Atlantis. It is said that a shadowy priesthood of that fabulous kingdom toiled for many generations to carve the image from the strangely shaped gem, which was even harder than earthly diamonds. During the last century of its shaping, a wonderful temple was built to house the scorpion. When the final stroke of the polishing was done, so was the temple finished, and the image was placed therein.
'Ten days and nights of fearful ceremonies inaugurated the temple, and at midnight of the tenth night, when the moon shone through an aperture in the temple roof upon the last trickle of
blood that dripped from the idol's pedestal, the island shook with the blasts of a thousand volcanoes, and Atlantis sank beneath the waves of the ocean, with all of its gleaming cities.' The voice quivered with awe. '
'But the scorpion seems to have survived this untimely wetting,' Conan observed.
'Do not speak flippantly of so sacred an object!' Piris admonished. 'It is said that the scorpion walked from its sunken temple and came thus to Stygia, were it was revered for many centuries until it was given into the keeping of my family in recognition of our mastery of certain religious rites. These rites are of a most esoteric nature and are crucial to the proper ordering of the universe. Terrible cosmic consequences could result from this theft!'
'I see,' Conan said. 'And what makes you think the scorpion is here in Sicas?'
'It may not be here yet, but in Belverus an informant told me that it was in the possession of a certain caravan master, one Mulvix, and that this man was bound for Sicas. That was why I bade you come hither.'
'You think this Mulvix will try to sell the scorpion here?' ' Conan asked.
'Very likely. I think the man is just a smuggler. As such, the idol must very soon make him most uncomfortable. It is true of all magical objects that the uninitiated cannot bear their presence for long. By now he will be anxious to get rid of it. He may simply try to dispose of it as a valuable art object, or as a unique jewel, but it is more likely that he will seek out a wizard, a very rich one, if there is such a person here in this benighted city.'
'There is just such a man,' Conan proclaimed, 'and I know of a way to ingratiate myself with him.'
'Excellent! If we watch both this wizard and the fence you spoke of, we must soon find the scorpion.'
'That is how I see it. I shall set about it tomorrow. Now, Piris, just where do you expect to sleep?'
The little man's eyes widened. 'Sleep? Why, it is too late to find a room of my own. Surely there is room for me here, even if on a mere pallet on the floor.' He gestured, as if to demonstrate the spaciousness of the accommodations.
'Phis,' the Cimmerian growled, 'under no circumstances are you and I going to sleep in the same room. There is a fine stable attached to this inn. The straw is clean.'
'The stable!' Piris's voice achieved a near squawk. 'How could I endure such a place?'
'Easily, and you will smell the better for it.'
'But might I not—'
'Good night to you, Piris,' Conan said firmly.
Piris emitted a heartfelt sigh as he walked to the door. 'I should have known you were a cruel man when I hired you.' He left, shutting the door behind him.
Conan grinned up at the ceiling. In a lifetime spent among the most lawless people in the world, never had he encountered so many villainous schemers in so short a time. Mercenaries, thieves, corrupt officials, religious frauds, would-be wizards, and killers of every stripe were drawn to the town like iron filings to a lode-stone. By now he knew better than to trust anything told to him by his employers. Henceforth he would trust only their gold.
Conan rose early and found Piris in the common room. The little man had secured quarters on the ground floor but clearly he resented his night in the stable. Conan ignored the reproach in the dog-like protuberant eyes as he breakfasted with his usual gusto.
'This morning I visit the Temple of Bes,' the Cimmerian said when he was satisfied. 'Do you want to go with me? It is in the Pit.'
'That sounds like a worthwhile visit,' Piris said. 'I would like to...'He fell silent as the door opened, and his expression was one of alarm. Conan turned to see a man enter. He was hugely fat, with legs bulging his hose like overstuffed sausages. Greasy black hair framed his jowly face. Conan turned back to Piris.
'What is wrong?' he demanded.
'Oh, nothing, nothing. I but thought for a moment that that man was someone else. Pay it no heed.'
Conan grunted as if satisfied. They left the inn and walked southward. As they passed the Square, Conan pointed out Andolla's temple and gave Piris a sketchy account of the man's activities.
'If he is very rich and posing as a mage,' the Zamoran said, 'he would be a logical buyer for the scorpion.' He looked bemused, then spoke once more. 'Tell me, Conan; since you have been here, have you encountered a man who is quite tall and very handsome, with wavy blond hair and an easy manner?'
'Not to notice. Why do you ask?'
'He was once an associate of mine, and I thought I might encounter him here. This is the sort of place to attract him. He is a gambler and fancies himself a ladies' man.' The latter quality seemed to displease Piris.
'I've met no one like that here,' Conan said, thinking that he had not actually met such a one. But the description sounded suspiciously like Asdras, whose rat-gnawed corpse he had seen in the alley behind the Wyvern. And, just where was Brita keeping herself?
After much wandering about in twisting streets and blind alleys, they found the Temple of Bes. It was an old and shabby building, much in need of painting. The doorway was flanked by a pair of statues of the grotesque god, who had the body of a bandy-legged dwarf and a lion-like face. His tongue protruded from his comically wide-stretched mouth. The Ophirean god was popular among the lower classes in many lands. He was a god of jollity and good times, a defender against evil spirits and, oddly enough, a protector of women in childbirth. Like most gods, he had a darker side. Bes was also a god of drunkards and thieves.
The Cimmerian and the Zamoran passed within. A priest hurried from the back of the temple to greet them. He wore Ophirean robes, headgear and slippers, and upon his breast was a jewelled pectoral depicting his god.
'How may I help you sirs?' His clothing might have been Ophirean, but his accent was local. 'Do you wish to offer a sacrifice? Have you a wife in labour?' He eyed Piris sceptically. 'Well, perhaps not the latter. Is it, shall we say, a business matter?'
'Business,' Conan said. 'We are looking for—' Piris thrust an elbow sharply into his ribs, hard enough for the Cimmerian to feel the jab through his brigantine.
'We are in the market for art objects,' Piris said smoothly. 'We were informed that you are a dealer in such matters.'
'In my small fashion,' said the priest. 'What sort of art do you fancy? Paintings? Ivory carving? Jewel work?'
'Might we have a look at your stock?' Piris asked.
'But of a certainty! If you gentlemen will come with me, I will show you my inventory.'' He led them past the altar and to a door that opened upon a flight of stairs. These descended to a room where a pair of slaves guarded a heavy door. The slaves were men of Shem, huge and hook-nosed, with black beards almost concealing the spiked collars that encircled their necks.
From his girdle the priest took a heavy key and thrust it into the door. Massive as the portal was, it opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. 'Bring lamps,' the priest ordered. The slaves complied, and moments later Conan and his companion were admiring a fine stock of valuables: jewelled swords, fine portraits, small statues carved from prec
ious materials, jewellery of every description. At the far end of the vault there was a second door. This Conan had expected, and it was the main reason he had wanted to have a look at the temple.
'What lies beyond that portal?' he asked.
'Just the river,' said the priest. 'Sometimes goods must be moved in and out without bothering the authorities, if you take my meaning. Well, gentlemen, do you see anything such as takes your fancy?''
Piris caressed a ruby-eyed figurine of a rearing lion. 'Oh, much of this is most attractive, and rest assured that in time I shall come to make you an offer upon some of these items. However,
just now we have a more specific desire. It would be a small statue made of a most curious black stone. It will be quite unlike anything you have ever encountered before. Should this unique specimen come before you, and I think it well might within a very few days, you should find it very rewarding to inform us.'
'Ah, a specific item!' said the priest conspiratorially. 'It is not uncommon for me to be asked to keep watch for a specific item that someone is desirous of obtaining. I have seen nothing thus far such as you seek, but be assured that I shall let you know instantly should it come my way. At one time this would have been inevitable, but business has been greatly damaged of late by all these amateurs who have come to town. Where might you be contacted, good sirs?'
Phis gave the man the name of their inn, and for a while the two conversed professionally upon the subject of property acquired extralegally. While they did so, the Cimmerian examined the vaulted chamber in which they stood. The walls were of brick, curving to form the roof overhead. The bricks did not sweat moisture, which meant that they were well above the level of the river.
As soon as he had heard that the temple abutted the river wall, he had assumed that there would be a river access. In past times, when Sicas had been governed by Reeves more conscientious than Bombas, the priests of this temple would have required a convenient means of moving their nefariously acquired goods.
Conan had long ago learned that it is unwise to enter any house without first noting where all the possible exits lie. The same held true for towns. In a tight situation, it would be good to know that there was a convenient way out of the town that did not necessitate use of the gates.
Their business concluded, Conan and Piris returned to the streets of the Pit. They made a strange pair, the huge, savage-looking Cimmerian and the small, delicate and effeminate Zamoran, but in the Pit they did not rate so much as a second glance from passers-by. The inhabitants of the Pit were rarely of the conventional sort themselves.
As they made their way up a winding alley, Conan noticed that they were being followed. This was the Pit, not the Square. He knew that there would be no challenge to an open fight. Without so much as a word, the Cimmerian whirled, his sword hissing from its scabbard. The men behind them halted, unnerved by the abrupt move. Somewhat to Conan's surprise, Piris neither panicked nor ran. He whirled an instant after, drawing a long, thin-bladed stiletto.
'Whose dogs are you?' Conan snarled. One wore the red leather of Ingas's gang, but the rest were nondescript thugs of the Pit. There were six of them, each with drawn sword. Just above and behind them Conan noticed someone watching from a rooftop, but he had no attention to spare for the watcher.
'What matters that?' asked a man whose woollen cap covered holes once graced by ears. 'You and your pretty friend will be fish food ere dark.'
'It was to deal with such rascals that I hired you, Cimmerian,' Piris reminded him. 'Please attend to them.'
'You heard him,' Conan said to the six. 'Either begone or attack. I do not want to tarry in this stinking alley.'
As one man, the six attacked. The Cimmerian met them halfway, his sword shearing through an unguarded thigh as he ducked past a clumsy blow. He struck a bearded man in the chest with his shoulder, sending him smashing into a wall. The long sword of the man in red leather struck Conan's side, but its keen edge merely split the cover of the brigantine and skittered across the steel plates beneath. Conan's left fist crashed into that one's jaw and the man dropped with a sound of splintering bone. A cutlass glittered toward Conan's face, but he interposed his own blade and the steel rang. The instant the cutlass-wielder's blade halted, Conan grabbed his wrist, disengaged his own blade and smashed his pommel into the bridge of the man's nose. As that one fell, a man with a short sword leaped over the body, his weapon darting for Conan's side. The Cimmerian leaned aside and as the sword went past, clamped the attacker's arm between his own left arm and side. With his pommel, he smashed the elbow joint. Shoving the man off, he placed his back to a wall, his eyes sweeping the alley for more enemies. He was just in time to see the watcher dash away from the rampart of the nearby house. It was only a glimpse, but he had the impression that it was a woman, a woman with black hair and a mouth rouged scarlet.
Conan surveyed the men, who either lay still or groaned and writhed upon the filthy paving stones of the alley. The man he had knocked into the wall and one other, a man of Stygian countenance, lay shivering and jerking, their mouths drawn back in convulsive grins. He looked at Piris.
'I but scratched them,' the thief said, gesturing with his stiletto. Its point was stained lightly with blood but heavily with a green substance. He re-sheathed the weapon.
'Halt, you rogues!' They turned to see Bombas, his bulk almost blocking the alley, fisted hands on his hips. Behind him stood his three close henchmen and a half-dozen of his worthless guards.
'You are a long way from your headquarters, Reeve,' Conan said.
The fat man smiled evilly. 'And yet I am duty-bound to go forth and arrest those who would defy the law. Your weapons, please.'
Conan fumed, but Piris nudged him. 'We had best comply, my friend. We have business to conclude in this town.'
With ill grace, the Cimmerian complied, handing his weapons-belt to the Reeve. The man took Piris's stiletto and examined it, then looked upon the two men whose heels had ceased to drum upon the stone. He clucked ruefully.
'Did you not know that possession of an envenomed weapon is a violation of royal law?'
The Zamoran's eyes went wide in a parody of injured innocence. 'But I bought that weapon believing it to be an honest dagger! Am I an apothecary, to know that its tip was poisoned?'
Bombas did not deign to answer. He looked at the fallen men distastefully and turned to his guards. 'Drag this offal down to the river.'
'But some of them are still alive,' said a guard who carried a bill slanting over his shoulder.
'What of that?' demanded Bombas. 'Cut their throats and all will be corrected.' Shrugging, the guards drew their daggers.
'Now come with me,' Bombas ordered. Conan and Piris, closely followed by Julus and the two Zingarans, began to trudge toward the Square. Conan said nothing to his companion about the black-haired woman. He was not even certain that he had seen her; the impression had been too fleeting. As they passed through the Square, they drew many looks and some laughter, but Conan decided that most of this was due to the unaccustomed sight of Bombas, out of his headquarters for once.
The Cimmerian knew it was no coincidence that the fat Reeve had just happened to be in the vicinity where the two were set upon, in a part of town that Bombas probably had not visited in years. It was just one more among the multitude of conspiracies that had come to surround Conan. He had no doubt that this, too, would become clear in time.
Within the Reeve's palace, they were marched down a flight of stairs and into a stone-walled cell guarded by an iron-barred door. The door shut behind the two with a resounding clank and the jailer, an ox-like, bald-headed man, twisted a heavy key in the lock.
'Leave us,' said Bombas, addressing the jailer and his three henchmen.
'How long are we here for?' Conan asked.
Bombas shrugged. 'Perhaps for a short time, perhaps for the rest of your lives. I am always amenable to reason.'
'How much reason do we need to get out of here?' the Cimmerian demanded.
'Ordinarily fifty marks' worth of reason is sufficient, but with you two, I am not so sure.'
'This is an outrage!' Piris sputtered. 'I shall protest to the Zamoran ambassador, who is a personal friend.'
At this, Bombas laughed hard enough to set his fat jiggling.
'In the first place, little man, the Zamoran ambassador is in Tarantia, which is quite some way from here. You lack the aspect of a wizard, so I doubt that you can communicate with him from my dungeon. In the second place, I deal with people like you every day, and I think that the last thing you want is to come to the attention of the Zamoran authorities.'
'Will we be tried?' Conan asked.
'If I wish. But the next court day is not for many weeks. Even so—' he came close to the bars '—you two need not endure this at all. Tell me what you are in Sicas for. If it is something to my advantage, perhaps we can work out an arrangement. Remember that you are foreigners and have no rights here. I need not try you at all. What is your business?' Neither prisoner said a word. Bombas stepped back, frowning. 'Very well, then. I will release you upon payment of five hundred gold marks. Each!'
'Where would we get such a sum?' Piris wailed.
'What concern is that of mine?' Bombas said. He turned and stalked back up the stairs.
'Who set that swine upon us?' Piris asked.
Conan shrugged his massive shoulders. 'It's my guess that he was bribed to kill us if the thugs failed to do so. His men took one end of the alley, the thugs took the other. We killed the thugs first. He had not stomach for a fight with me, and he scents riches in keeping us alive. As to who hired him, the field is growing crowded. Incidentally, I think I might have espied your black-haired wench watching the ambush from a rooftop, but I cannot be sure.'
'That slut! If she has followed me here—'
'And is she, too, in search of the black scorpion?' Conan demanded.
'Cimmerian, you ask too many questions. My dealings are my own. I have retained your services to aid me, not to be my partner.' The little man fretted for a few minutes, then: 'By the way, my friend, have you enough gold handy to procure our freedom?'
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