Conan the Rogue

by John Maddox Roberts

  The Cimmerian crossed the roof and walked across the bridge as easily as if he strode the stones of the Square. The roof of the royal warehouse was not truly flat, but had a noticeable slope for purposes of drainage. The dull lead tiles sucked up moonlight so efficiently that they were all but invisible, yet Conan could see a faint light gleaming through a ragged hole a few paces ahead. He strode to the hole and looked down. Below, voices spoke in loud whispers. It seemed to him that they also spoke in anger. He dropped through the gap and hung for a moment by his fingertips, then dropped the final few feet to the floor. Men turned to gape at him.

  'Who are you?' demanded one.

  'No time for that,' Conan said. 'You're betrayed! Bombas and his men are out there, and they intend to kill you all. If you would live, you had better get away at once. Which of you is Maxio?'

  A wiry man of medium height came up to him. He wore dark clothes and a close-fitting hood with a long tail that dangled down his back. Like the others, he held a dagger, drawn at the sudden apparition of the huge barbarian.

  'I'm Maxio, and just who are you?' He held his blade angled toward Conan's throat.

  'No time for that,' Conan said again. 'They'll be storming through the front door in a moment, and Bombas has a grudge against you.'

  A seam-faced man spat on the straw that was ankle deep on the floor. 'What have we to fear from Bombas or his men? I'd relish carving the fat toad myself!'

  'Ermak's men are with them,' Conan said. Instantly, the men grew pale and staring.

  'Ermak!' said Maxio, mouthing the name like a curse. 'That villain will take any man's pay!'

  There was a crashing sound from below as the great front door swung open and smashed against a wall. 'Kill them!' bellowed a voice up the stairs. 'Up, and kill them all! No mercy!' It was Bombas.

  'Do you believe me now?' Conan said.

  A form appeared at the top of a stair to the lower floor. It was one of the Zingarans, and he had his crossbow levelled directly at Conan's breast. It was a powerful weapon, easily able to pierce the Cimmerian's light 'armour. The snap of the string's release and Conan's lightning-swift dodge occurred at the same instant. The bolt whizzed past him and made a sickening thud as it struck a hapless burglar. Even as the man fell, Conan snatched the dagger from the nerveless fingers, whirled and flung it with unerring accuracy and tremendous force. It pierced the Zingaran's throat and crunched through the vertebrae to protrude a hand-breadth behind the man's neck. He pitched back down the stair, spraying blood. Between the snap of the string and the impact of the dagger into the man's throat, scarcely two heartbeats had elapsed.

  Maxio gave a low whistle of appreciation. 'You know your business, stranger.' Then, to his men, 'Out!' he snapped. They piled bales and began to climb out, but the first through fell back, a bolt in his chest.

  'They're on the temple roof,' Conan said. No more faces appeared at the stair, but something more ominous did: smoke.

  'The warehouse is afire!' cried one of the burglars, his voice rising with panic.

  'Then it's burn or be skewered,' Conan said. 'Here, grab some of these bales of cloth and push them out ahead of you. They may absorb the bolts while you make a run for it.' The men faltered; then the sound of crackling came from below. At that there was a sudden burst of activity. Men snatched up thick bundles of cloth and scrambled up the improvised ladder. Most of them made it through, and the Cimmerian and his new companion could hear a commotion outside.

  'Floor's getting hot,' Conan commented. 'Time for us to leave.' He all but ran up the piled bales and through the hole, then reached back and drew Maxio out. 'You know the rooftops better than I do,' he said. 'What's a good way out of here?' Dead men lay on the roof of the storehouse, and on the roof of the temple other men were struggling. The plank bridge had been knocked away. Nobody was shooting at them, and someone was raising a fire alarm. A lurid glare began to pulse through the ragged hole in the roof.

  'This way,' said Maxio. They crossed to the side of the roof opposite the shrine from which Conan and the Reeve had watched the alley. Here a lower building abutted the storehouse, and the two men sprang down to its roof. They ran across and Maxio dropped from there onto a balcony, the Cimmerian following close behind. They sprang onto another balcony across a narrow street, then ran through the upper floor of what seemed to be a deserted building. From there they exited a ground-floor doorway onto an empty street.

  'The old town is better for this sort of thing,' Maxio said. 'You can get anywhere without ever coming down from the roofs. We're far enough away to be safe now. Let's not hang about here, though. I am more comfortable in the lower city.'

  'To the Wyvern, then,' said Conan. The two made their stealthy way until they reached the old town, where the near-black streets and the indifference of the inhabitants made stealth unnecessary.

  At the sign of the Wyvern, they descended the stair to the door and stood upon the landing, surveying the scene. The tavern entertained its usual villainous clientèle, who surveyed the newcomers in turn. The two elicited only a passing interest before they descended to the main floor and secured an empty table in a corner. A large bloodstain on the wall behind one of the chairs identified the table as the scene of a disagreement earlier that evening. A candle guttered in a holder carven in the form of a naked Stygian dancer.

  At their order, a server brought wine for Maxio, ale for Conan. The two men clinked their vessels together and drank. Maxio was first to speak.

  'I do not believe we have met, and you are not the sort of man I would readily forget. Who are you, stranger?'

  'I am Conan of Cimmeria.' He took a long drink. The brewing had just been broached, and it was excellent ale.

  'I have heard of you. You've made a reputation for yourself in a short time. So tell me: How did you happen to drop through our hole in the storehouse roof just in time to warn us of the ambush?'

  'Your woman Delia got wind of it and asked me to go warn you before Bombas laid his hands on you.'

  'Delia!' he said, amazed. 'Well, perhaps the wench is not as worthless as I had adjudged. She's a beauty, but she drinks like the public drain and talks far too much. And I cannot abide her cats. I half expected her to sell me to Bombas. How did she find out about the ambush?'

  Conan shrugged. 'I've no idea.' He would not complicate matters by inventing a story for her. Doubtless the woman would dream up one of her own.

  'Why did she choose you to send?' Maxio asked.

  'She saw me kill those three men of Ingas's the other day. Tonight she needed a man of courage and skill and so she sought me out, knowing that I am not working for any of the gang lords. And I expect to be paid.'

  'Be assured of it,' Maxio said. 'I would not let such a service go unrequited.' He gazed into his wine cup. 'I will pay you... that is, as soon as I have restored my fortunes.'

  'Did you get away with nothing from the royal storehouse?' Conan asked.

  'There was nothing worth the stealing in the place,' Maxio

  said, sounding mystified. 'Just bulk goods, no precious metals or jewels.'

  ' 'I thought I heard the sound of voices arguing before I dropped in,' Conan said.

  'Aye. The men wanted to hold me responsible for the dearth. But the royal warehouse should be full at this time of year. The king's share is taken to Tarantia at the beginning of the new year, which is not far off.''

  Conan smiled to himself as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. 'Tell me, why was there no watchman at the storehouse?'

  'Because he was long gone ere you arrived,' Maxio said. 'He's just another of Bombas's drunken old beggars. I'd been paying him for months to hold his tongue, and tonight I gave him his final payment. He was to flee town with it.' Maxio nodded and stroked his chin. 'It was probably that old sot who tipped Bombas.'

  'Perhaps,' Conan said. 'But doesn't it seem strange to you that the King's Reeve would set fire to the royal storehouse just to smoke out some burglars?'

  'I didn't think
of that in all the excitement,' Maxio admitted. 'The way the place was going up when we left, it must be naught but glowing embers by now.'

  'And no way of saying what was in it before the fire,' Conan pointed out.

  A look of sudden comprehension suffused Maxio's lean features. 'That fat, scheming pig! He's looted the place himself! Now he'll report that he went there to catch the thieves and that they set the fire to aid their escape.' He glared and called for more wine. 'Bad enough to be thwarted after so much work. Far worse to do Bombas such a good turn. Who would have thought that hog-eyed barrel of suet could be so clever?'

  'It does not pay to underestimate men just because they look stupid,' Conan said.

  Maxio drank deep of his second tankard of wine and slammed it to the scarred table. 'And Ermak! He's always hated me, but

  Id work for Bombas just to catch me! That's it, then. From now on, it's to the death between me and Ermak!'

  'Brave speech,' Conan said, 'but he is a professional, with a pack of trained killers. You probably lost half of your band might, and your men are just second-story burglars. How do you propose to deal with Ermak?'

  'I will think of something,' Maxio said. He dipped his fingers into his wine and flung a few drops to the floor in token of a vow. ' 'There are many in this town who would aid me in ridding ourselves of those strutting bandits who call themselves soldiers.'

  'Good fortune, then,' said Conan, 'and do not forget that you owe me for tonight.' He began to rise, then remembered something. 'By the way, what know you of a man named As-.Iras?'

  Maxio's eyebrows rose slightly. 'You mean the man who was lurked out back in the alley a few nights ago? I diced with him a few times, as did nearly everyone in the Wyvern. Just another second-rate gambler and would-be adventurer, from what I saw, getting by mainly on looks and luck. Why do you ask?'

  'I am not truly interested in him,' Conan said, 'but he is supposed to have come here in company with a young woman, little more than a girl, named Ylla. She is small and fair-haired. I lave you seen aught of such a lass?''

  Maxio shook his hooded head. 'Neither seen nor heard.' He considered the question further for a moment. 'Asdras didn't talk much about himself, but from what he did say, it seemed to me that he was waiting for a woman to arrive. Once I heard him say that she was a beautiful black-haired wench, and as dangerous as a viper.'

  'Did he speak her name?' Conan asked.

  'Alta? Altena? I think it was something like that. I paid little heed at the time. There's small profit to be had in another man's problems with women. I've enough troubles with my own.'

  'So you have,' Conan affirmed. He rose and bade Maxio farewell, then left the Wyvern. Stretching and yawning, he made his way through the deserted streets of Sicas. As he passed the Square, the moonlight glinted silver upon the marble monuments. To the north, a reddish glow proclaimed that the fire was not yet extinguished.

  In the temple, he passed the nave by way of the second-floor gallery. Below, a handful of acolytes kept up their chanting before the statue of Mother Doorgah. As the Cimmerian returned to his quarters, he entertained himself with the thought that very soon now, all that chanting would stop for good.

  XI

  The Tavern Of The Iron Skull

  He awoke with light streaming through the single window of his room, but it was the light of late day. He rose and stretched, then crossed to the basin of water that stood in a corner. He splashed his face and towelled vigorously. Through the window he could see a large part of the Square beyond the temple roof. The stall-keepers were dismantling their tables and awnings. From a dis-lance, he heard the great bell toll above the city gate. It would ring thrice, at intervals of about half an hour, and upon the third ring, the gate would be closed for the night.

  He did not regret having slept the day away. In fact, he decided, might be the best thing to avoid moving about in broad daylight for a while. He was acquiring enemies at a great rate. The Cimmerian armed himself and left his room. As he passed along the upper gallery, his attention was drawn to the service in progress in the temple below.

  The crowd was larger than usual, and he noticed that not all those present wore the robes of an acolyte. There were about twenty newcomers. They were of both sexes, and all of them were richly attired in silks and velvets. Here and there he saw the furs of marten and sable.

  The air was thick with smoke, and a group of acolytes sat cross-legged behind the huge idol, making a clangorous, tuneless music with flute, drum, cymbal, and stringed instrument. Andolla stood before the idol, at his feet a golden basin, steaming over a green flame. With hands raised, Andolla sang in a wailing, high-pitched voice and in a language that Conan had never heard. When the priest turned to face the worshippers, his face bore a sheen of sweat and a rictus of ecstasy.

  Just below the statue's dais, Oppia clapped her hands rhythmically, leading the acolytes and the newcomers in their chant. Andolla turned and took a great two-handled cup from the lap of the goddess and held it high. Instantly the music, clapping and chanting ceased. He bent low and dipped the massive silver vessel into the steaming pot. Once more he raised it, white drops falling from it back into the cauldron.

  'Behold the milk of Mother Doorgah, with which she nourishes her children! Drink of this, and gain enlightenment!' Andolla drank from the cup; then Oppia ascended the dais and took it from his hands. She drank likewise before carrying the weighty vessel to the worshippers below. She took the cup from one to another, giving it to the newcomers first. As the vessel was passed, the music resumed, now quieter and at a slower tempo. Twice Oppia returned to the dais and refilled the cup as Andolla, now facing the idol once more, resumed his high-pitched song. Conan noted that the newcomers drank with some trepidation, making faces at the taste, while the acolytes snatched eagerly at the cup, as men dying of thirst will snatch at a cup of water. On more than one occasion, Oppia had to pry the vessel away from an acolyte with some force.

  When all had drunk of the potion, the chanting resumed again. Conan set his back to a wall, stood in the shadows, and waited. Nearly an hour passed without incident, but he did not lose patience. He had a feeling that he was about to see something cruel here, the secret of these people's hold over their all-too-willing victims.

  A shriek pierced through the chanting. The Cimmerian saw one 'I the newcomers, a young woman, pointing upward, toward the idol's face. He felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. The Closed eyelids of the goddess had opened, and the exposed orbs glowed as if from an inner fire. In fact, now that he looked closely, lie saw that it was an inner fire. Low flames burned within the idol's head, behind the glass eyes. From somewhere in the temple, lights trained on the idol's countenance were being shifted, causing shadows to move, giving the semblance of changing expressions flickering across the face.

  Conan looked back to the worshippers and saw that their eyes were raised ecstatically, tears running down the cheeks of many. A slight creaking announced another change in the idol. Slowly, I lie arms raised from the sides and swung forward, as if in benediction. From his vantage point, the Cimmerian could see that there were lamps placed in wells beneath Andolla's feet. These, lamps, invisible to the worshippers, began to wobble subtly. The effect was to make the huge breasts above seem to tremble.

  It was an elaborate and fairly impressive display, Conan thought, but it should not have convinced a child, or even the sort of fools who thronged the temple... unless the fools were drugged. He knew that there were many drugs that could bring about illusions. With the tedious, mind-numbing chants to soften the audience's mental resistance, a clever magician, using a bit of impressive stage managing, could easily control the suggestible minds of onlookers and assure that they saw the visions he wished to bring about.

  Either Andolla and his wife were immune to the effects of the drug or they had only feigned drinking from the cup. Neither shared the glassy-eyed stare of the others. After a few more minutes of the show, the idol resumed its wonted post
ure and the lights returned to normal.

  'Mother Doorgah blesses you, her children!' Andolla cried. 'All things are possible to Mother Doorgah. There is no earthly

  difficulty that she may not solve. You need but bring your sorrows before her and she will take them unto herself. Give thanks and obedience to Mother Doorgah. Make your offerings of the worthless material goods of this passing, ephemeral world to Mother Doorgah, and she will...'

  Conan was not about to waste any more of his time listening to the priest's mindless drivel. He made his way to the kitchen. He found it deserted, since the acolytes were all in blissful communion with Mother Doorgah. He ignored the pots of bland gruel intended for the novitiates. Obviously, Oppia and Andolla did not live on such.

  He found a separate pantry containing the private stock. It was not locked; mere acolytes would never violate so holy a place. On a cutting board lay several roast fowl and a large joint of beef. He helped himself to a roast duck and carved off a generous slice of the beef. Beneath a cloth he found fresh-baked loaves, still warm from the oven, and appropriated one. He helped it all down with a flagon of the excellent golden wine of Poitain.

  Appetite satisfied and in excellent spirits, Conan went back into the temple. Andolla still led his flock in their endless chants, but Oppia was no longer among them. He found her in the vestibule, speaking to one of the newcomers, who was making an unsteady departure. The young man's over-refined face was filled with rapture and near-worship for Oppia. When the wealthy youth was gone, she turned and saw the Cimmerian.

  'What have you been doing?' she demanded. 'You were away all night and then you snored the day away.'

  'I have been looking out for your interests,' he said, 'as you hired me to do. A good thing for you, too. Last night, in the Pit, I heard talk of this place.'

  'Oh?' she said. 'And what was the nature of this talk?'

  'It seems that Rista Daan is hiring men to make a raid on the temple and fetch his daughter back to him.'