'Who's talking about Bel?' Hilides asked.
'-precisely four thousand nine years ago, which is the day before the world began.'
'Bel was born in Shem before there was any Shem?' Hilides said.
'Ishtar,' Shubal went on, never having glanced at the tavern's owner, 'is claimed by the Pelishtians - also of Shem -who say the city of Asgalun was begun on the site of her appearance, full-formed, from a stone of the earth that was split by a single bolt of green lightning. Even her priests agree that this was two hundred years after Bel's birth, for Shem was lonely for a woman's touch. Stars above, can you imagine what a people would be like, with only a single god, and him male? Oho!'
'Did you know that Bel's the Turanian god of thieves?' Conan tried.
'That's what's wrong with Stygia,' Merkes said, dropping
the subject of Ishtar's place of origin. 'All those mid-nighters have is that noxious Set I'
'Ah,' Hilides grinned, speaking quickly and raising a big hand for attention, 'but you are forgetting Derketo! That ' thrice-sensuous creature is most definitely female, and' Stygian! No, for people with only a male deity, you have to go to those desert tribesmen, the Habiru.'
'Up in Nemedia we call her Serketo the Stygian Serpent! Slut!'
Conan sat silent, trying not to guzzle the new-made beer while the others talked about nothing. Gods! Who cared!: Where he came from, gods were plentiful and chief among them was Crom. Nor did that god, never called father, care what happened with an infant, once it was birthed. What self-respecting deity would concern himself — aye, or herself -with the affairs of humankind? It was for humans to concern themselves with the affairs and preferences of the gods, whom they blamed for half that which went bad and most of the good that befell. Derketo did sound promising! Meanwhile, the Cimmerian wanted to find out more about Sergianus, and his own eerie vision in the queen's chamber.
'. . . spider-god over in those old ruins called Yezud,' Merkes was saying.
'Shubal,' Conan said low and fast, 'what's the name of' that fellow from Nemedia?'
'Sergianus.'
'No, dolt, the one over there who says Ishtar is ' Nemedian.'
'Ha!' Hilides essayed again; 'You can tell these two friends - Conan just called Shubal a dolt!'
'Anyone that big,' Merkes said, 'can call me double-dolt if he wants!'
'Oh,' Shubal said, 'he's Nebinio.'
'How long has he been away from Nemedia?'
'I don't know,' Shubal said.
'Say, these two are ignoring us, eh? Eh?'
'Neb!' Shubal called. 'How long since you were in Nemedia ?'
'Too long, by Mitra! What's that have to do with anything?'
Conan twisted his neck to look back at the chestnut-haired fellow in the corner. Nebinio wore a tunic that had probably begun —years and years ago, when last he'd had his hair trimmed - at white, and a faded half-cloak or cape that was either filthy or unwisely dyed the colour of dust.
Wondered what you thought of this countryman of yours at the palace,' Conan said. 'Son of the Duke of Tor.'
'Where're you from, big fellow?' Nebinio said, a bit surly.
'Cimmeria. My name is Conan.'
Well, I make it a rule never to argue with a man wearing sword and mail Nebinio, who was perhaps five and a half feet tall, said, 'and I don't know this man whereof you speak - Sergianus, isn't it ? But Tor's no duchy.'
Conan turned himself a bit more around. 'Sergianus is duke's son of Tor, in Nemedia.'
'Well,' Nebinio said, 'mayhap he's just making himself more important. Tor's a barony. Presided over by a baron. Baron Amalric is about . . . oh, fifty, perhaps. Has a son who will succeed him, also named Amalric.'
'No other sons?'
'Of course he has other sons! Who knows anything about second and third sons, though, noble or no? Hilides, unless you're going to spend the rest of your life there by their table, I'd like more wine here, and a slice of the black.'
Hilides departed the table of Conan and the Shemite. The other drinker, the quiet one near the door, plunked down a coin and left. Shubal said:
'Why are you so curious about a Nemedian, your first day in Khauran?'
Conan looked at him very seriously. 'Are you not curious about him ? He may well be your next king.'
'No, no-queen's consort. But I see what you mean.'
'A baron's seventh son, elevating himself to ducal rank, and who you think is wearing a medallion you've seen somewhere other than in Nemedia. Mayhap he's one of those accursed Zingaran adventurers - or a Stygian sorcerer, old as the hills themselves, in disguise.'
'You believe in sorcery?' Shubal shrugged. 'I'm probably wrong about the amulet he wears. You about through, here? We'd best be getting back. We should be at the palace right
now, waiting, and we'd better be about when Noble Khashtris is ready to return home.'
'I need another jug of ale just to cool my mouth after a bit of that damned sausage of yours! My tongue is numb and my throat feels like one of the flame-eaters in the bazaar in Arenjun!'
Shubal laughed. 'I'll just finish it for you, then,' he said, scooping up the remainder of Conan's sausage. 'We can't all have strong stomachs.'
'Strong! Yours must be lined with brass!'
'Come, Conan; we can always try to beg a cup at the palace.'
'limp.'
They rose to depart, despite Hilides's expostulations; he'd not had the story of what he called Shubal's 'adventure' in Shadizar tomorrow. Shubal told him. The two companions talked long in the little tavern.
Many hours later they took a short-cut through a marketplace crowded with awning-shaded trestle-boards and bins and boxes with hawkers of various fresh edibles. Conan's senses were assaulted with the aromas of a dozen vegetables and fruits, and as many condiments. Shubal shouldered Conan, making a sudden change in their direction. The man from Shem ambled to a fruit-spread table beneath a plain scarlet awning. In its shade sat a moon-faced old woman with much fat and few teeth. Standing beside her was a young woman, plumply attractive, uncommonly chesty in her loose blue outer shift and apron.
'Sfalana!' Shubal called brightly. 'Miss me?'
The young woman gave him a cool look from under thick, arched brows. 'Oh, have you been gone?'
'Evil wench! You know I have, and that you've missed me.'
'I've managed to keep myself occupied,' Sfalana said, giving Conan a dark-eyed appraisal. The old woman shook with her ridiculously high-voiced laugh. The sound reminded Conan of that of a jackal on the great Turanian desert.
'Counting melons, doubtless,' Shubal said, unfazed. 'How about a hug?'
'I'm busy, Shubal.'
Tie just wants to squeeze your melons,' the old woman shrilled, and made her jackal laughing sound anew. 'Why not buy two of these instead, Shubal? They won't keep you warm, but they're all the way from Korveka, I swear.'
'Oh, of course,' Shubal scoffed. 'I can just see you importing melons from . . . Korveka . . . that's it I'
They looked at him, the old woman and the young, and at the tall youth standing silent beside him.
'Korveka!' Shubal repeated.
'I swear,' the old woman said, and laughed.
'Believe her and you'll believe Derketo is a virgin,' Sfalana said. 'Where have you been, anyhow?'
Shubal reached across the piled fruits and seized her hands. 'Shadizar, with Noble Khashtris. Just a shopping trip for her-things for her and the queen. But for me-it was nearly death. We were attacked, and -'
'Oh, Shubal!'
Oh, Conan thought. Now he understood why Sfalana had been so cool and distant with Shubal; she loved him and he'd gone off without telling her. Her eyes and tightened hands showed her concern.
'Aye. Four bandits slew one bearer, and the other fled. The other two guards were part of it, Sfalana! One played sick so that there were only two of us that night, and the other one ran off the instant the attack began. He was part of it too, we later learned. This —oh. Sfalana, this is Conan.
He's from Cimmeria. He saved my life, and our lady's.'
Sfalana turned huge dark eyes on Conan. 'Ishtar smile on you, Conan of Cimmeria.' And instantly she returned all attention to Shubal. 'Were you hurt?'
'Not a scratch, I swear. Tell you about it tonight?'
She nodded. 'Come for dinner?' She glanced at Conan, as if she thought perhaps she should ask him too, but didn't really want to.
'Uh . . . no, I'd better show Conan a few things, first. He's joined Noble Khashtris's service, too, and hasn't even seen his bed; we're just back. And we'd better be on our way. Noble Khashtris expects us, at the palace.'
'The palace!' the old woman cried, and laughed.
'Of Korveka,' Conan told her, and winked. He was tired of being a less than comfortable bystander.
She laughed again, then: 'What know you of Korveka, big lad? You from Koth?'
'No, Cimmeria. North-'
'Ah! Cimmeria! I've heard of it. Cold! I've never met anyone from Cimmeria before. My name is Mishellisa, Conan of Cimmeria. Come along with Shubal tonight and I'll show you a good time!' And she jackal-laughed, to assure him that she only jested. Conan thought it best to continue his sentence without taking note of hers.
' — of here. I'd never heard of Korveka until you mentioned it. I just said it because you said these were Korvekan melons.'
'You hear that, Shubal, you doubting Shemite! Your big friend believes me!'
'You believe her, Conan,' Shubal said, 'and you'll believe Serketo of Stygia's a virgin!' While the old woman cackled, Shubal looked at Sfalana. 'Later.' He glanced at Mishellisa. 'Go to bed early, grandmother.'
Her high-voiced, ululating laughter followed the two young men as they moved away. Shubal glanced at the sky. - 'We'd best stride out,' he said.
Conan did. 'What's Korveka?' he asked.
'A barony of Koth, right up against our western border,' Shubal said. 'By rights it ought to be part of Khauran. Khauran was once part of Koth, you know. Back in their Empire days.'
'Umm. You seemed excited to hear about it.'
'Your pardon, lady. Oh, aye! Seeing Sfalana and thinking about tonight I almost forgot again. Aye, Korveka! That's where I've seen that medallion — I mean, one just like Sergianus's — before. Around the neck of the Baron of Korveka, of Koth! I passed through his domain several years ago, on my way here.'
'Look out where you're going, lout!'
That to Conan from a bustling man in a violently chartreuse robe that was loose everywhere save over his paunch. Conan stared; the many-chinned fellow betook himself off with alacrity, muttering the while.
'What does my lord of Korveka look like, Shubal?'
Shubal barked a short laugh. 'Not like that handsome Sergianus! His son, perhaps. It has been five years-old
Sabanitus - no, Sabaninus, Sabaninus . . . he's probably dead by now. A very old man. A very old man, Conan. Sergianus barely looks old enough to be his son.'
Conan thought on that, and on his vision in the queen's audience chamber, while they strode through Khauran's capital to its royal palace.
VI
Sorcery!
Once Conan had been introduced to the four members of the house of Noble Khashtris, Shubal led him to the room they would share. It was larger than many the Cimmerian had slept in, and larger than the huts of many, many peasant families. The fat dumpling of a blonde maid iterated and reiterated her assurance that his pallet was clean and fresh.
Conan removed his vest of mail and the padded jack beneath. The fat dumpling of a maid's fatter sow of a mother, also blonde, measured him. The mistress had instructed her to make two tunics for the new member of the household. Evriga muttered while she measured. When her daughter wondered aloud if the big youth was big every place, Evriga ordered her out of the chamber. Daughter left; mother rounded on the Cimmerian.
'You are not to lay so much as one of these huge hands on that girl, do you hear?'
Conan had not considered it, and might have done so only were he and the girl marooned on a small and unpeopled island far out to sea, with certain knowledge of remaining there, alone, beyond six months. Nevertheless he replied without rancour, without smiling. Beyond Evriga, Shubal was making ridiculous faces at his fellow bodyguard.
'I hear and obey,' Conan said quietly.
'Hmp. Glibly spoke,' Evriga said.
Would you like me to swear?'
Evriga reiterated her 'Hmp' and resumed her taking of measurements.
Standing very still, towering over Evriga, Conan swore not to touch her daughter: 'This I vow by Crom, grim Lord of the Mount, and by Badb, and Lir and Macha, and Manannan and Morrigan as well, and Nemain, Venomous Nemain.'
'I never heard of any of them,' Evriga said. 'Ishtar-what arms I'
'I swear too by Ishtar, who as all know is of Nemedia, and by Set and I swear too by Derketo-'
'Never mind that Stygian slut-god, barbarian!'
'And by Yog,' Conan solemnly intoned, 'King of Demons.'
'All right,' the woman said, 'all right.' And measurements completed, she left them.
Immediately Conan and Shubal fell to laughing. Shubal interrupted to assure Conan that it was Evriga who truly had designs on him, and erupted anew. Conan did not reply; Evriga might have made a fair mother, he thought, or an excellent mattress.
'Two tunics! I have never owned three tunics at once in my entire life, Shubal!'
'All that long!' the Shemite grinned. 'How old are you, Conan?'
'Twenty.'
'Urn. In a way, I'd have thought you older. In another, you seem younger. I too am twenty, my fellow guardian of the body of Khashtris.'
Conan, who was eighteen, nodded and they went to take the evening meal. Spartus, Khashtris's head of household, presented the newcomer with a single silver coin.
'Three of these would purchase the sword you wear; eight would buy a good mare, Conan. This is against your wages, that you might not be penniless in Khauran.'
'What,' Conan asked of Shubal, 'is the price of a mug of ale at Hilides?'
'Two for a copper. That silver coin will exchange for twenty good coppers.'
'I am almost rich enough to be drunk,' Conan said, and made the silver Queenhead vanish.
Shubal rose laughing, said he had business, and departed. Conan, who knew the nature of that 'business', knew longing. He also felt that he was new, and on duty, whether in Khauran there was danger to Khashtris or no. Finishing his dinner, he went out to examine the gardens behind the house. He sought to pass the time of evening with the gardener. Amid the cool verdure, beneath gently rustling trees, that man had no care for a stranger's need of companionship. He affected rude manners and talked but little.
It was not pleasant to be new in a city, and to know that one's only friend was with a woman, and to have no companionship whatever. Conan returned to his and Shubal's room.
Shubal was very absent. There Conan abode, sitting and sprawling and restlessly pacing by turns. He gave much thought to the day's occurrences and to what he had learned -and regained-and to what he had seemed to see at the instant of his soul's adjoining his body. These reflections troubled his mind. He was doubly troubled: he was intensely aware of what Shubal was doing, this night, with Sfalana of the melons.
He was vehemently aware of Khashtris's presence in this large nightbound house. Her house. The house of Noble Khashtris, in which she was employer and cousin to the queen, not a frightened and grateful girl-woman under a collapsed tent.
Eventually his mind and body were so troubled and restless that he had to escape the room. It seemed to have shrunk and at the same time become too large for one person alone. Its four walls leered at him.
He left it. The house was dark and silent. Silent as a panther the Cimmerian paced along rug-strewn halls of coloured stone floored with marble. He let himself out by the rear door. Trees rustled and the grass and shrubbery filled his nostrils with a fragrance that was green and fresh and cool. Soon, pacing in shadow-haunted moonlight, he had me
morised the shrubbery, trees and garden-plot. He'd have been delighted if an assassin or two had come slipping over one of the walls. None came. The branches of the trees seemed to whisper of love.
After circuiting the house, Conan ascended to the porch and sat for a time amid square-based columns painted the blue of the sky and decorated with plumey strutting birds in green and yellow and blues.
That, too, paled. He rose. His attempt to enter was blocked by a locked door. Good, he thought, for he was employed as bodyguard to a noble who trusted him, and he went around back.
That door, too, had been barred from within. Good . . . but ...
Well, Conan mused, no one knows I came outside, and the moon is high. The night ages. A very efficient steward, that damned Spartus!
Conan spent the night in the garden. Just after- dawn he was on the porch, his stomach rumbling while he awaited the awakening of the household of noble Khashtris. Eventually the door was opened to the day. Conan explained, and Evriga laughed at him as he entered. That was enough; while he breakfasted, alone, he was advised by cook that his tunic stank. That was more than enough.
'So,' the seated Conan said quietly without looking up from his wooden bowl, 'does your breath. Now hush and give me more of that only fair gruel else I consider telling our employer how you imbibe wine intended for cooking, even of a morning.'
He received another - bowl, in silence, and was left in peace.
Shubal entered the little room as Conan was finishing. They exchanged smiles, and the Shemite winked, but neither man said anything. had rather, be in someone's army than have this job, Conan mused as he left the other man to his morning gruel.
Conan had nothing to do that morning, and did not enjoy not doing it. Just after noon-at last-he and Shubal unnecessarily escorted their employer to the meeting house of the Advisory Council. It was there, while Khashtris was within, that Arkhaurus came walking out among the lofty columns covered with swirling multicolour patterns. He approached the Cimmerian.
'You stared hard at my lord Sergianus on yesterday, Conan,' the Adviser to the Throne said. 'All the while that our lady queen was performing the act to rescue you from black sorcery. Why stared you so? '
The Conan Chronology Page 31