At this Conan laughed. 'You remember my condition when
you found me! You advanced me two hundred dishas, much of which I spent in outfitting and travelling expenses.'
The Zamoran sat on a hard bench depending upon chains from a wall, his every line eloquent of despondency. 'Oh. I was hoping that your luck at gaming might have returned, or that you might have, well, acquired a bit of wealth through other means since you left Belverus.'
Conan strode close to Piris and looked down upon him with a thunderous glare. 'And what of the rest of the thousand dishas you promised me?'
'I told you that my departure from Belverus was precipitate. I was forced to leave much behind.' He looked up and smiled eagerly. 'But if we can just recover the scorpion, our fortunes will be restored!'
Conan glanced at the stairway. The ox-like jailer had not yet returned. 'Do you have your ring of picks?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Piris in a low voice. 'But I would rather not use it. We need to be able to move freely about this town, perhaps for several more days. Who knows when the scorpion may arrive?'
Conan went to the door and grasped the bars. He had been clapped in jail many times but he could never become accustomed to the sensation of confinement. His mind worked over the possibilities.
'Something may turn up,' he said. Now Piris released an annoying giggle. 'What is so funny, little man?' Conan demanded.
'Did you not say that under no circumstances would you sleep in the same room with me?'
Conan set his head against the bars and groaned. 'Crom has deserted me!'
IX
The Temple of Doorgah
Conan lay back upon his hard bench, fingers laced behind his head, and pondered the problem of five hundred marks. He had no intention of revealing where he had hidden his gold. He did not want to tap any of his current employers. Piris was already penniless, or claimed to be. Xanthus would have nothing to do with Bombas, and Casperus wished to retain anonymity. Anyway, it might cause them to lose confidence in him if they were forced to spring him from prison. He decided that he needed another employer, one willing to invest five hundred marks to secure the services of a champion swordsman.
He glanced at the next bunk and saw that Piris snored away amid a cloud of lilac fumes. The ox-like jailer was gone, replaced by a younger man who hobbled about on a crutch. The Cimmerian rose and walked to the door. 'Psst! Would you like to earn some money?' he whispered.
The man looked up from the table where he was carving a model of a river barge. 'I'll not unlock you!' he said, then amended, 'Not for less than a thousand marks.'
'Nothing like that. I just want you to deliver a message. Know you the house of Rista Daan?''
'Who does not?' the keeper said.
'When you get off duty, go to him and say this: 'If you wish to have your daughter back from the hands of Andolla, come to the Reeve's headquarters and buy Conan of Cimmeria out of jail.' Can you remember that? It is worth five marks to you.'
The man repeated the message. 'Where are my five marks?'
'Do I look like I have money?' Conan said impatiently. 'Daan will pay you.'
An hour later the lame man was replaced by the bald one. The Cimmerian knew better than to fret or grow impatient. Piris wheedled a gaming board from the jailer, and for a while they killed time playing 'King is Dead,' at which Piris cheated adroitly. Conan had lost his third straight game when Julus came down the stairs, escorting a man dressed in hose and tunic of sumptuous cloth, over which he wore a coat trimmed with rich white fur.
'Which of you is the Cimmerian?' the man asked.
'Would you mistake me for a savage?' Piris retorted indignantly.
'I am Conan.'.The Cimmerian stood and approached the bars, making the most of his intimidating size and appearance. The rich man looked him up and down, then turned to Julus.
'I would speak with this one privily.' Julus nodded to the jailer, who unlocked the door.
As the Cimmerian followed the others up the stair, Piris called after him, 'Conan! Get me out, too!'
Julus led them to a small room off the building's main hall. 'My lord,' he said, 'you had better let me stay in here with you. This one is a savage and has killed several men since coming to town.'
'I think not,' said the man. 'The town seems none the worse off for his activities. Pray leave us.'
'As you command.' Julus bowed and left, shutting the door behind him.
'Now, explain quickly the meaning of your message. Why should it be worth five hundred marks for me to procure your freedom?''
'How many thousands has Andolla cost you already?' Conan countered. 'Are you not Rista Daan?'
'I am, and what know you of me?'
'I was told that your daughter was one of those who have fallen under the spell of Andolla and now spends her days in the Temple of Mother Doorgah.'
'And what can you do about the situation?' Rista Daan demanded. His face was lean-fleshed and hard, with deep lines, his silver hair trimmed close. Except for his uncalloused palms, he might have been a soldier.
'I have taken this sort of task before,' Conan told him. 'Frauds like Andolla prey upon the foolish children of the wealthy. They keep the young ones until the money runs out, then kick them into the street.'
'I know all that. You say that you can go to the temple and bring her back to me?''
Conan shook his head. 'You know that will do no good. She will just get away and run back to Andolla. They always do. No, I will have to destroy his hold upon her.''
'And you think you can do this?' Now the man's attitude was less challenging.
'Aye. It will take a few days.'
Daan seemed to come to a decision. He nodded curtly. 'Very well. If you had claimed that you could restore her instantly, I would have told that fat fool of a Reeve to clap you back in the clink. I think there may be more to you than I had thought.'
At a desk near the entrance, Conan collected his weapons and armour while Rista Daan paid for his freedom. That done, they went out into the Square.
'Five hundred!' Rista Daan said as they walked toward his house, which was on the side of the Square exactly opposite Xanthus's. 'Why does Bombas value you so highly?'
Conan shrugged. 'The swine plays so many games that I think
not even he keeps track of them all. It's clear that not everyone gets jailed in this town just for killing a few men. And I but defended myself. At that, I did not kill as many as I might have. He ordered the deaths of the men I but disabled.'
'He just wants a piece of whatever villainy you are up to,' Daan said. 'It's no affair of mine. So long as you perform your task for me, I'll not trouble you about whatever else you occupy yourself with.'
They entered a spacious courtyard, this one lovingly tended. Roses grew lavishly despite the late season. The house they entered had luxurious furnishings and hangings of precious cloth. The servants wore fine livery and did not appear ill-treated. 'Did they feed you in the dungeon?' Daan asked. 'A few stale crusts and some water,' Conan grumbled. 'He pockets even the allowance for prisoners' rations,' Daan said. 'I am not surprised.' He clapped his hands and a servant rushed up. 'This man will conduct you to the bathhouse, of which you stand in sore need. When you return, we shall dine and speak of necessary matters.'
The Cimmerian followed the servant and soon was luxuriating in an immense tub of hot soapy water as attendants scrubbed him industriously. Afterwards he sat before a great looking glass while a barber shaved him and trimmed his dense, square-cut mane. Clean new clothes were brought to him and he dressed, noting that the cut in the leather covering of his brigantine had been expertly repaired with fine stitches. His steel cap had been polished. Even if Rista Daan turned out to be as villainous as the others, Conan thought, he could not be faulted for his hospitality. ' The servant now conducted Conan to a dining room, where Rista Daan sat at a heavy-laden table. At the man's gesture, Conan sat and a servitor filled his cup and began to heap the platter before him. For a w
hile the two men ate in silence, Rista Daan sparingly, the Cimmerian ravenously.
When Conan was replete, he sat back and the rich man handed him a small, flat square of wood. In its centre was a miniature portrait, exquisitely detailed. It depicted a young girl with straight yellow hair and huge blue eyes.
'This is my daughter, Rietta. She is my only child. I want you to be able to recognize her, because she goes by another name within that foul temple. Andolla gives each of his followers a new name when they join him. It helps to sever their attachment to their families.'
'Save those attachments through which money flows,' Conan pointed out.
'Exactly. The young fools under his spell constantly send word to their families, begging for money. Sometimes they go home claiming that they have left Andolla forever. Then they raid the family coffers and flee back to the temple.'
'How did the girl come to follow the knave?' Conan asked.
A look of pain flitted across the man's face. 'I am a spice merchant. I have had to spend much of my life away from home attending to business. As a result, my daughter was in the care of her mother for much of her youth, and my wife was... not quite right in the head. This was not noticeable when we were wed, but it grew more pronounced as the years went by. Had I been home more, I might have taken more notice and done something about it.' He brooded in silence for a moment. 'Well, that is past and there is nothing I can do about it now.' He contemplated the depths of his wine.
'Rietta's mother found the state gods very dull, and she was greatly addicted to foreign religions, a taste she passed on to my daughter. As the years went by, my wife became obsessed that she lay under an ancient curse, handed down through the women in her family. She began to perform endless rites to protect Rietta from this imaginary onus. I learned much of this later, from the servants,' he admitted. 'My wife behaved almost normally when I was at home. In time, though, her sickness became apparent even to me, and I placed her under the close care of trusted retainers. It was no use. One night, in the midst of a terrible storm, she escaped from her room and fled to the roof of the corner turret. From there, she cast herself to the pave below.'
Daan was silent for a while, then shook himself and went on. 'Rietta was not only grief-stricken, but terrified: The curse had claimed her mother, and now it would descend upon her. At about that time, Andolla moved into the old temple and dedicated it to his foul Vendhyan goddess. Some of Rietta's young and stupid friends told her of Andolla, of what a wonderful man he was, of how he could solve any difficulty of supernatural origin. She went to see him.
'Of course the charlatan had picked up all the town gossip and knew exactly what to say to her. He knew how to protect her from the terrible curse if only she would come stay in his temple. She went, naturally, and has been there ever since. I sought to hire bravos to bring her out, but Andolla has paid off all the gang lords and has protection.'
'How does he bleed you?' Conan asked bluntly.
'Before fleeing to him, Rietta raided my strongbox, taking ten thousand marks in gold and far more in jewels. Andolla must have coached her in how to make an impression of my key. She is not strong enough to have carried it all, so he probably sent someone to help her.'
'He is thorough,' Conan said. 'Is there anything at all to his magical claims, or is he pure fraud?'
'That is difficult to say. He claims to be able to slay with curses, and some who have given him trouble have died mysteriously, but that could as easily be from poison. I am most careful of my food and drink these days. And he is not alone. He has a wife named Oppia, and it is my opinion that she is the more cunning of the two.'
'This grows complicated,' Conan said judiciously, 'but I can set the matter aright.'
'And what is your fee for this task?' Rista Daan asked.
'My usual fee is one thousand marks,' Conan said. 'But since you have already paid five hundred for my freedom...'
'Five hundred ten,' said the merchant, 'counting what I paid the jailer for delivering your message.'
'Ten!' said Conan. 'I told the man five!'
'We have small rogues in this town as well as the great ones.' At that, both men laughed. 'You'll have the balance of your money when Rietta is back with me. And I am not without influence, both here and in the capital. Whatever charges are against you will be quietly dropped. I like your look, Cimmerian. I think you will render honest service.'
Conan rose. 'Then I had better be about it. Look to have your daughter back within a few days. After that, Andolla should trouble you no further.'
The Square was enveloped in dusk when the Cimmerian left the house. He wanted to call at the temple, but thought it best to check back at the inn first. He had paid several days' advance for his room and Brita's, and he was concerned for her. He looked into the stable to make sure his horse was properly cared for, then climbed the stair to his chamber. As soon as he entered, Brita rushed in from the adjoining room.
'Conan! Where have you been?'
'In jail. Where have you been?' Despite himself, he was relieved to see her.
'Where have I not been? I think I have pried into every foul corner of this city, trying to find my sister. She has been seen, but the information is never recent enough to do any good. I fear that she may have fled the city.''
'Probably went back to Tarantia,' he said. 'You'd better do the same.'
'Not until I am sure. Why were you in jail?'
'I think I am the only man in town to be arrested for fighting. That was yesterday morning. Where were you two nights ago?'
'I came here as usual,' she said, 'and I climbed the stair, but I saw a man hanging about on the balcony near our doors, a little man in very strange clothes. I was frightened, so I spent the rest of the night in the carriage house below.''
Conan laughed shortly. 'That was just... oh, never mind. Listen to me, girl. I will be away for a day or two. I will contact you if I can, but business calls me elsewhere for a while.'
'Surely you are not leaving town?' she said anxiously.
'No, I shall be here. The rooms are paid for. Do nothing foolish. By now, everyone in town knows your mission. If your sister still wants to avoid you, you will not find her. If not, let her seek you out. Take no more foolish risks, because I will be unavailable for help. Do you understand?'
She looked down and clasped her hands. 'Yes.' He tilted her head back and kissed her.
'Now, stay out of trouble,' he admonished. She smiled and he left, feeling uneasy.
The portico of the temple was brightly illuminated by fires burning in bronze baskets, their smoke fragrant with incense. Prom within came the sound of endless, monotonous chanting. Two hulking young men guarded the doorway, their arms folded across their chests.
'I wish to speak with Andolla,' Conan said when he halted
before the two.
'Our master does not speak with just anyone,' said one of the youths. 'He is a holy man, and spends much time in meditation.'
'Unclean persons cannot simply call upon him,' said the
other.
'I just had a bath,' Conan told them. 'If your master is unavailable, perhaps his wife would speak with me.'
'The Holy Mother Oppia is likewise occupied with spiritual matters,' said the first.
Conan's patience, never lengthy, had reached its limit. He grasped his hilt. 'Would they respond to cries of pain and distress from the entrance?' he growled.
'What is this?' It was a woman's voice. Instantly the two guards turned and bowed as the speaker emerged and passed between them. She was small but well shaped, her hair long and black, her skin dusky. A diamond glittered from one nostril, and a smooth red jewel had somehow been set into the flesh of her forehead.
The guards clapped and chanted, 'Holy Mother Oppia, Holy Mother Oppia.' She waved a hand and they fell silent.
'My name is Conan of Cimmeria, and I think we have business to discuss.'
'I cannot imagine why,' she said, 'but it is never our way to turn aw
ay supplicants. Please come inside.'
The guards had given no impression that this was a hospitable temple. Doubtless, Conan thought, the woman just did not wish to be seen speaking with him on the portico. Inside, the temple was illuminated by candles and votive fires burning before idols. The austere Temple of Mitra had been renovated in the overdecorated Vendhyan style. Every surface had been painted to depict ' Vendhyan deities going about their activities, many of the pursuits bloody, others obscene, most of them incomprehensible. There were as many animal as human figures in the decorations, and small monkeys seemed to have the run of the temple.
The temple proper was a vast room in which at least two-score worshippers chanted endlessly, clashing tuneless instruments and making what was, to Conan's ears, a hellish racket. The object of their adoration seemed to be an idol of the same huge-breasted female deity he had seen in the procession. The goddess sat cross-legged, her feet atop her thighs, and in her lap sat a man in the same knee-wrenching posture. His eyes were shut and he was motionless.
The woman led him up a flight of stairs to a second-floor gallery that completely encircled the nave below. Skylights above revealed the moon and stars. Oppia wore a single band of sky-blue silk wrapped tightly about her shoulders and descending almost to her ankles. Her feet were bare, their soles stained bright red.
The room into which she led Conan opened off the gallery. It was bare and businesslike, furnished only with chairs and a large desk stacked with parchments. The decoration was minimal, although sticks of incense burned in the hands of miniature idols. The woman seated herself behind the desk and addressed him coolly.
'You are a man of violence, a swordsman,' she said. 'I have
heard of you. We reject all forms of violence and coercion. Why have you come here?'
'If you will not bear arms,' Conan said, 'then all the more reason for you to hire someone who is more than willing to do so.'
Conan the Rogue Page 14