'I have agreed to the conference and will be present. Will you attend as well, as my bodyguard?'
'You have your own men,' Conan pointed out.
'I can neither trust nor depend upon them,' Bombas said 'But you are now the most feared swordsman in the city. Your presence will ensure the good behaviour of all toward me. I will make it well worth your trouble.'
'All right,' Conan said. 'You need not pay me money. Just release Piris.'
Agreed. I will turn him loose as soon as we return safely limn the conference.'
No, release him when we leave for the meeting. Who knows ii. her either of us will return alive from it?'
The fat man's shoulders shrugged. 'Have it as you will. The man is nothing to me, in truth.'
'When is the conference to be held, and where?' Conan asked. The time and place are not yet agreed upon. Thus far, Ermak and Ingas have not assented to it, and who knows what Maxio will decide? The place will probably be the Wyvern, which is burial ground to most of these scum. I will give you word as it has been decided. Where do you lodge these days?'
'Never mind that. I will be in touch with you. If that is all, I must be going now.' Conan turned and left the kiosk without further words. As he did not want Bombas to see him enter the temple, he walked past the temple and the theatre and travelled along the high street.
He went to the inn to see how Brita fared, but she was not there. The innkeeper affirmed that she came and went at all hours and said further that a young man who wore two swords had been asking about the Cimmerian. Conan was not interested in meeting with Casperus just yet. The innkeeper promised to keep safe any messages sent to Conan; none would be delivered to the Cimmerian's rooms. The last thing Conan wanted was for Brita to be living into his doings.
It was fully dark when he returned to the temple. An acolyte inducted him to his new room, directly across the hall from Kid la's chamber. The shuttered window of this room opened onto ii stone-paved courtyard three stories below. He knew that the kitchen gave into this courtyard. Even as he watched, a female acolyte emptied a pail of hot water out the back door, further welling the rain-dampened stones.
Below his window was a narrow ledge, and by leaning back mill looking up, he saw that the roof was an easy climb from the ledge. He was beginning to consider this city more in terms of ' rooftops and sewers than of streets and buildings.
There was no one else on the floor save himself and the young woman across the hall. He peered through the door-window into her chamber and saw that she lay unnaturally pale and still, only the slightest rise and fall beneath the blanket drawn up to her chin proving that she still lived.
He looked into the rooms on both sides. One was featureless, unoccupied and unfurnished. The other had a window set into the adjoining wall, separated from the girl's room by a pane of thick glass. On the sill of the window burned an oil lamp, which provided the sole illumination for Rietta's chamber. The glass pane was not perfectly smooth, but he could see through it into the chamber tolerably well. He climbed out the window and pulled! himself up onto the roof, then crossed to the other side. Swinging! his legs over the low parapet, he dropped to hang by his finger- tips. The balls of his feet just touched the ledge outside his window. He re-entered his room, satisfied that he could pass from one room to the other unseen from the hallway. With no further business for the evening, he lay on the bed, still fully dressed. H wanted to be ready to take action without having to scramble into his clothes in the dark.
He awoke dizzy and disoriented. To Conan, who always awoke fully alert, this was distressing. Ordinarily, only a strong blow the head caused this sensation. Then he was aware of something else: the very faint odour of a pungent smoke. It was the same smoke he had scented before, in Rietta's room.
Swiftly, he rose and rushed to the window. Daring the effects of his unwanted dizziness, he went out onto the ledge and pulled himself up to the roof. He breathed deeply of the cold night air. The stars overhead appeared unnaturally bright, and they seemed to shift their position and colour; The illusion lasted for only moments; then all returned to normal.
Apparently the black-lotus smoke was quicker in its effect than the drug given to the worshippers below, and the influence dispersed as soon as the victim was free of the smoke. Whatever the mechanism for injecting the smoke into Rietta's chamber, enough of it leaked across the hall to mildly affect the Cimmerian. His clarity restored, he decided that it was time to see what was going on in the girl's chamber.
When he entered the room next to hers, he saw that the lamplight had grown feeble. No acolyte had entered to trim the wick in several hours. He saw a faint glow from the other room. Before peering through the glass separating the chambers, he extinguished the flickering flame, both to see more clearly and to prevent it from casting its glow upon his face.
In a corner of Rietta's room, near the door, something was taking shape. He felt that familiar prickle at the back of his neck, die crawling revulsion he always felt in the presence of sorcery. I''or he saw that this was true sorcery, not a mechanical illusion such as the frauds had produced with the statue of Mother Doorgah.
It was a shambling, unstable shape, its form vaguely manlike. Its legs were short and stumpy, but so large was it that the top of us spherical head touched the ceiling. It was greenish in colour, glowing faintly, not as if from within but rather as if the sun of another world shone upon it. Its eyes were deep pits, and its wide mouth worked as though it strove to speak. There were neither nose nor nostril openings that Conan could discern. Its mouth was lined with hundreds of needle-like teeth. Its form was hideous to him, and he could only imagine what it must seem to the poor, Drugged girl on the other side of the wall.
The shape stretched forth an ape-long arm, a taloned finger at the end pointing toward a corner of the room, where Conan as-Mimed the girl must be huddling in terror. Its mouth continued to work, and now a voice seemed to emanate from it.
'I come for thee, girl,' it said. The voice was deep, the words slurred. Also, it was oddly familiar. 'I come for thee,' continued the demon, 'and soon your protectors' spells will be for naught. The curse of your mother, and of your grandmother, and of all your female ancestors, has fallen upon you. The spell that surrounds you grows weak, girl. Soon I shall break through, and then you are mine! Perhaps even now...'
It shambled forward, and the girl began to scream. It was a wailing shriek that jarred even upon the Cimmerian's hardened nerves.
He heard the sound of feet upon the stairs and decided that hi had seen all that was needful for the moment. Quickly, he wan out the window, across the roof and back within his own room. He was about to go out into the hall when he remembered that it might rouse suspicion were he to appear fully dressed. He tugged off shirt and breeches, then drew his sword and stepped into the hall, dressed only in a loincloth.
A pair of acolytes turned, their eyes gone wide at his appearance. 'Open!' he ordered.
'Not until the Holy Mother Oppia or the Great-souled Andolla tell us...' The voice terminated in a strangled squawk as the point of the Cimmerian's sword went under the acolyte's chin and forced his head back against the door. The other acolyte scrambled to throw back the bar.
Pushing past the two trembling novitiates, Conan entered the chamber. There was the faintest tinge of smoke lingering, and he heard the same outrushing of air as he had heard the first time he had entered the room. The girl was twisted into a trembling knot in a corner. He laid his sword on the floor and gently took her by her arms.
'The phantom is gone, lass. Look at me.' The girl could hardly help doing so, so wide were her eyes. But now the unreasoning terror faded, replaced by a look of bewilderment. He wan aware that he presented a spectacle scarcely less daunting than that of the demon, but at least he was human.
'Who are you?' she asked, her voice weak and shaky but sounding sane enough.
'What are you doing in here?' The question came from one in the doorway.
'What was I hired to do,' repl
ied the Cimmerian, standing, his sword now back in his grip. He turned to face Andolla. I glanced past the man's shoulder to the corner in which the demon had appeared. Now he saw a small, square opening in the wall nearby. The voice of the demon had been Andolla's, distorted but recognizable. Conan knew that the hole in the wall led to a speaking tube; such were sometimes used in wealthy households for the summoning of servants.
''You have no business in here!' the priest said. 'You were hired to protect the girl from those who would kidnap her. Those matters of the Spirit World must be left to me and to the Holy Oppia. Leave now.'
'When I am satisfied that she is safe from those kidnappers you mentioned.' He looked past Andolla to the gaping acolytes. 'Bring lights,' he ordered.
'What for?' demanded Andolla as the acolytes brought forth candles.
Conan went to the window. ' 'I want to see if anyone has been working at these bars,' he answered. 'If the girl saw faces at the window, it might have touched off this panic.'
'Fool!' Andolla said. 'Can you not see that the shutter is still closed from the inside?'
It was a good point, but Conan was not about to let him get away with it. 'And did you not know,' he sneered, 'that accomplished burglars can easily unlatch and re-latch any fastening to conceal evidence of their passage?'
'What now, husband?' said Oppia's voice. Conan did not turn around. Holding a candle, he carefully studied the sill by the bronze bars. Here he found another hole. Bending low and pretending to examine the base of the bars, he could smell a powerful aroma of old, stale smoke. This was how the smoke was injected into the room, and probably evacuated as well. A large blacksmith's bellows would likely do the job nicely. He straightened mid turned.
'No, the bars are sound. It was the demon again, I suppose.'
'This one is high-handed for a mere hireling,' protested Andolla. 'There is no place for an unbelieving, naked savage in our household.'
'Allow me to see to him and to the girl, Holy One,' Oppia said. 'These are trifling matters for one with your heavy duties
of study and ritual. Please, husband, return to your devotions and allow me to handle these matters.'
The tall priest reassembled his wounded dignity. 'As you say, my dear. But see if you cannot curb this disbelieving barbarian. His very presence offends Mother Doorgah.'
'Mother Doorgah has a use for every living soul,' she reminded him. 'I will attend to the matter.' Nodding and grumbling, the priest left. She looked at the acolytes. 'You may go as well.'
When they were gone, she took Rietta by the shoulders. The look of panic returned to the girl's eyes and Oppia slapped her several times, leaving scarlet finger marks on the wan cheeks.
'You have allowed it to come again!' Oppia said. 'By your weakness and lack of true faith, you have allowed it to come. The Great-souled Andolla and I exert ourselves with rituals and spells night and day to keep it in the Spirit World, where it belongs. How can you be so selfish? I despair of you, child. Soon, Mother ' Doorgah must despair of you as well. Unless you can furnish her proof of your devotion, our spells of protection will be futile, for only Mother Doorgah's love for you gives us the power to protect you. Forget about yourself and show Mother Doorgah how great is your love for her! Only tribute of gold or jewels will move her, for those substances are sacred to Mother Doorgah. To us, on this trifling, temporal plane, they are worthless trash, but in the higher world of the gods, they are magical. Bring us these things that we ' might give them in turn to Mother Doorgah and you might yet be saved, the curse that has plagued your ancestresses for generations broken!' She released Rietta's shoulders and stood, her face twisted with disgust as the girl collapsed into hysterical tears.
Conan pushed past Oppia and picked up the girl. She weighed next to nothing. His hand would almost span both of her thighs together. She was dangerously emaciated. Gently he put her on her bed and covered her with the thin blanket.
'Enough,' he said. 'Let us talk outside.'
In the hallway, he shut the door to Rietta's prison and closed the viewing-window. As he did this, Oppia studied him with great interest. His near-naked body was heavily muscled and seamed with old battle scars. The marks of blade and beast were all over him. More than size and scars, however, the sureness of his movements proclaimed his dangerous presence. He moved as a tiger moved, with absolute mastery of every muscle and bone, with a total awareness of where each body part was in relation to every other. There were many powerful men in the world, but it was this coordination, combined with the Cimmerian's bewildering swiftness, that made him a matchless fighting man. All this the woman read in her frank, intimate appraisal.
'She will not last long like this,' Conan warned.
'Never has one offered such resistance,' Oppia said. 'I do not know whether she is stubborn or merely stupid. Surely, in her mirror she can find a way to get more out of her father.'
He favoured her with an evil grin. 'Leave her to me. I'll bring her around.'
'My husband would never stand for that,' she said.
'You are the one who handles matters here,' he said. 'Give us a free hand with her and you'll soon see action out of her.'
'Very well,' she said. 'You have my leave. Think you that you can bring her around soon?'
'I must,' Conan said. 'This town is about to erupt. Either it will burn to the ground or the royal troops will arrive to restore it. Either will be bad for you. It is time to grab what you can, pick up your trick idol and go,'
She gave him a smile of complicity. 'We have the drawings for the idol and can always craft another. You saw through that quickly enough.'
'It's obvious to one who isn't drugged: What do you use on these fools?'
'A special decoction of blue lotus root that I purchase from Nivgia. It is horribly costly but it does bring in the donations.' She drew closer and felt of his arms, as one would test the muscles of a racehorse.
'The demon she sees,' Conan demanded. 'Is it real?'
'Aye. My husband summons it through his thaumaturgical arts, but it is a mindless, voiceless thing, as insubstantial as smoke. Andolla is convinced that with stronger sorcery, he can make it real. But let us not talk of these things. I have more pleasurable matters in mind.' She ran a hand across his chest and raised her lips toward his.
Oppia was a beautiful and desirable woman, but the Cimmerian was sure that once he put his hands upon her, he would squeeze her beautiful, swanlike neck until the breath ceased to pass between her lips. He stepped back.
'What disturbs you, Cimmerian?' she breathed.
'If he can summon demons,' Conan said, 'he can set one against a man who displeases him. A man who traffics with his wife, for instance.'
She laughed deprecatingly. 'Surely you do not fear phantoms, you who are so brave in combat.'
'I fear no man, and I do not tear fire or steel. But any man may fear supernatural things. It is no disgrace.'
'You disappoint me. I had thought you an experienced man of the world. Now you speak like a childish barbarian.'
'I am a barbarian. And I know that things of the Spirit World are not to be trifled with. What good is steel against a phantom that can strike through walls and armour?'
'And am I not a prize worth the risk?' she asked.
'You are a beautiful woman,' Conan said. 'And you are'. strong-willed. If you can put an end to your man's magical doings, then nothing would stand between you and me.'
She stepped away from him. 'We shall see. I must think upon this. You would have to prove that you are very, very valuable to me.' She glanced at the door to Rietta's prison. 'I think you know how to prove that.' She turned and walked toward the stair. 'Good night, Cimmerian.'
When she was gone, he returned to his chamber. Reflecting that living in this temple had much in common with living amid the crags and cliffs of his native Cimmeria, he went out the window once more. This time he descended from ledge to ledge until
In- stood in the deserted courtyard. He entered the kitch
en through its back door and found the place deserted. The embers of the banked fires give him the light he needed as he gathered meat, cheese, fruit, and bread and wrapped them in a napkin. He filled up his flask with milk from a pitcher and stoppered it. This accomplished, he rescaled the wall and re-entered his room. He took two candles from his table. One was for light. For the other he had a different purpose.
At Rietta's door he knocked, then opened. The girl sat up, alarmed to see this near-naked savage in her room, illuminated by the sinister, flickering light of a single candle. She pressed against the backboard, her knees drawn up to her chin, arms wrapped tightly around them.
'Who are you? And why are you here?'
'I am Conan,' he said. He placed the candle on the floor and the bundle on her bed and left the room, returning seconds later with a chair. He sat and unwrapped the bundle. 'I am here to aid you. You are very weak and sick. This will help.'
'What is it?' she asked.
'An old Cimmerian remedy. It is called food. Eat it.'
'But the Holy Ones have commanded me—'
'Oppia has put your cure in my hands,' he said, silencing the protest. 'Eat it all, but eat very slowly, or it will make you even sicker than you are. Start with the fruit, then try a little of the meat or cheese. Dampen the bread with milk, or you may not be able to swallow it. If you've had nothing but that watery gruel for weeks, your body may have forgotten how to handle real food.'
She was puzzled, but by now she was so accustomed to submitting that she obeyed. While she applied herself to the food he had brought, he took the unlighted candle to the window. He drove the hard wax down into the smoke-hole, then pounded it nut of sight with the pommel of his dagger. When he had cleaned the last traces of wax from the rim of the hole, he sat by the girl's side. She watched him with apprehension, but she ate as ordered.
'Stop now,' he said when about half of the food was eaten.
'Let us see if you can keep that down. If so, you will finish the rest. Now, tell me about this curse that so plagues you.'
'It is the inheritance of the women of my line,' she said dolefully. 'Generations back, we were cursed for sacrilege, and the gods send demons to torment us until either the demons take us or we take our own lives to escape them, as my mother took her life to escape the demon that haunted them. Now it is coming for me.'
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