The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  Through the dripping darkness they proceeded, guided only by the flickering torch that Fronto held aloft. They said nothing. Was it out of inborn caution; or was it unwillingness to acknowledge the clammy breath of fear that followed (hem through the gloom and whispering darkness?

  Conan looked about him, grimly. The flickering orange flames of the torch painted black shadows across the lichen-encrusted stones - shadows that swooped and billowed like enormous bats. The subterranean passage had for years been scaled away from the outside world; for now the air was stifling, thick with the unwholesome odours of decay.

  After a time Conan growled: 'How much farther, Fronto?

  We must have walked clear across Ianthe and are beyond the city now.'

  'We are not halfway yet. The palace lies in the midst of the city, where once stood the citadel.'

  'What noise is that?' asked Rhazes when a rumble as of thunder reverberated overhead.

  'Just an ox cart on Ishtar Street,' said Pronto.

  At last they reached the tunnel's end. Here a flight of steps led upward to a trapdoor like the other. Conan took the torch and examined the trap.

  Conan asked softly; 'Where in the dungeons does this passage lead?'

  Pronto rubbed a reflective hand over a stubbled jaw. 'To the far end of the south branch,' he said.

  'And King Khossus is held prisoner in the middle branch, parallel to this,' murmured Rhazes from behind them. Conan, suddenly suspicious, shot him a glance.

  'How do you come to know that?' he demanded sharply.

  The plump seer spread both hands in a disarming gesture. 'By my stars, General. How else?'

  Conan muttered something that sounded like a curse.

  The eager thief pushed up the trapdoor a finger's breadth! at a time, pressing an attentive ear against the rough wood. At last he whispered: 'There seem to be no guards in this' part. Come.'

  Despite a faint squeal of hinges, he thrust the trap up the way and beckoned to his companions.

  Conan let his breath out with a sigh and set the ton down so that it leaned against the side of the tunnel am burned with a dim but welcome light. Then he followed Pronto to the dungeon. After him panted Rhazes.

  They emerged into a corridor some twenty paces long and saw a row of untenanted cells on either side. The air was heavy with the prison stench of decay and mould and odour. The only light came faintly from a torch mounted in a bracket on the wall of a transverse passage at the far end of, their corridor, save that a roseate glow emanated from the, torch Conan had set against the dank wall of the tunnel below them. To extinguish this tell-tale glow, Pronto began

  to lower the trap, but Conan hastily set a coin between the trap and the strut on which it rested, propping the door up ever so slightly; so that, by the slight irregularity of flooring, they could find it when they again had need of it.

  Conan's sword whispered from its sheath as he turned and led his strange companions toward the distant torch. Under drawn brows, his blue eyes darted from side to side, scanning the cells. Most were empty, but in one a pile of bones gleamed whitely in the semi-darkness. In another a living prisoner, ragged and filthy, his face all but invisible behind a tangled mass of grizzled hair, shuffled up to the bars and silently watched the invaders. So quietly did they move along the narrow hall that the very silence seemed to roar.

  When they reached the corner of the corridor where the bracketed torch belched smoke, Pronto pointed to the right. Moving like a pride of hunting lionesses, they paced the cross-passage unseen, and turning left again, they reached .-mother cell-lined passageway. As they proceeded noiselessly along it, Pronto jerked a thumb to draw Conan's attention.

  This cell was twice the size of the others. In the dimness, Conan made out a chair, a small table, a washstand, and a bed. A man sitting on the bed rose as the three silent figures stopped outside the bars that hemmed him in. The man could not clearly be discerned, but from his stance and outline, Conan perceived that he was young and handsomely tired.

  'Get to work, Pronto,' whispered Conan.

  The thief pulled from his boot a slender length of bent wire and inserted it into the keyhole, his feral eyes agleam in the flickering torchlight. After a momentary fumble, the luck clicked back and Conan shouldered in the door.

  The prisoner recoiled as, sword in hand, Conan strode in. 'It was Moranthes sent you here to murder me?' he whispered hoarsely.

  'Nay, my lad; if you be Khossus of Khoraja, we've come lo rescue you.'

  The young man stiffened. 'You must not speak so to an anointed king! You should address me -'

  'Lower your voice,' snarled Conan. 'Are you Khossus, are you not?'

  'I am he; but you should say 'Your Maj -' '

  'We've no time for such courtesies. Will you come to stay?'

  'I'll come,' grumbled the youth. 'But who are you?'

  'I'm Conan, general of your army. Now come quickly and quietly.'

  'First lend me your sword, General.'

  'What for?' said Conan in astonishment.

  The captain of the guard here has used me with spit; and contumely. He has insulted the honour of Khoraja, and I have sworn to fight him to the death. And I'll not leave until it's done!'

  Khossus' voice rose as he spoke until it echoed in the narrow cell. Conan glanced at his companions, shook his tousled mane, and brought his huge fist up against Khossus' jaw. With a click, the king's teeth came together, and Khossus fell back against his cot.

  An instant later, Conan with the king's unconscious body draped across one shoulder, led his companions from the cell. As they turned into the transverse passageway, they heard the tramp of booted feet and the clank of metal accoutrements.

  'Run for the tunnel. I'll stand off the guard,' hissed Conan.

  'Nay, you bear the king. You go ahead; I'll harry the lout,' whispered Rhazes, fumbling in his bag.

  'What goes oh there?' rumbled an angry voice, as its owner, sword unsheathed, appeared around the third prong of the cell-block.

  As Conan and Pronto sprinted toward the passage in which the trapdoor lay, the astrologer, billowing robes etched by the feeble light of the single torch, drew from his leathern sack that which appeared to be a hempen noose. The prison warden checked his pace and threw up a hand to catch the flying rope. Then shrieking at the writhing thing within his grasp, he flung the serpent from him, turned abruptly, and still yelling like a madman, vanished down the farthest corridor.

  Then Rhazes trotted to the open trapdoor, where Conan, still bearing the unconscious king upon his shoulder, reached up a brawny arm to steady his descent. As the astrologer reset his bag strap across his back, Pronto scampered up the steps and lowered the trapdoor carefully.

  Conan muttered: 'Is there no bolt to secure the trap?'

  'I see none,' said Pronto. 'The fact the door is masked by several flagstones makes it nigh invisible from the upper passageway.'

  'Then we must run,' said Conan, and shifting the weight of the slender king, he followed Pronto, who darted ahead with upheld torch. Rhazes, like some merchant ship sailing before the wind, panted after them.

  During their flight, Khossus revived. When his head cleared, and he realised his undignified position, he complained;

  'Why do you carry me like a sack of tubers on the way to market? Put me down instanter! This is no way to treat your king!'

  Conan, never slackening his pace, grunted. 'When you can run as fast as I, I'll set you down. Unless, perchance you prefer to be overtaken by the prison warden and returned to your cell - or to a worse one. Well?'

  'Oh, all right,' said the young king sulkily. 'But you seem to have no feel for royal dignity.'

  At the exit from the tunnel, Conan set the king upon his feet and, pushing past Pronto, scrambled up the stairs. With a grunt and a mighty heave, he pushed open the trapdoor. Pronto was at his heels.

  Tut out that torch!' he snapped. Pronto obeyed.

  Then Conan stepped out into the starlight. The moon had set, an
d Conan realised that the rescue had taken longer than expected.

  With his companions crowding behind him, Conan worked his way through the circle of shrubbery around the open trapdoor and halted. A few paces ahead, standing in the thicket, was a score or more of armed men with crossbows cocked and trained on the fugitives. Behind them, in the grove, he saw the flames of a brisk camp-fire.

  'What's this?' demanded Conan, sweeping out his sword. 'Pray, General,' wheezed Rhazes behind him, 'I can explain.'

  'Come out, Rhazes,' said one of the dark figures in Kothic. 'We should not wish to shoot you by mistake.'

  The astrologer pushed past Conan and turned. 'Dear simple General, you'd best surrender quietly. These are soldiers of my native Koth, whose king I have the honour loyally to serve. Arrangements for this ambuscade were made on our way hither by our border guards. We avoided Khorshemish lest some acquaintance hail me and disclose my small imposture. You have helped me pluck King Khossus out of Moranthes' clutches; and now we'll take the pair of you to Koth. Thus shall we remove the last obstacle to;' reuniting Khoraja with her mother country.'

  Conan tensed, rocking forward on the balls of his feet, preparing for action. He trusted to his mail shirt to deflect the crossbow bolts; and if that failed - well, no man can live forever.

  'Drop your sword, General Conan!' ordered the soldier who had already spoken.

  'You'll have to kill me first!' shouted Conan, rushing! forward to meet the Kothian officer.

  Then Pronto moved. With a scream of rage, the little thief leaped forward, eyes gleaming in reflected firelight, and drove his dagger into Rhazes' paunch - once, twice, thrice. Two crossbows snapped, but the bolts whistled harmlessly into the dark, as the arbalesters feared hitting their own men.' Silently Rhazes sank down, his fluttering garments billowing like pale fog in the starlight. His leather bag fell open on the ground beside him. Like a jumping spider, Pronto leaped? sidewise, snatched up the bag, and ran for the grove of trees. Then another crossbow twanged, Pronto strangled on a blood-flecked cough and dropped head-first into the fire. The bag he bore likewise landed in the embers.

  Conan, defending Khossus, traded blows with seve Kothians, His blade whirled and clanged against his foes' as the cold stars glimmered on the steel. One Kothian gav' back with a hoarse scream, gripping the stump of his sword arm with his remaining hand. Another fell, his belly ripped open spilling out his guts. Bounding ahead, Khossus stooped and wrenched the sword from the severed hand in time to save the battling Cimmerian from a sword thrust in the back.

  Then despite the noise and confusion, Conan perceived the faint jingle of mail, the crackling of broken branches, the tramp of booted feet as more men pushed through the thicket. Conan, drawing Khossus with him, faded into the bushes as a party of Ophirean prison guards poured from the tunnel on the trail of their liberated prisoner. Bursting through the thicket, they found themselves face to face with the men of Koth. Conan and his king, hidden in the shadows, heard the snap of a crossbow and shrieks of pain as the new battle was joined.

  All was confusion. Kothians fought Ophireans. Men shouted contradictory orders.

  'Khossus!' barked the Cimmerian. 'Run for the grove -on the left - the horses tethered there.'

  They broke from their shelter and ran. Then the Ophirian prison warden recognised the slender king and shouted to his men: 'To me! Here's the prisoner - and his rescuer! Nab them!'

  'Faster!' said Conan, wheeling around to stem the tide of pursuers. He parried a slash from one scarcely-seen antagonist and wounded another, He was about to strike down another, a Kothian, when an Ophirean attacked the man, and the fight swirled off into the darkness. In the confusion, Conan and Khossus plunged out of the melee, reached the grove, jumped over the embers of the fire, and raced for their tethered horses.

  'Stop them! Stop them!' shouted a chorus of voices as the fugitives disappeared among the trees. Behind them Kothians joined with Ophireans, each intent on recapturing their human prise and his barbarian protector. One Kothian leaped the fire, and Conan, wheeling, struck him down just us a tremendous report shook the earth and showered the fugitives with embers and debris. Rhazes' bag, simmering cm the fire, had at last exploded.

  As two Ophireans plunged into the grove in hot pursuit,

  black, smoky clouds boiled up from the ruptured fire. wave after wave the shadows rose, like huge amoeboids swimming in the deep. One swooped down upon the first on-comer and engulfed him. The man gave a wild shriek of terror and lay still. The other pursuer, whirling in his haste ! to get away, stumbled over a root and sprawled beneath' another undulating cloud.

  'Rhazes' shadows,' muttered Conan, as another howl of horror from a dying man floated upward. 'Untie the horses fast. Ride one and lead the other!' With trembling fingers, Khossus obeyed.

  The next instant Conan and the king flung themselves into their saddles and spurred out of the grove, faces close to the horses' necks to avoid the lashing branches. But even ,1 in their mad flight, Conan looked back to see the billowing shadows hovering like wings of death, impartially, above both the men of Ophir and their Kothian adversaries, whose fleeing cries of pain and terror melded into one indistinguishable shriek.

  Conan and the king came out upon a road, and the ringing ' of their horses' hooves drowned out the clangour of the rout..

  As the flying hooves cleaved the still night, Khossus called out in a shaky voice: 'Conan! This is not the way to Khoraja. We're on the road to Argos and Zingara!'

  'Which way do you think they'll go to look for us?' snarled Conan. 'Come on, kick some speed out of that nag!' He galloped westward with the king of Khoraja close behind him.

  Although the flying pair made exceptional speed by frequent changes of mount, the following nightfall saw them still within the confines of Ophir. None challenged them, since their flight had outrun the news of their escape. They found a stretch of forest and made camp, eating dried fruits and biscuits from their saddle bags. Khossus, who had abandoned his efforts to make Conan address him in royal style told how he came to be captured:

  'Moranthes proposed an alliance against Strabonus Koth, and that seemed logical to me. Like a fool, I went to parley with him with a small escort only, carefully bypassing Koth by travelling through the city states of Shem. Taurus had warned me against Moranthes, but I was sure that no anointed king would sink to trickery. I know better now, for no sooner had I reached Ianthe than the scoundrel clapped me into prison.'

  'My lot was somewhat better than that of common prisoners. Now and then news of the outside world reached me. Thus I learned of your victory over Natohk at the Shamla Pass.' The king peered narrowly at Conan. T also heard that you had become my sister's lover. Be that true?'

  Conan looked up from the fire with a slight suggestion of a smile. 'If I had, it would be ungentle of me to admit it. Whilst no blushing virgin, I do not kiss and tell. But tell me, would you accept me as a brother-in-law?'

  Khossus started. 'Out of the question, my good General! You - a foreign barbarian and vulgar mercenary - nay, friend Conan, think not upon the matter. I appreciate your heroism and owe my life to you, but I could not admit you into the royal family. And now it is my royal wish to sleep, since I am weary to the bone.'

  'Very well, Your Majesty,' grumbled Conan acidly. 'Your royal will be done.'

  Long that night he sat beside the embers of the fire, his black brows drawn in night-dark thoughts.

  The following day they crossed the Argossean border and put up at an inconspicuous inn. After supper, as they dawdled over jacks of ale, Khossus said:

  'General, I have been thinking. You deserve well of me.' I le raised a hand as Conan opened his mouth for a reply. 'Nay, deny it not, your rescue of your king from the Ophircans, the Kothians, and your treacherous friend Rhazes' elementals were feats worthy of an epic.

  'A man like you should be well settled with a family, and I shall wish to keep you with us to direct our army. Since you cannot wed the Princess Yasmela, I will fi
nd you an Ml tractive maiden of the middle classes - some small landowner's daughter, perhaps - and unite the twain of you. And I shall likewise choose a royal marriage partner for my sister.

  'However, while I wish you to direct our army, one of your lowly origins cannot continue to command Khoraja's knights and noblemen. You had trouble, did you not, with the unfortunate Count Thespides on that same score? So I shall choose a man of suitable rank to bear the name of General, yet he shall ever follow your advice. And I shall, create some special, well-paid post, open to commoners, for your express benefit.'

  Conan looked at the king, his eyes inscrutable. 'Your Majesty's generosity overwhelms me,' he said.

  Oblivious of the sarcasm, Khossus waved away a protest. I ' Tis but your due, good sir. How would the title Sergeant-General suit you?'

  'Let us leave that till we return,' said Conan.

  Lying awake in the dark room of the inn. Conan pondered his future. He had ever been one to live for the moment and let the future take care of itself. Yet, it was obvious now ' that his career in Khoraja was headed for trouble. This haughty but well-meaning young ass believed every word he spoke about his royal rights and duties.

  True, he could quietly kill the king and return to Khoraja with some cock-and-bull story about the idiot's end. But to risk so much to rescue him, only to murder the fool, would be ridiculous. Yasmela would never forgive him. Besides, he had given his word to save the king, and - this he noted with some small surprise - his passion for Yasmela had begun to cool.

  At Messantia, Khossus found a port official who knew him, and who, on the strength of his position, lent him two hundred Argossean gold dolphins, borrowed from a moneylender. The king handed the bag containing this small fortune to Conan for safekeeping, saying:

  'It becomes not the dignity of a monarch to carry filthy money.'

  They found a ship about to sail for Asgalun, whence they could make their way through Shem to Khoraja. As the sailors manned the ropes preparing to cast off, Conan dug into the bag of gold and brought out a fistful of coins.

  'Here,' he said, handing the money over to Khossus. ,