By the time that the sun had fallen below the western horizon, a tidy camp of three tents had been set up and a frugal meal of dried beef, hard bread, and oasis water had been served.
The campfire crackled, radiating a pleasant warmth onto sands now chill with the coming of night. Beyond the flaring glow of the fire and the dark ring of undergrowth, the desert receded in waves of sand, black and silver by moonlight, like a frozen sea. The slender scimitar of a quarter moon rode high in the heavens, skirting the icy torrent of the Milky Way.
'I'll take the first watch,' said Conan, squatting beside the dying fire. Heng Shih nodded in gratitude as he rose with care from his seat and moved slowly toward his tent. Zelandra pulled her kettle from the red-orange coals and poured herself some tea. The gentle aroma of jasmine rose with the steam from her cup. Neesa's head lay comfortably upon the Cimmerian's shoulder, his arm about her trim waist.
A thin cry echoed through the desert night, diminished by distance and quickly fading. Neesa's body tensed against Conan's.
'What was that?' she whispered uneasily.
'A jackal,' grunted the barbarian.
'Perhaps the Yizil,' said Zelandra, blowing across the top of her teacup. Firelight turned her eyes to flame.
'Yizil?' asked Neesa, now sitting up stiffly.
'Desert ghouls,' said Conan. 'Haunters of ruins and gnawers of bones.
They shun the open desert.'
'Do they?' Neesa's eyes probed the darkness beyond the campfire's glow.
Conan laughed gustily.
'They do. Go to bed. I promise that if any Yizil come by, I shall feed them to their brethren.'
Neesa got to her feet and sidled reluctantly toward the Cimmerian's tent. 'Now I shan't sleep until you join me.'
Conan watched her disappear through the flap and frowned across the fire at Zelandra. 'Did you have to tell her that? You knew that the Yizil are no danger here.'
Zelandra grinned at him. She lifted her hands in an innocent shrug and nodded toward his tent.
'You should thank me,' she said, and Conan smiled back at her.
'Seriously, my friend.' Her voice grew softer as she continued. 'I am concerned that we encountered a creature of Ethram-Fal's at such a distance from his lair.'
'It is not such a distance. When we were atop the great sand dune beside this oasis, I could see the Dragon's Spine.'
'Ishtar,' she breathed. 'So swiftly? You are truly a fine guide, Conan.'
'Well,' said the Cimmerian gruffly, 'we aren't there yet. We must travel southeast into the foothills surrounding the Dragon's Spine in order to approach it from the angle we saw in Ethram-Fal's sorcerous projection. Tomorrow we should get close enough to tell whether I am a good guide or not.'
Zelandra nodded and Conan rose, dusted himself off, and went to walk the perimeter.
In a short time he alone was awake, moving restlessly about the camp as silent as a shadow, disappearing in one direction to reappear in a few moments from another, memorizing the contours of the waste around them.
Conan stood watch, while overhead the moon rose, the stars wheeled, and a flight of meteors slashed the sky with fire.
XXVII
The desert floor rose gradually, lifting into the rough uplands of rugged rock that held, somewhere in their labyrinthine vastness, the sculpted ridge that was the Dragon's Spine. The seemingly endless ocean of ochre dunes gave way to low hillocks of crumbling soil that gave way in turn to a new wilderness of stone outcrops and towers. Here the surface of the earth had buckled up, as though from unthinkable pressures within, shedding its skin of soil and baring raw and naked bones of mineral.
The party moved With excruciating slowness through this tortuous landscape. High up on the ragged rim of a ridge, Conan pointed off to the east, where the distinct and regular shape of the Dragon's Spine lay shimmering in the distance. From the lofty ridge they descended into even worse terrain'a literal maze of canyons and ravines that split the earth like cracks in the sunbaked bottom of a dry riverbed.
The weary quartet advanced and then retreated down narrow defiles that wound promisingly in the right direction, only to end abruptly in a vertical wall. Canyons that began as broad and as easy to traverse as the Caravan Road shrank along their length until the body of an unmounted man could not squeeze through. Any passage they took initially seemed to lead in the direction that they sought, only to bend or double back until the travelers were riding away from their goal. Time and again the Cimmerian dismounted and climbed to a high vantage point in order to get his bearings. Agile as an ape, he would clamber up a rock wall or scale a stony spire to get a fix on the Dragon's Spine. The party would wait in dogged silence for him to return and order that they turn around, return to a fork, retry a passage that led in the wrong direction, or simply continue along the path that they were on.
It was well into the afternoon when they emerged from the mouth of a narrow gorge into a wide clearing that lay open to the sky. Passing from the cool shadows cast by rock walls into the golden glare of the sun, the party squinted, shaded their eyes and looked about. The clearing formed an irregular hub into which three small canyons opened.
Off to the left a slender cleft ran away to the northeast, its walls rising swiftly and sharply from the floor of the clearing into a high series of jagged pinnacles. To the right a larger defile dropped rapidly away to the southwest, its flattened path strewn with gravel and bracketed by low walls of broken stone. Directly in front of them the ground rose up into a worn hill of eroded rock, obscuring the opposite side of the clearing from view.
To the surprise of all, Conan nudged his camel to a trot and rode straight up the low hill before them. They followed in silence, having long since accepted the barbarian's guidance through this desert maze.
Heng Shih was as expressionless as ever, seemingly unperturbed by the bandaged wound that girdled his broad belly. Neesa rose nervously erect in her saddle, her eyes rarely leaving her mistress. The Lady Zelandra stared forward sightlessly, speaking only when spoken to and clutching the leather-wrapped box in her lap with both hands. She had made herself a turban and tucked her long, silver-shot hair inside it. Her face, sunburned and haggard, looked years older than it had only a few days before.
Once atop the hill, the party drew to a halt, their camels snuffling in gratitude. The far side of the hill descended steeply in a broad swath of loose stones and gravel. It fell away for many yards before ending abruptly at the edge of a precipitous cliff, where it apparently dropped away into an even lower canyon.
'There,' said Conan, lifting a bare, bronzed arm. 'The Dragon's Spine.'
The party stared off to the northeast and saw that he was right. The saw-toothed formation was just visible over the walls of the canyon that opened on their left, and, for the first time, its alignment seemed correct. Its appearance closely matched their first view of it in the background of Ethram-Fal's sorcerous projection.
'At last,' whispered the Lady Zelandra in a small, dry voice.
'We make camp here,' said the Cimmerian. 'I believe that narrow ravine will lead us to Ethram-Fal's lair, but I cannot be certain how distant it is.'
'So there is something that you cannot do, barbarian?' said Zelandra.
Her right hand crept up her ribs and pressed there as if stanching a wound. 'I am astonished to hear you admit it. This is my expedition and I insist that we proceed down that canyon immediately. We have no time to make camp. We will close with Ethram-Fal and destroy him before this day is done.'
'Zelandra,' said Conan evenly, 'the day is already nearly done.
Darkness falls much swifter at the bottom of a canyon than it does in the open air. There are clouds on the western horizon that may bring a storm, and we have no way of knowing how much farther there is to travel. Moreover, you are tired, milady.'
'Tired? You insolent fool, even weary, I have strength enough to do what I must do. I say we go forward!' She wheeled upon her servants.
'Would you f
ollow this insubordinate savage instead of your mistress?
I-I¦' Her voice trailed off as her gaze passed over the concerned faces of Neesa and Heng Shih. Both of her hands clutched her torso as if they could unwind the bands of pain that tightened there. Tears glimmered in her dark eyes.
'Ah, sweet Ishtar's mercy,' she said, voice low and choked with shame.
'I'm sorry, my friends. Our comrade Conan is right, we must camp here for I am tired. So very tired.'
Heng Shih seemed to appear at her camel's side. No one saw him dismount. His great hands gripped Zelandra gently about the waist and plucked her from the saddle as lightly as if she were a mannequin of silk. He set her on her feet, swept the dirt from the top of a flattened stone, and motioned for her to sit. She did, pressing her face into her hands as though she could not bear to look upon her fellow travelers. Conan spoke again.
'Zelandra, after we set up camp, Heng Shih and I will scout down the narrow canyon. We will go as far as we can before nightfall. We may well find Ethram-Fal's hiding place. If all goes well, we will be planning our method of attack tonight and carrying it out tomorrow morning. Rest, be strong, and you shall have your revenge.'
Zelandra nodded, taking her hands from her face but keeping her eyes lowered. The remainder of the party went about setting up camp.
Shortly, the three small tents were up, situated back and away from the hill's leading edge so that they would not be visible from any point in the clearing below. Conan forbade a fire, saying that they could have a cold supper whenever they hungered and that he wouldn't eat until he and Heng Shih returned from their scouting expedition. He balanced this unhappy news by breaking out one of the party's few bottles of wine and passing it around. Looking drawn and shaken, Zelandra took a token sip before retiring to her tent. As soon as she was out of earshot, the Cimmerian turned to Neesa.
'Has she used the last of her lotus?'
'No. I know that she has more, though I'm not certain how much. She does not want to use it. Not even the tiny bit that would ease her pain. She fears that if she does, her resolve will weaken and she will take too much or all of it. She grows desperate. I'm sorry, Conan. You know that she meant you no insult, do you not?'
'Her words do not concern me; her actions do. Will she be strong enough to face the Stygian sorcerer when we finally find him?'
Neesa raised her pale hands in a helpless shrug. 'How can I say? I think that she plans to use the last of the lotus to strengthen herself just before engaging Ethram-Fal. It really does seem to empower her sorcery. She took some just before sending the flame-wall against those bandits.'
'She goes to battle with a wizard who claims to have an unlimited supply of the cursed drug. I wonder what manner of sorcery he will send against us.'
To this Neesa made no reply. At her side, Heng Shih leaned forward and his hands made a series of deliberate motions in the air before him.
Conan looked to Neesa questioningly.
'He asks if you wish to leave. He says that he will hold no grudge against you if you do.'
'Hell,' Conan grinned wolfishly, tossing back his black mane. 'I promised Zelandra my services and will not back out now just because it's getting interesting.'
The slightest trace of a smile came to the Khitan's lips and he extended his hand, offering the Cimmerian the wine bottle. Conan accepted it, threw back his head and took a long pull, his throat working as he swallowed.
'Ah,' he sighed with satisfaction. 'That is a passing good wine. Come now, let us dig out this scorpion's nest. Neesa, you must keep watch on the mouths of the canyons. I doubt very much that anyone will come out of the other two, but watch them anyway. If anyone but Heng Shih and I come out of the one that we're heading into, that means we're probably dead. Keep low and awaken Zelandra. If intruders are about to discover you, flee. If you can't win free, kill as many as you can however you can. Scream like the devil, and if Heng Shih and I still live, we'll hear you, for sound carries very far in this waste. If we can, we'll come to your aid or at least avenge you. Stay alert.'
With that the Cimmerian threw an arm around the woman's waist and drew her to him. While they kissed with undisguised passion, Heng Shih fell to studying the sky. He noted that there was indeed a dark mass of clouds swelling on the western horizon. He had time to observe it quite closely before Conan clapped him on the shoulder.
'Come on man, the day grows old.'
The two men scuffled down the rocky slope and strode purposefully toward the dark slash of the canyon's mouth. Neesa dropped to a crouch at the crest of the hill's rise, nestling into the shadow of a boulder and wiping tingling lips with the back of a hand. As Conan and Heng Shih stepped into the narrow gap and disappeared from sight, she became conscious of a painful lump in her throat and cursed herself softly for a weakling. She reached back into the loose froth of her black hair and pulled the throwing dagger from her nape sheath. She thrust it into the hard ground before her and settled down to wait.
XXVIII
The red sun, bloated and sullen, lay impaled upon the sharp and broken ridges to the west when the thing that had been Gulbanda of Shem came to a halt.
He was a ragged figure now, his garments tattered and stained. His hands, face, and beard were caked with ochre grime that he had made no effort to wipe away. Eyes as glassy and expressionless as chips of black quartz peered into the dim canyon mouth that opened before him.
Gulbanda had been walking for a night and a day without cease. The nearly fresh horse that he had taken from Nath, the archer, had been ridden relentlessly until it collapsed beneath him. Then he had walked, heedless of the killing sun, moving onward because it was all that he was capable of doing.
Now Gulbanda stopped and stared into the impenetrable darkness. A breeze, cool as a spring, blew from within the canyon and stirred his torn cloak.
He felt the pull deep inside his breast. Deep, where Shakar the Keshanian had stabbed to his core. It was as though a strong fist had closed about his pierced and withered heart and pulled steadily upon it in the direction that he must go. The necromantic sorcery that kept Gulbanda moving among the living also gave him his unerring sense of direction.
Standing as silent and motionless as his stone surroundings, Gulbanda searched what remained of his memories. They were vague tatters now, like wisps of dank fog fading on the chill wind of approaching night.
He remembered a dark room and a man bound to a steel chair.
He remembered a dagger sliding over the corded muscles of that man's forearm.
He remembered his sword flying from his fist.
Gulbanda lifted his sword hand and studied the dry stumps of two fingers. The black-haired Cimmerian. It was he who was responsible for all of this. It was he whose blood burned and pulled so deeply within Gulbanda's breast, drawing him onward with an irresistible compulsion that could end only with the barbarian's death. Zelandra's death. The acquisition of the silver box that Shakar craved so terribly.
Shakar the Keshanian'Gulbanda remembered his master, though only as an imperious face making difficult demands of him. He must do the things that Shakar had asked of him so long ago. He would please Shakar and the sorcerer would help him.
How could he help him? Gulbanda groped among the shattered shards of his memory. He lowered his head, the only sign of the torment that surged within as he strove to grasp some small part of his vanished humanity and felt the ceaseless, tidal pull of Conan's blood drawing him forward and away.
Gulbanda remembered, and raised his head. If he did as Shakar wished, then the sorcerer would make the pulling in his breast cease and let him die. That was all that had to be done. If he killed the black-haired barbarian and the sorceress and got the silver box, then he would be allowed to die. There was nothing in all the world to desire except death.
The thing that had been a man and a warrior closed its dead eyes for the first time in days. Gulbanda saw his strong hands falling upon the Cimmerian, rending his flesh and breaking his
limbs. He heard the barbarian's bones crack and his agonized cry of defeat.
Death was a most glorious reward for such a slight and agreeable service. ,
Gulbanda stalked into the canyon and was swallowed by darkness.
XXIX
The canyon walls rose to either side of the two men, hemming them into a defile not ten paces across. Heng Shih fought a moment's claustrophobia as they passed from the open clearing into the shadowy, enclosed space of the narrow cleft.
The first thing he became aware of was the silence. When riding with the party, the desolate and deserted landscape seemed invested with their life and movement. Their speech and the steady sounds of their passage obscured the awesome silence of the wasteland. Walking with quiet caution behind the barbarian, whose cat-like tread seemed not to disturb so much as a pebble, the full weight of the desert's silent emptiness seemed to bear down upon him. The only sound was the occasional rising of the wind, moaning like a ghost through the maze of canyons.
Heng Shih shook his bald head in a deliberate effort to rid himself of such useless thoughts. They were approaching the stronghold of an enemy.
They walked for almost an hour. The ridged walls of the narrow canyon rose slowly until they loomed at five times the height of a man. The path continued straight and the floor fairly even, cluttered only by the occasional pile of stone and sand that marked the site of a rock fall. As they stepped carefully about the base of one of these irregular heaps of debris, the sun broke free of the clouds on the western horizon and spilled its long rays across the empty desert. The stone passageway was immediately filled with a strange roseate illumination. Heng Shih looked about in wonder. The Cimmerian paid no heed, realizing that the sun's last light was rebounding from the red rock walls, tinting the cooling air with a lurid glow.
Conan raised his hand to signal a halt, and the Khitan shouldered up next to him. Ahead, the walls drew together as the canyon bent, turning sharply to the east. The Cimmerian lowered himself into a crouch and drew his scimitar, which in the ruddy light seemed dipped in blood.
The Conan Chronology Page 292