He spent a few hours in the stable, caring for his horse and going over every inch of his harness. The damp winter weather was deadly for fine leather, and he scoured away every trace of mould and carefully oiled every bit of his riding gear, paying special attention to girths and other straps. Nothing was more embarrassing than, with pursuit but a few paces behind, to leap into
the saddle only to have it all tumble ignominiously to the ground because a neglected surcingle had parted.
When he was satisfied with his horse trappings, he gave equal attention to the animal's hooves, examining each in turn, testing the condition of the hoof and that of the shoe, then every nail of the shoe. Dissatisfied with one shoe, he had the smith across the street replace all four shoes, under the watchful eye of the rider. With that done, he gave similar attention to his weaponry, cleaning and oiling it scrupulously, going over each edge with a fine whetstone, testing hilt and grip for any slightest hint of movement. Age and climate could cause a grip made of bone or wood to shrink, robbing the blade of support at the crucial juncture of blade and hilt, thus weakening the whole weapon.
By the time all was to his satisfaction, it was late afternoon. He had dinner in the common room, then went out into the street. His steps led him south, past the Square and into the Pit, where he was to meet Piris. At one point he was forced to make a detour around a block where the narrow street was crowded with fighting men.
The Wyvern was not heavily populated as the Cimmerian entered. Of the men who sat drinking at the tables, many were bandaged; other men lay groaning on the floor. He went to the bar and called for ale. The barkeep brought him a jack of tarred leather, slopping foam as he set it on the ancient, nicked counter.
'Is Piris here yet?' Conan asked.
'I saw him go upstairs an hour ago,' the man said.
Conan decided that there was no rush, that Piris could wait until he finished his ale.
'He must be a popular man this evening,' the barkeep said.
'How so?'
'Well, just before you arrived, a woman came asking for him and I told her where he was. She went up after him.'
Conan all but choked on a mouthful of ale. 'What woman?' he demanded, slamming the jack upon the bar. 'Which room?'
'A black-haired wench with a dangerous look in her eye. What other kind would come into the Wyvern unescorted? As to what room, it is on the third level, with a cockatrice painted on the door. It's—' But now he was addressing the Cimmerian's back. 'Aren't you going to finish your—' Already, the big barbarian was leaping up the stairs. The barkeep shrugged and finished the ale himself.
The Cimmerian fairly flew up the steps, jostling aside trollops and their customers in the process. At the third level, he looked around frantically. He saw a door with a dragon, one with a serpent, one with a lion. At the far end of the hallway, he saw a yellow door with a red cockatrice painted on it. He moved toward the door swiftly but silently, his weapons held close against him lest they make a betraying clatter. By the time he reached the portal, he was balancing on the toes of his boots. There he stopped and listened. He heard the sound of squabbling voices but could make out nothing of what they were saying. Taking a deep breath, he thrust the door open.
Inside, two figures stood facing each other across the length of a table. Each held a dagger extended toward the other. The black-haired woman stood with her back to him. Piris faced him. The little man looked up at his entry, and relief flowed across the effeminate features.
'This is she!' he said in his odd, breathy voice. 'This is Altaira, the treacherous wench who betrayed me into the dungeon of Belverus! Slay her!'' He held forth his envenomed weapon as if he had little trust in the Cimmerian's ability to protect him from this virago.
'Turn, woman,' Conan said.
'Not while this vile little catamite holds his poisoned steel!' she hissed.
Conan's own sword slid from its sheath. 'I'll not let him stab you in the back, and if I wanted you dead, you would be dead already. Turn.'
Slowly, the woman turned to face him. The face was heart-shaped beneath its mass of black locks, the mouth a crimson slash, the eyes boldly outlined in cosmetic. The skin was as white as the purest snow. She seemed a stranger, yet there was something familiar about her features. Then he knew.
'Brita!' Never had he seen such a transformation. Except for the shape of the facial bones, there was no similarity to the shy, well-bred girl he had aided. Even the colour of the eyes was different.
'This is your Tarantian girl?' Piris asked with a squealing giggle. 'You have been gulled, my barbarian friend! But do not be too ashamed; she has taken in men far more experienced than you.'
'So,' Conan said. 'Many things become clear now.' His sword point was level with her throat. Ordinarily he never drew steel against a woman, but he had never encountered one as uniquely deadly as this one. 'No wonder those bandits I rescued you from were so well mounted. Their job was to present a sham ravishment, then get away as fast as they could.'
'Of course,' she said, her voice colder than any steel. 'I followed you and Piris from that tavern in Belverus, and I eavesdropped upon your meeting. I knew instantly that you were one of those foolish men who would go out of his way to rescue a woman, and then feel himself to be her protector.''
Conan laughed hollowly. 'As if you ever needed a protector. So it was you and Piris and Asdras who stole the scorpion from Casperus?''
'No!' Piris insisted. 'The scorpion is mine!' 'It belongs to whoever can keep it,' Altaira said. 'And we had it for a while. Yes, I planned to get the scorpion from the fat man. I sent Asdras ahead to Sicas, but Piris, who is far cleverer than you, Conan, would not leave my side and was too cautious to give me a chance to kill him. So I passed the idol to Mulvix, who was headed to Sicas with his caravan. He did not know what it was and always went by the smuggler's code, that a smuggler does not pry into the cargo he has agreed to deliver. He delivered it to me here as promised.' 'And she planted false evidence on me to have me thrown into
the dungeon before I could chase her down!' Piris said indignantly.
'I should have known,' Conan said ruefully. 'All the way. here, and after we arrived, you kept getting word of this 'sister' of yours, but never when I was with you.'
'That is because your brain is in your sword arm, Cimmerian,' she said. 'A more intelligent man would have noticed.'
Conan shrugged philosophically. 'I have ever been a fool where women are concerned. That you gulled me I do not hold against you. It is every man's duty to look out for himself. But I take it amiss that you took advantage of my better nature.'
'What do you mean?' she asked, clearly perplexed.
'It would be useless to explain it to you. The miners who live near here understand these things better.''
'I think you have gone mad,' she said.
'That first night,' Conan said, 'when you brought me here to the Wyvern... you had been down here first. You summoned Asdras outside and stabbed him. Then, all innocence, you dragged me down here so we could 'discover' him. One less with whom to share the scorpion.'
'And when we went to the Temple of Bes,' Piris said, 'she followed and set her hired rogues upon us. And just in case that should not be enough, she set the Reeve to arrest us and clap us in the dungeon here.'
'But you could not foresee,' Conan said to her, 'that the rich spice merchant would buy me out of jail to rescue his daughter from the Temple of Mother Doorgah.'
'Ah, is that what happened?' she murmured. 'Truly, I could not keep track of everything.'
'You acted strangely,' Conan said, 'when I told you of my interview with Casperus. It was the only time you allowed your mask to slip with me. When you realized your mistake, you seduced me to distract my mind from your mistake.'
'Seduced you!' she said. 'Does a mare need to seduce a stallion?'
'I would never have let that happen,' sniffed Piris.
'That I do not doubt one whit,' Conan said. Then, to Altaira: 'And when Mulv
ix came to our rooms at the inn, he was not dying as he climbed the stairs, was he? You had left him word of how to find you, and he came straight to you, and to your dagger. Then you took some of the blood and left it on the walk and on the stairs so that it would look as if he had trailed it all the way up. Why did you not take the scorpion then?'
She made an eloquent movement of her beautiful white shoulders. 'Piris was here, Casperus was still here. I had yet to deal with them, and when you hold the scorpion, it is not easy to manage anything else. I knew that you were trustworthy and stupid. You would hide it for me until I should want it back.'
'And hide it I did,' said Conan, grinning. 'Have you any idea where?'
'Wretch!' she cried. 'Where is it?' 'Why should I tell you?' he asked.
'Well,' she said, her voice turning conciliatory, 'I can see that I was wrong about you, Conan. I had thought you a simple, brainless savage. But, truthfully, you do have a brain in that head of yours, and you have been playing games in this town as subtle as my own. In fact, you and I could prosper mightily together.' 'Too late, Brita, or Altaira, or whatever your real name is,' said Conan. 'I know too much about you now, and no man who values his life would come near you. But tell me this: What is your story about the scorpion?''
'I suppose that this fool and the fat man have told you about what a great, magical idol it is?' 'They did,' Conan affirmed, 'each in his own way.' 'Well, they both lied,' she said. 'You have held it. How did it feel?'
'Heavy,' replied Conan.
'Of course it is heavy. Nothing is weightier than gold, and of all gold, the heaviest is white gold!'
'White gold!' Conan exclaimed. The metal was all but legendary. White gold was to silver what silver was to lead. Its brilliance was incomparable, and it was esteemed by goldsmiths as the noblest of metals. Most commonly, its value was pegged at ten times the worth of an equal weight of the finest gold.
'Aye,' she said. 'It is no ancient idol, no black diamond fallen from the heavens. It was cast no more than five hundred years ago as tribute from the king of Keshan to the priest-king of Stygia. In those days, Selkhet was the pre-eminent goddess of Stygia, the patroness of the royal house, and the king of Keshan, wishing to curry favour, gathered the white gold from the royal treasury and had it cast into this image and sent to Khemi, the capital.
'Not long after that, it was stolen. It has turned up over the years, and early in this time it acquired its present guise. It was coated with a black enamel, an amalgam made from powdered obsidian.'
'Not a magical talisman, eh?' said Conan, thinking of the very odd happenings in the temple of Mother Doorgah.
'Not at all,' she said. 'But what it is, is the most valuable single object on earth. Its value is incalculable, and it could make both of us rich beyond our wildest dreams.'
'She lies!' Piris shrieked. 'It belongs to my family! And it is unthinkably ancient and magical.'
'Oh, be quiet, both of you,' Conan said. He brandished his blade and the two stood back. 'I no longer care what the damned thing is. I want nothing to do with it, though it be made of white gold and give the owner eternal youth to boot.'
'But you promised to deliver the scorpion to me,' Piris squeaked. 'You accepted my pay!'
'So I did,' Conan said, 'although I assuredly would not have undertaken the task had you given me the full story of your 'treasure.' Not for a mere thousand dishas, at any rate,' he amended.
'That is immaterial,' Piris protested. 'You gave me your word!'
'I did that, to my regret,' Conan said. 'And lead you to it I shall.' He turned to the woman.
'Tell me one thing: Did you kill Delia?'
'Delia?' she said. 'You mean Maxio's slut? I did not even
know she was dead.' As near as Conan could judge, she was telling the truth.
'What?' exclaimed Piris, his eyes gone wide in mock amazement. 'You mean there is someone in this town she hasn't stabbed?'
'Listen to me, you two,' Conan said. 'I have matters to attend to. I am leaving you now. If you would have the scorpion, meet me at noon tomorrow in the Square, before the theatre.'
'You will leave me here alone with this she-demon?' Piris asked indignantly.
'I did not undertake to be your bodyguard,' Conan said. 'You two may kill each other for all I care. But if it is advice you want, I suggest that you come to an agreement. And now I bid you both good evening.' He backed through the doorway and shut the door. From the other side of the painted cockatrice, he heard the two voices resume their squabbling.
As he descended to the common room, something occurred to him. He went back to the bar and summoned the barkeep.
'Were you here a bit more than a month ago, when the Reeve's brother was stabbed upstairs?'
'Aye,' said the barkeep, wiping out a jack with a filthy rag. 'I think that was the only time Bombas ever showed his fat face in the Pit, when he came down to claim the body, surrounded by his worthless men.'
'Who discovered the body?' the Cimmerian asked. 'It was Julus,' said the barkeep. 'That was just after old Lisip drove him out for skimming. He went to work for Bombas right after Burdo was murdered.'
'Aye, I thought it might be something like that,' Conan said. 'What's that?' said the barkeep, but once again he was addressing Conan's broad, armoured back.
From the Wyvern the Cimmerian made his way through the dark streets to the Temple of Bes. When he presented himself, one of the Shemitish guards conducted him to the crypt and opened the river door for him. He stepped out onto the riverbank and made his way around the confluence of the rivers to the bridge. He climbed the abutment to the roadbed and set out at an easy walk.
He reached the ridge overlooking the miner's village in less than two hours. Despite the late hour, he saw several high-burning fires around the perimeter of the village. He walked down to the nearest blaze and three men, armed with crude spears, stepped forward to challenge him.
'Who goes... it's the Cimmerian!' Grinning, the rest came forward.
'Is Bellas here?' Conan asked.
'Nay, but he shall be,' said one. A boy was sent to fetch the head man. A few minutes later, he arrived.
'Ask what you will of us,' the man said simply.
'Would you see an end to all this business?' Conan asked.
'Aye, with every breath I draw, I would like to see that.'
'Then come all of you to the Square tomorrow, a little past noon. Come armed.'
'That we shall!' said Bellas, and the rest cheered.
'Do not celebrate just yet,' said Conan. 'It will be a hard fight this time. Ermak's men.'
'Good,' said Bellas. 'The last fight but whetted our appetite for revenge.'
'Then you'll have your fill tomorrow,' Conan promised. 'Remember, wait until just a little past noon, then come into the town. Force the river gate if you have to, but if you move swiftly enough, the dodderer on guard will have no time to shut and bar it.'
'We shall do as you say,' Bellas said.
'I will see you tomorrow, then,' said Conan. Moving like a ghost, he disappeared from the circle of firelight.
The Cimmerian walked back toward the town, but when he reached the river, he did not cross. He had no doubt that he could scale the low river wall easily, but he had no wish to do so. He had run out of safe havens in the town, some lair where he could enjoy a night's uneventful sleep. Instead, he walked into a nearby copse of trees and rolled himself into his cloak. He adjudged from the height of the moon that he had a good two or three hours before daylight. The morrow promised to be a busy day, and he knew that he would need to be alert. Within minutes, he was asleep.
XIX
The Final Battle
He crossed the bridge as the sun rose on what promised to be a fine, clear day. The gatekeeper was surprised to see a traveller waiting without as he opened the portal on creaky hinges. This was a man Conan had not seen before, younger than most of them but graced with a peg leg, and bearing a hook where his left hand
should have b
een.
'If it were you, stranger,' the man warned, 'I'd not come
into this town on this day.'
'Why not?' asked Conan, passing through. He tossed a coin, which the man caught adroitly with his remaining hand.
'Because there's a big fight brewing today. The gangs've sulked all night, and I hear they're going to have it out once and for all
in the Square.'
'That should be a fine show,' Conan said. 'I must go find a
good place from which to watch.'
'As you will,' the man said. He took a tablet from his belt and opened it, balancing the thing on his good knee and extracting a stylus from its resting place behind his ear. 'Name and business?'
Conan tossed the man another coin, which was caught just as adroitly as the first, though the hand was burdened with the stylus. The guard shrugged and put away the tablet.
'And now I have advice for you, friend,' said Conan.
'What might it be?' the man asked.
'Start looking for a job. You will need a new one soon.'
The man shrugged resignedly. 'I can always go back to begging.'
Conan walked through the Pit's deceptive early morning quiet. He passed into the newer part of town. The Square was entirely deserted. For once, no one had come to set up a stall. Word was all over the town that it was a day for battle and that this time it would not be merely an amusement for spectators.
When Conan entered the common room, the innkeeper gaped and hurried to his side.
'Cimmerian, you must be careful! Julus has been here a number of times, seeking for you. I think the Reeve wants to clap you in his dungeon.'
'Bombas and his dogs will be far too busy this day to trouble over me,' Conan assured him. 'What concerns me now is not the Reeve or his lackeys, but breakfast!'
The innkeeper shook his head. 'You are mad, like everyone else in this town, but have it as you will. Seat yourself and eat your fill. It may be your last meal, if the town gossip is to be believed.'
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