The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  'But what did he tell you?' Ulfilo was demanding. He sought to speak with his usual stern authority, but Conan could tell that he feared the man before him.

  'That he had come within sight of that which he sought.' The Stygian's voice was deep as it resonated from the powerful chest. 'That he saw the very sign, in the mountain pass, before his remaining men forced him to turn back.'

  'How did he look?' Malia asked anxiously. 'Did he look well?'

  'My lady, he had just returned from a most arduous journey, one that killed almost all of his men and was nearly his own doom. His appearance reflected his experience. And yet he was eager to resume his expedition. Despite his terrible privations, lie was not discouraged. Your husband is a man of great courage and determination.'

  'My brother,' Ulfilo said, 'is a man driven to dare the greatest perils and take the most foolish chances. Say you that lie found what he sought?'

  'Oh, yes, he most assuredly won through. The signs he found along the way were quite unmistakable. And yet he lacked the final link in his guiding chain, and the wealth to mount another expedition, wherefore he came to me, and we struck our bargain.'

  'And this bargain binds us, as well as him?' Ulfilo said darkly.

  'That is so.' The Stygian slid a heavy parchment across the table. 'As you see, your brother bound himself with the most solemn oaths, and this contract is binding upon your family to its uttermost generation.'

  Ulfilo looked over the document, his face reddening as he did. 'This is intolerable! Whatever the possible rewards, he had no right to bind his kin thus!'

  'The gods do not concern themselves with the petty legalities of men,' the Stygian reproved him. 'This is not a legal document for the courts and their contemptible lawyers and judges to prattle over. This is a record of sacred oaths, and its violation is punishable not by fines and imprisonment but by the terrible curses with which the gods chastise oath-breakers.'

  Ulfilo seemed on the verge of violence, but Springald broke in smoothly. 'Good priest of Ma'at, we have no need here for threats and arguments. We all know what the reward of a successful expedition must be. Such wealth is literally beyond comprehension. If we must divide it, what of that? Even a fraction would be beyond the dreams of the greatest Aquilonian noble. I assure you that the terms you provide in this document are

  more than satisfactory. Let us all deal with one another in good will, without suspicion or rancour.'

  The Stygian smiled thinly. 'Your friend speaks with great wisdom,' he said the Ulfilo. 'With a scholar as wise and learned as he, with wifely love and devotion such as this lady represents, with warrior virtue such as you possess, how can your expedition fail?' If there was mockery in his voice, he masked it well.

  'How, indeed?' Springald said.

  'Are you satisfied with the ship and crew you have obtained?' the Stygian inquired.

  'The ship is a good one,' said Ulfilo, 'and although we know little of the sea, the men seem to be good and capable ' seamen. The captain is a half-pirate of the Vanir, and all the crew look like cutthroats, but I suppose one hires no man for an adventure like this on the basis of his sweet disposition. I think they will do. Our guide for the first stage is a Cimmerian ! adventurer who knows the coast.'

  'A Cimmerian?' the priest said sharply. 'Aye, a great black-headed rogue named Conan. He is a mercenary and a one-time pirate by his own admission, and I doubt not every sort of bandit and outlaw as well. He would probably cut our throats in our sleep if he thought he could gain by it, but I keep a close eye on the fellow.''

  'I do not agree with my friend's assessment of the man,' said Springald. 'He is a hard man who makes his way alone in a hard world. It would be unusual if such an adventurer lacked a few rough edges. But I think he is trustworthy, and a man of honour after his barbarous fashion. He will be of great aid to us as we make our trek inland.'

  'As you will,' the priest said. 'I can supply you with some men, servants of my own who would look after my interests and yours as well.'

  Ulfilo was about to bark out something, but Springald said swiftly: 'Oh, we do thank you, friend Sethmes. However, were we to show up with your men our captain would grow instantly

  suspicious. He has authority in all things concerning the manning and running of his ship. I fear we must decline.'

  'Have it as you will. When do you sail?'

  'Perhaps tomorrow,' Ulfilo said, 'if our captain has transacted all his business. The next day, certainly.'

  'Ah, friend Sethmes,' Springald said hesitantly, 'the, ah, 'link' of which you spoke just now, might that be made available to us?'

  Sethmes spread his hands, palms up. 'How so? I gave it to him, in accordance with our agreement.'

  'Assuredly,' Springald said, 'but did you not retain a copy, perhaps?''

  'I can see that, learned as you are, there are things you do not know about the priestly customs of Stygia. In all things, especially writings of ancient lore, we value the original, and abhor all copies. The copy, however faithful, may retain all writings and symbols, but is inferior. It lacks all mystical veracity. To us, such things are worthless.'

  'I see,' Springald said. 'Then, if you have no more to impart to us, we shall now return to our lodgings.'

  'My servant will see you back to your boat,' the priest said. 'Without him to vouch for you, you would be killed instantly.'

  Ulfilo snorted contemptuously, as if he thought little of the likelihood that mere Stygians could best him. But he said nothing aloud.

  Conan remained by the window. The light within was extinguished, and minutes later the door below opened and four muffled figures exited the building. There was no need to follow now, for he knew where they were going. Now the most important thing was to get off the mainland undetected. When the street was deserted once more, he began to descend the carven wall. Despite the Cimmerian's iron strength, his fingers and toes ached with fatigue. He had to come down very carefully, as his hands were almost numb with tension. Thus it was that, just as he was passing a second-floor window, he did not react swiftly

  enough when a pair of huge, misshapen hands shot out from within and grasped his neck like the coils of a python.

  Conan had not even time nor breath to curse as he was snatched inside. And he knew that he was in the grip of no ordinary man. The huge, powerful Cimmerian was being manhandled as easily as a ten-year-old child. With a snarl, Conan got his feet beneath him and his own hands shot out to grip the other's neck, only to discover that the creature had no neck to speak of. Its head seemed to be set squarely upon its hairy, sloping shoulders. Wasting not an instant, Conan gripped the back of the massive head with one hand, the other going beneath the backward-slanting chin. The breath whistled through his half-constricted windpipe as he began to twist the malformed head around. He was not certain whether he wrestled with a man or with an ape.

  Either the creature lacked speech, or it was so confident of its strength that it scorned to raise an alarm. The two struggled in grim silence, rocking around the room, toppling furniture and spilling things. As a vase shattered on the floor, Conan knew that help would arrive for the thing all too soon even if it never called out. The knowledge added redoubled fury to his exertions. The muscles of his shoulders and arms swelled until they seemed ready to burst his skin, then something gave way beneath his hands and there was a sharp crack. The thing he held shuddered for several seconds, longer than any human being should take to die, it seemed to Conan. Then the huge hands fell away from his throat and clear, precious air rushed into his lungs. So great had been his exertion that, for a few seconds, Conan was unable to do anything save fall to his hands and knees and drag breath after breath into his tortured body.

  Abruptly, the door burst open and his eyes were dazzled by a torch held high. Before him he saw the sprawled, hideous corpse of the thing he had wrestled. It was more manlike than apelike, but its low brow and prognathous, fanged jaw proclaimed its kinship to the jungle beasts, as did its overlong arms and sho
rt, bowed legs. It was all but covered with short russet hair but, manlike, it wore crude leather trunks and armbands of hammered copper.

  'Cimmerian!' Now he saw that the torch was held by the priest, Sethmes. He lowered the torch. 'You have slain Thog!'

  'If I hadn't he'd have throttled me,' Conan said, rubbing his throat. He saw the shambling shapes of at least two more ape-men behind the priest. Then the torch was lowered toward his own face.

  'You shall wish that he had. Were I to turn you over to our courts, they would be most pleased to know that I have taken Amra the pirate, long thought dead.'

  'But you won't turn me over to them,' Conan growled.

  'So I will not.' He called over his shoulder. 'Come in and bind this rogue for me.'

  The apemen began to shamble past their master but by this time Conan had regained his strength. He did not like the odds, for one of the apemen had been enough of a handful. He sprang to the windowsill, poised there for a second, and leapt to the street below. He took the impact on springy, bent knees and instantly began to run toward the river.

  'Catch him!' shouted a voice from above as he heard the impacts of several creatures, men or apemen, landing on the street behind him. The Cimmerian laughed grimly as he ran, for he knew that the apemen with their short, bowed legs would stand no chance of catching a straight-limbed hillman running at speed. Even if the mage had human servants after him, he knew that city men were blind in dim light, which was almost as daylight to him.

  At every opportunity, the Cimmerian dodged around corners, taking alleys and avoiding broad streets. His infallible sense of direction kept him headed toward the river despite these detours. At length he came out upon the river embankment. Such few pedestrians as he had passed wanted nothing to do with a huge man who seemed to be running for his life. Conan did not pause at the edge of the water wall, but rather launched himself at a full run and clove the water cleanly five paces from the river's

  edge. He went deep and came up swimming hard, his black cloak trailing behind him. It was a nuisance but he did not pause to take it off. When he was near the centre of the river, he slowed and turned to look back toward the shore, first draping his head with a fold of his cloak, leaving only a slit to permit vision. He saw vague shapes wandering along the crest of the river wall. They seemed to be peering out toward the surface of the river, but they bore no torches, nor did they raise an outcry. It was very strange, but Conan suspected that the priest of Ma'at, whatever Ma'at might be, had no desire that the authorities should look into his activities.

  After a few minutes, the shapes faded into the deeper darkness of the city. Conan turned and swam slowly back toward the island, but he did not go ashore there. Instead, he swam to the ship. The crewman left aboard as night watch all but collapsed from apoplexy as the dripping, black-cloaked Cimmerian drew himself over the gunwale.

  'Conan!' the man gasped. 'I'd thought you one of the river monsters, come to get me!'

  The Cimmerian doffed his cloak and hung it over a yard. He shook the excess water from himself and waited for the night air to dry him.

  'Why came you not in a boat, hailing like any honest man?' the crewman asked.

  Conan did not deign to answer. 'I sleep aboard ship tonight.'

  'Got into a fight on the island, eh? Well, make yourself comfortable in the rope locker. If any come asking for you I'll say I've not seen you this night.'

  Conan went to the locker and crawled through its low hatch, he found a spare sail and lay down upon it. He tried to think through the strange things he had seen and heard that night, but the hand of fatigue lay heavy upon him, and soon he slept soundly.

  'Conan! Are you in there?' It seemed that he had just lain down, but he saw Wulfrede's face framed in the square of the

  hatchway, bright sunlight streaming in from behind him, making an incongruous nimbus of his red hair and beard.

  'Aye, I am,' Conan said. He meant to speak out but instead his voice was a hoarse croak. In the excitement of fight and light, he had not realised how badly his throat had been savaged. When he sat up his neck pained him so that he could barely turn his head. He crawled to the hatch and thrust head and shoulders outside. 'How much longer do we lie here?' he asked.

  'We are ready to set sail now. I was waiting for you, cursing your tardiness, when Mahaba told me that you swam aboard last night and slept in the locker. Wherefore did you . . . Ymir! Did the law catch and hang you? Your neck is nigh as black as your hair!'

  'I wrestled with a python last night,' Conan said. 'Is the Stygian pilot aboard?''

  'Not yet. I am now ready to signal that we are ready to sail. He will row out in a few minutes.'

  'Then tell me when he has left the ship,' Conan said, withdrawing into the darkness of the locker.

  'What means all this?' demanded the shipmaster.

  'Nothing I can speak of now,' the Cimmerian said. 'Close the hatch.' Grumbling, the Van did as he was told and Conan was in darkness again. He heard the grating and thumping as the capstan was turned and the anchor broke free of the harbour mud. Then there was a scraping as the pilot boat came alongside and the pilot and his crew came aboard. The oars were run out and the ship began to drift with the current. He heard the orders of the pilot as he called instructions to the blindfolded rowers. The ship made its slow passage through the cleared channel.

  In time the oars halted and he felt a slight bump go through the ship as the pilot boat drew alongside. A few minutes later the hatch opened once more.

  'They're well away, Conan,' said Wulfrede. 'You can come out on deck now.''

  Stiffly, the Cimmerian made his way out through the hatch. ' The ship lay drifting as the crew eyed him curiously. He ignored them, staring instead behind the ship to be sure that the pilot boat was well away. Already it had entered the channel. They were well away from the great port of Khemi. Satisfied, Conan looked about and noticed that the Aquilonians were nowhere in sight.

  ' 'Are you going to tell me what this is all about?'' Wulfrede asked.

  'Later,' Conan said. 'Let's hoist sail and be away from this place.'

  Wulfrede began to bark orders and the sailors shipped oars and laid hands to the halyards. Conan, eager to be away, lent his own strength to the task and soon the long lateen yards were rising up the masts, their triangular sails at first hanging slack, then bellying forth with the breeze. The Sea Tiger began to make its way south, toward unknown shores.

  Later in the same day, in the harbour of Khemi, a lean black ship made its way from the harbour on long black oars. Once free of the harbour, it raised black sails and began to cruise to the south. A golden standard was raised to the top of its foremast: a curious trident enclosed within a golden crescent.

  V

  Corsairs

  Theirs was not the only craft to ply the dangerous waters of the Black Coast. Each day brought sightings of sails, but the other ships did not approach. Ships avoided one another in these waters. The only exception was a strong party of five Zingaran trading vessels, confident enough in their numbers that they sailed close enough to the Sea Tiger for the crew to gape at the ivory tusks stacked like cordwood on the decks, the bundles of splendid feathers and heaps of exotic woods so abundant that all could not be stored in the holds. All proclaimed the richness of the southern trade for men brave enough to take chances and well enough prepared to fare forth in sufficient strength.

  Other ships, though not approaching so closely, proclaimed their cargoes by way of the terrible stench that carried miles downwind. They were slavers, their holds packed with hundreds of miserable wretches confined in conditions of utmost filth and squalor. Fewer than half would survive the rigours of the voyage, but those, cleaned up and fattened it the slave markets of the

  -- -- --civilised worlds, would fetch a decent price. The coastal chiefs

  sold their neighbours so cheaply that the high losses during transport were acceptable.

  Progress down the coast was good. Conan was pleased with
both the ship and the weather. He was not so well pleased with the men. The rough crew that had begun the voyage were in no way improved, and he did not like the look of the new men Wulfrede had hired during their stay on the Tortoise. There were a half-dozen of the newcomers, villainous-looking scoundrels whose every breath cheated the gallows. When Conan asked Wulfrede about the new men, the Van merely shrugged.

  'I had to take what was available. Ordinary sailors would not ship out for a voyage as chancy as this one, and few such sailors are ever to be found at loose ends on the Tortoise. I made sure that they are all competent seamen. I could demand no more than that.''

  'We shall see,' Conan said grimly. As to their seamanship, he was not so sure. Their hands, which never strayed far from their weapons, seemed far more apt for the wielding of arms than for the work of a ship.

  Fortunately, the sailing conditions demanded little of the seamen save an occasional trimming of sail as the winds continued fair, propelling them ever southward. But almost from the first day the lookout had spotted a strange ship far behind them. The presence of the vessel troubled the Cimmerian, and on this day he like the idea of a follower even less. Making a trumpet of his hands, he hailed the lookout atop the mainmast.

  'What see you?'

  'That same black-sailed vessel sailing in our wake,' the man called out. 'Just near enough to see. I have spotted him thrice today.'

  'What means this?' said Ulfilo. He and the other two Aquilonians stood upon the poop deck taking the air.

  'I do not know and I do not like it,' Conan said.

  'It may be nothing,' said Wulfrede. 'Word got around on the Tortoise that we were sailing toward little-visited waters.

  This fellow may think that we have discovered rich trading grounds and is following us to see where they are.'

  'I still do not like it,' Conan said. 'We have enough to concern ourselves with lying straight ahead. I don't like having to worry about what's behind us.'