'Who is this fellow?' asked Conan as he sized the man up.
'That is Goma, a wanderer and a tribeless man.' The chief spoke contemptuously. In these parts, a man without a tribe was a man without worth. 'He came hither some years ago, perhaps ten years.'
'A man with no tribe has lived here for many years?' Conan said. 'How does such a one survive?'
'He will do no work, but he fights in the wars and raids for one chief or another. He is a great warrior, I will not deny it.'
The man stopped before them and looked them over haughtily. 'I am Goma. I have heard that you white men travel to the mountains. I am of a mind to go with you.' He spoke trade Kushite with an accent that differed from that of the local people.
'We need bearers,' said Ulfilo. 'Lower your robe so we may see that you hide no illness or deformity.''
The tall man laughed. 'I lower my garment for no man, nor do I bear burdens like a slave or like these lowly people.'
'Then be off with you,' said Ulfilo, 'for we need only bearers.'
Springald raised a hand. 'Be not so hasty. Goma, wherefore should we take you with us? As you can see, we have many doughty warriors, all well armed.'
'But you have no guide. Few of these dogs have even been to the top of the escarpment. Only the old witch-man has been as far as the mountains. None of them have been beyond them.'
'And you have been beyond the mountains?' Ulfilo asked.
'I have. My wanderings have taken me to many far places. I have been to those mountains, and crossed the desert beyond them, and visited the land beyond the desert.'
'He lies!' hissed the witch doctor, shaking his staff so that the bones adorning its length rattled. His necklace of dried human hands flapped against his bony chest as he gesticulated. 'No man can visit those lands and return!'
'And yet here I stand,' said Goma, with a superior smile.
'Tell me, Goma,' said Springald, 'know you of a place called the Horns of Shushtu?'
'Aye. Two great peaks, one white, the other black. Between them lies a pass, a beyond the pass is a great valley.'
'He knows!' Springald said, stunned. 'He speaks the truth and the old books did not lie!'
'Speak no more, Goma,' Ulfilo said. 'You shall be our guide. What may we pay you for the service?'
The warrior surveyed the goods with the same air of contempt he bestowed upon the villagers. His features were straight and
aristocratic, making him seem even haughtier. His high-cheekboned face would have been handsome, but it was adorned with numerous small, ornamental scars. More such scars decorated his arms and much of his chest as was visible. Apparently, the incisions had been rubbed with soot, for the thick scar tissue stood out like shiny black beads against the coppery skin.
'Nothing,' Goma said at last. 'I will go along for the joy of it.' With that he turned and walked away into the forest.
'Well!' Malia said. 'That is a very strange man.'
'What do you think of him, Conan?' Springald asked.
'I think he knows the land where we fare,' said the Cimmerian. 'And I would not turn my back on him.'
The next day they chose the last of their bearers and made their final preparations. The following morning they set off toward the escarpment, having seen no more of the mysterious Goma.
They set off from the village in the dim light of early morning, amid the lamentations of women who did not know when, nor if, they would see their men again. At the base of the escarpment, about a quarter mile from the waterfall, a narrow, tortuous path zigzagged up the cliff to its crest far above.
The climb was precarious, and took much of the day. Not only was the path narrow and winding, but it was seldom used, so that parts of it were overgrown with brush, while other parts were all but washed out. To Conan, raised amid rugged mountains, it was as a paved highway. The others had greater difficulty. The sailors, in particular, were unhappy. Unused to going great distances on foot, they thought the trail a great ordeal.
To the Cimmerian, any path was a good one that took them from the lowland jungle. He could endure almost anything, but the foetid swampland he found detestable. Whatever lay above, it could only be better. He fairly ran up the path, stopping often to shove aside boulders or hack away bushes with his sword. As he ascended, the vista spread beneath him widened until he could see the vast expanse of greenery all the way to a silver strip on the horizon: the sea.
At the top of the escarpment he found tall trees of a different part from those of the lowlands. These grew farther apart, and the vines connecting treetop to treetop were fewer. The undergrowth beneath the trees was far less dense and the air smelled dean. Even as he surveyed the trees he saw a familiar form come from the shadows beneath them: Goma.
'You are hardier than your companions, man with black hair,' said the guide.
'I am a hillman, accustomed to climbing,' Conan answered. 'They will be here presently.'
While they waited Goma stood casually with his legs crossed, leaning upon the long handle of his axe like a city dweller leaning on a gold-mounted cane. Conan studied the weapon with interest. It was not the armour-smashing axe of the western lands, but rather a light weapon with a compact head bearing a crescent cutting edge on one side and a four-inch spike on the other. Its whippy, three-foot handle appeared to be made of rhinoceros horn and bore an orange-sized ball on its terminus. A leather thong connected the handle to Goma's wrist. Such an axe, he knew, could be swung with blurring swiftness and would be an excellent weapon in this land where helmets and armour were rare.
Soon the others began to arrive. First came Ulfilo, tired but too proud to show it. He was closely followed by Malia and Springald, both of them puffing unashamedly. Then came Wulfrede, with some of the sailors. The rest of the sailors were strung out along the line of bearers.
'I see our friend has joined us at last,' Ulfilo said.
'And Conan looks like a courtier after a morning's stroll in a formal garden,' Malia said sourly. Conan translated these comments for Goma, who seemed hugely amused.
'There will be no more climbing for many days,' he assured them, 'but there will be much danger and other hardship.'
'Hardship even for you, Goma?' Wulfrede demanded.
The native grinned. 'In the desert to come, even a man such as I may be tested to the limit.'
Wulfrede glared at the Aquilonians. 'He mentioned somewhat of a desert last night. You people said naught of any desert.'
'They said cursed little about anything,' Conan said. 'I think it is time we were told more of what we are headed into. Come now,' he said impatiently, 'civilisation is far behind us. Surely you do not expect to be overheard or spied upon here!' His broad gesture took in the primaeval forest around them and the vast jungle spread like a green carpet below.
Ulfilo looked uncomfortable, then gave orders. 'We rest here for an hour so all may catch their breath. Then we march.'
The sailors cast themselves upon the ground and the bearers lowered their burdens. The last of the bearers had reached the plateau but a few weary sailors still straggled up from below.
'Conan, Wulfrede,' Ulfilo said, 'come aside with us.' The two followed the three Aquilonians beneath the trees. Goma stayed where he was, staring off to the east, apparently lost in contemplation of something the rest of them could not see. In a quiet glade, the five took seats upon the ground. Springald took his satchel from his shoulder and opened it. He withdrew some books and papers and began.
'All my life I have been a scholar and a student of the great voyages of the past. Some years ago, while studying in the very strange and ancient library of the kings of Aquilonia in Tarantia, I came upon certain books concerning the explorations of mariners from the long-disappeared kingdom of Ashur. One of these had a most astonishing tale to relate: It seems that one Captain Belphormis, in the routine task of opening up a new trade route into the interior of the Black Coast, discovered numerous traces of a far more ancient civilisation, one that disappeared many
thousands of years ago. This was the empire of Acheron. Captain Belphormis discovered certain signs and sigils in the mountains east of here, insignia peculiar to Acheron and its gods.'
'Acheron!' said Wulfrede. 'It is a name from legend. But surely that land was far to the north of here, else the tales lie.'
'So it did,' Springald said. 'I think I know as much of that ancient land as any scholar, and on some things all the stories
agree: the Acheronians were close relative to the Stygians, they were rich beyond belief, and they were destroyed when the Hyborians, ancestors of ours who founded the lands of Aquilonia, Hyperboria, Nemedia, Brythunia, Koth, Argos, the Border Kingdom, and Corinthia. When after centuries the Hyborians took the fabulous capital of Acheron, incomparable Python, the Acheronians fled in a mass to take refuge south of the Styx with their kinsmen of Stygia. They never retook their ancestral lands, and merged with the general population of Stygia.
'There grew up around this catastrophe whole cycles of tales concerning the final days of Python. Many of these are mere folk-tales, others are the sober accounts of officials and scholars. These agree on a signal fact: None knows what ever became of the wealth of the kings of Python.'
'Royal wealth does not just disappear,' said Wulfrede. 'Did the king not take his treasury with him when he fled to Stygia?'
'I have read every account of those times I have been able to lay hands on,' Springald said. 'I think few can have escaped me. The last king to reign in Python was Ahmas the Twenty-seventh. Knowing that the long war drew to a close and that soon he must flee, he made arrangements to safeguard his treasure. He knew well that, while his royal relatives in Stygia might be only too willing to grant him asylum, he would not be among them long before his wealth drained into their own coffers.'
'A wise man,' Wulfrede said, nodding. 'No man can be trusted, where great treasure is concerned.'
'Even so,' Springald said. 'In the final days before the fall of Python, a great fleet sailed southward under cover of darkness. It was never heard from again from that day to this. It is believed by many historians that the fleet bore away the treasure of Python.'
'And why did this King Ahmas not fetch his treasure back when he was safe?' Conan asked.
'He never had the chance,' Springald said. 'When the end came he was too slow to flee Python. He sent his family ahead, but undertook the defence of Python himself. Purple-towered
Python was defended street by street, and most of the city was destroyed thereby. In the final battle in the palace compound, despite the entreaties of his officers, Ahmas refused to desert his loyal guardsmen. He cast off his royal insignia so that the invaders would not try to take him prisoner and he died fighting as an ordinary trooper at the Ruby Gate of the palace enclosure.'
'That is how a king should die,' pronounced Conan. Ulfilo nodded agreement.
'For a few generations his descendants lived at various courts of Stygia as pretenders. But when it became plain that the Hyborians would never be driven from the northern lands, the Stygians tired of supporting them and they lapsed into obscurity. None knows what became of the last of them.'
'And none of them knew where Ahmas had hidden his treasure?' Wulfrede asked.
'So it would seem. The fleet must have sailed under sealed ; orders and not a man of it returned. If Ahmas entrusted the location to an official or kinsman, that one must have died without passing it on.' Wulfrede passed him a wineskin and the scholar took a drink, then continued with his tale.
'When I found the account of Captain Belphormis, I grew most excited. Clearly, the explorer did not know what he had come upon, and merely noted the signs as curiosities. Old books are very dusty and I repaired from the Royal Library to a nearby tavern to wash the dust from my throat.'
'And you took the books with you?' Conan asked.
'Ah, well, I was well-known in the library by that time, and the keepers no longer bothered to search my satchel upon leaving, and, after all, no one had touched these books for at least two hundred years, and it seemed a shame ...'
Wulfrede laughed heartily. 'Fear not, I'll not call you a thief, bookman. Go on.'
'Well, in the tavern I fell in with a young captain, a paid-off mercenary. The handsome young man seemed so gloomy, and I was so elated with my discovery, that I sat down to drink with
him, and as the wine flowed I began to tell him of my findings. I learned that the young captain was Marandos, a younger son of an ancient noble house of Aquilonia. He was without employment or prospects, and like so many noble warriors he felt that mercenary work was beneath him in any case. On top of that he had . . .'—Springald glanced at Malia in some embarrassment— 'a rather extravagant young wife.'
'That is not true!' Malia said heatedly. 'It was he that insisted upon dressing me in fine silks and giving me jewels I never demanded.'
'However that may be,' Wulfrede said, chuckling, 'our young soldier was just the sort to find a treasure map intriguing, eh, Springald?'
'You are right. As we talked, and the wine flowed, he grew enthusiastic about going to look for the place described in such detail by Captain Belphormis. I confess that actually going in search of the treasure had not occurred to me. But then, I was a mere scholar and he was a professional adventurer. He was not in the least fazed by the thought of travelling great distances and enduring hardship in search of immense wealth, for he already did those things and got mere soldier's pay in return. What was the risk of mere pain and commonplace death, if in return one could gain the wealth of an ancient king?'
'That is understandable,' Conan said. 'But he went south with a ship and a crew. Surely he did not do these things on a paid-off captain's money.'
'Nor did he,' said Ulfilo. 'He came to me, something he had not done in the years since he left home. My brother Marandos is a proud man, and would not come to me for aid unless it should promise great profit to us both. I was sceptical at first, but as Springald explained matters and showed me the many things he had found, it seemed to me not such a bad idea to risk some money on a venture of this nature.'
'That was not all,' Malia said. 'Tell them the rest!'
Ulfilo looked uncomfortable, but he complied. 'True, it was not simply a matter of helping a brother. The family had fallen
upon hard times. The king of Aquilonia, Numedides, is not a friend of my family, and our lands have been eroded away over the years. Lately the harvests have been poor, and profitable wars few. This seemed a chance to recoup the family's fortunes.'
'I urged that this was a fool's mission,' Malia said, 'but my words would not move my husband or his brother. This mad scheme came to obsess them, and they spoke incessantly of ships and men, of marches and maps.'
'That was much trust to repose in a bookman who was unknown to you,' Wulfrede said.
'From the first,' Malia said, 'Springald gave us surety of his earnestness.'
'What had he to give as surety?' Conan asked. 'Scholars rarely own broad lands, or fine houses or herds of livestock.'
'I pledged the one poor possession I could call my own,' Springald said. 'I told them that, should Marandos not find all as predicted in my translations, then Ulfilo should have my head.'
There was a pause. 'You pledged your head!' Conan said with genuine wonderment.
'I'll own it seemed a passing strange item to pledge,' Ulfilo said, 'but a gentleman could scarcely doubt the sincerity of his oath.'
Wulfrede laughed heartily. 'You may all be mad, but at least you are madmen with real style!' His merriment was unforced. Indeed, the Van had been most cheerful ever since the subject of 'treasure' was broached.
'Let us now hear of this letter Marandos sent you from Khemi,' Conan said.
At these words the others seemed abashed.
'My brother,' said Ulfilo, 'did not reach the treasure on his first voyage. But before the remnants of his men forced him to turn back, he came within sight of its place of concealment. When he reached Khemi, he sought backing for another voyage.
It time a
Stygian noble contacted him, a man named Sethmes. He agreed supply a ship, a crew, and provision for another voyage.'
'I never knew a Stygian to be truly obliging where risk of money was concerned,' said Wulfrede. 'Your brother must have looked a ragged beggar when he got to Khemi. How did lie persuade this Sethmes?'
'In the first place,' said Ulfilo, 'an Aquilonian nobleman's high birth is plain to another nobleman, albeit disguised in rags.'
Conan managed to keep a straight face while hearing his. He had known many ruined nobles in the mercenary armies of the world, and such men were rarely distinguished by anything save arrogance.
'But,' Ulfilo continued, 'he was able to show by certain signs that he was on the track of a great treasure, and by giving certain pledges to the man he secured the necessary resources for another voyage. During that time he sent the letter to us, urging us to follow him with a ship of our own, and good and trustworthy men, for the hardships and dangers to be overcome were formidable, but the rewards of success incalculable.'
'And what did the man pledge to this Sethmes?' Wulfrede demanded.
'That is of no concern to you. It is between Sethmes and my family. Rest assured that your own reward will be abundant. Sethmes is in Stygia and need not concern us here.'
As to that, Conan had severe doubts. They were still holding much back. Getting information from these people was worse than breaking through the multiple doors, barriers, and traps of a royal treasury. But he was determined to discover the rest before they proceeded much further.
'Well, we have lounged here long enough,' Ulfilo said. 'I trust that, if you are now satisfied, we can proceed. We may put a league or two behind us before nightfall.'
'Aye, I am satisfied,' said Wulfrede, 'so long as there is treasure and I to have a part of it!'
Conan was not deceived by the Van's jovial tone. The man
was deeply suspicious but was content to let matters rest for the moment.
Goma grinned when the saw the foreigners return. 'Are you ready now, oh white people, to see the world as Ngai created it?'
The Conan Chronology Page 522