The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  As they marched across the endless plain, they saw much to marvel at. Comical ostriches sped before them. The birds had long, powerful legs, globular bodies, long necks, and tiny heads. Here and there columns of brown earth, hard as cement, spiked the plain like stalagmites. Malia pointed to these enigmatic objects, asking what they might be.

  'Termite hills,' Conan said. 'They are ravenous things. Plant a pole in the ground as thick as a man's thigh, and you may come back in a week and push it over with you hand. The part beneath the ground will be chewed to soft pulp.'

  'This is a strange land,' Malia said. 'It is like a land of

  dream. Here birds are the size of ponies and termites build castles. And look there, a monster from a nightmare crops grass by a deer so tiny I would not have believed it had someone described it to me.' She pointed to where a huge rhinoceros, its longer nose horn a four-foot scythe, chewed on a bush beneath which grazed fearlessly a spike-horned antelope no larger than a hare, its reedlike legs terminating in hoofs smaller than a woman's smallest fingertip.

  'There are many stranger things to be seen in land like this,' Conan promised them. 'And many things more terrible.'

  In the late afternoon they passed a pride of lions. The big, lazy cats lay upon the ground, yawning and scratching, gazing at the newcomers with fierce yellow eyes but uninterested in them. In time the cats rose and stalked away, not from fear but, apparently, because they found the smell of the humans disagreeable.

  'Be careful where % you step,' Conan warned them, 'especially after dark.' He stooped and picked up a twig. It was studded with lethal-looking thorns six inches long. 'All the trees and bushes hereabout are thorned like this. These will go through a bootsole if you come down on one squarely.''

  'The land itself is fierce,' said Springald. 'And everything in it is hostile to the stranger.''

  That night they built their fires on the plain, and under Goma's instruction they dragged thorny bushes together to form a protective circle, which he called a boma.

  'Will it keep the lions out?' Wulfrede asked.

  'It will keep out a sick or wounded lion,' Goma answered. 'That is the only kind likely to attack a man. A man is too small to make a meal for a grown lion, much less a pride of them. But one too disabled to hunt the fast runner or the strong beasts may become desperate enough to eat men. And the boma will keep out the hyenas.'

  'Those cowardly scavengers?' Wulfrede snorted. 'A handful of rocks sends them running.'

  'In the daytime they are cowards,' Goma said, 'but at night they gain courage. They may run in and seize the arm or leg of

  a sleeping man. Their jaws are more powerful even than those of a lion, and they can take a leg off with a single bite.'

  'A land-going shark, eh?' Wulfrede said. 'I will take your word for it.'

  The night, and those after, were noisier than the days. The roars of the hunters and the cries of the hunted split the darkness with terrifying suddenness, bringing bleary-eyed men from their sleep to their feet, snatching at their weapons. In time they learned that these noises signified danger to other creatures, not to themselves, and they snored through them. Elephants sometimes walked up to the boma and peered curiously within, but they quickly lost interest and moved on.

  The great abundance of game meant that there was plenty of meat, so much that soon Malia was complaining at the monotony of the diet.

  'Roast antelope again?' she cried on the evening of their tenth day on the plain.

  'Not the same sort,' Springald assured her. 'This one had curly horns, unlike the others we have been eating.'

  'Roast meat!' she said plaintively. 'How I long for bread and fruit. Even a dish of lentils would break the sameness.'

  'You may as well wish for some wine and ale while you're at it,' Wulfrede said. 'Water is fine to sail upon, but I weary of it as a drink.'

  'Just be glad that we have water,' Conan said. 'Albeit muddy and murky.'

  Malia made a wry face. 'What these herds of animals do to a water hole is something no gently bred lady should have to face, much less drink.' Despite her words, the noblewoman seemed to thrive upon the life. Her step was springier and she was in all ways more assertive than when Conan had first encountered her in Asgalun. Despite her complaints, neither the food nor the water had damaged her health. On the contrary, she was stronger than ever and in the evenings seemed less tired than the men after a long day's march.

  Before them the mountains loomed ever higher. They had

  seemed at first but low hills, but then each day's journey seemed to bring them no closer. Eventually, their true size had become apparent, the entire crest of the range was crusted with the white of snow, revealing them to be far higher than the men would have guessed.

  'Where do we get across?' Conan asked their guide.

  'See you that notch?' Goma said, pointing.

  'I see it,' Conan said.

  'We will fare thither. It is a long, hard climb, but that is a pass that will take us across the mountains.'

  'I see nothing that looks like the Horns of Shushtu,' said Springald, wiping sweat from his brow.

  'You will be able to see the Horns from the far end of that pass,' promised Goma.

  'Then we are getting near,' Malia said.

  'You just walked all the way across this plain,' Conan said, 'and you still think 'in sight' means 'near'?'

  'It is another journey from the pass to the Horns,' Goma said, 'and a harder one.'

  'The desert?' asked Wulfrede.

  'The desert,' Goma concurred. They continued toward the mountains. Before they reached them, they met the first humans they had seen since climbing the escarpment.

  What they saw first were not men but cattle. The beasts were rangy, long-horned creatures, coloured in every hue sported by the bovine breed. There were solids as well as patched and mottled hides. In the distance, the men were barely visible, although the sun shone from spearpoints and flashed from elliptical white shields.

  'What think you, Conan?' Ulfilo asked as the herdsmen caught sight of them and began trotting toward the column of strangers.

  ' 'I think they must be good warriors to keep cattle in country as wild as this. The threat of predators must be constant, and Goma says they are cattle-raiders like my own folk. That is a life to keep a man alert and handy with his weapons.'

  At Wulfrede's command the sailors assembled and stood on guard while the bearers piled their burdens and stood apprehensively. There were no longer as many bearers as when they had begun. Some had turned for home when the supplies they carried were consumed or used up, others when they had fallen sick or were injured, thorns being the most common cause of injury. Two had died of snake bite. One had wandered outside the boma at night and had not returned. He was presumed eaten. Another had simply dropped dead of no cause anyone could fathom. About forty remained.

  'Are these the Fashoda?' Conan asked Goma.

  'Aye. You will see that those that approach are all young men. Among the Fashoda the boys actually herd the cattle. The youths guard them. The older warriors guard the villages.'

  Conan grunted. 'Young warriors are always the prime troublemakers. I hope these are not the truculent sort.'

  'Are they likely to be, Goma?' Springald asked, fingering the basket-hilt of his sword.

  'You never know until something happens,' said their guide.

  Soon a line of a hundred young warriors stood before them. They were stone-faced, holding spears with exceptionally long and broad heads. They wore much paint, laid on in bizarre and imaginative designs. Their hair was grown long and bound tightly back from their faces except for a fringe across their foreheads. They were fine-featured and as lithe as panthers and they wore nothing besides their feathers, paints, and ornaments.

  'These are handsome fellows,' Malia said admiringly.

  'For savages,' Ulfilo grumbled.

  'They are so much alike they might as well all be brothers,' Springald pointed out. 'The same features, the s
ame colour where you can see it, all built the same and not two inches difference in height between the tallest and the shortest. This is the sign of close breeding. They must never marry outside the tribe.'

  ' 'Their customs are not our main concern just now,'' Wulfrede said. 'Are they hostile or not?' The sailors fingered their weapons nervously, some of them fitting arrows to string.

  'Let us have no fighting if it can be avoided!' Ulfilo barked. Remember, we must come back this way when we return, liven if we can fight our way through here, they will be here waiting for us in strength when we come back.'

  'Aye,' Conan said. 'These are cattlemen, proud but unlikely to attack if we do not threaten them or their herds. On the other hand they are young warriors whose judgement may be limited. They will react to the slightest provocation, so do not provide it.'

  'You are diplomatic for a barbarian, Conan,' Malia commented.

  'I was a young warrior once, myself. I know how they think and act. The Cimmerian mountains or the southern plains, they are much alike when it comes to that.' Conan spent this time sizing the warriors up. He was impressed by their impassivity. They did none of the dancing, whooping, and posturing favoured by other tribes as preliminaries to battle. He knew that this was undoubtedly their chosen method of intimidating a possible foe, but he also knew that it meant they had a strong sense of discipline. If the young warriors were schooled early in the importance of maintaining this demeanour, they were far less likely to give way to hysteria and begin slaying without reason. He saw that many wore headdresses of lion skin and necklaces of the animal's teeth were popular trophies, displaying that these warriors were valiant in guarding the tribe's herds against the marauding cats.

  One of the warriors spoke. He wore nothing they saw to distinguish him from the others. Goma translated his words.

  'He wants to know who you are and what you want.'

  'Tell him,' Ulfilo said, 'that we are traders, bound for the mountains. Assure them that we mean them no harm, and that we have goods to trade, and presents for their chiefs.' Goma translated. The warriors absorbed this message and said nothing more. Soon another, larger group arrived. These were mainly older warriors. They looked much like the younger ones, but they wore less paint and many of them wore cloth wraps like Goma's. Along with these were a number of unarmed men with greying hair who strode along amid massive dignity, carrying

  long, intricately carved walking sticks. These were without paint or ornament, and they were swathed in more voluminous wraps than the others.

  'The higher the rank,' Springald observed, 'the fewer the ornaments.'

  'And the greater the clothing,' said Malia.

  'The warriors are allowed much vanity,' Goma told them, 'and no cattle. These elders are the men who own all the cattle. Their wealth and their honour is in their herds.'

  With the arrival of the chiefs, negotiations began. Bales were opened and wares examined. Now the warriors mingled freely with the newcomers. Toward the leaders and the sailors they were courteous, but they treated the bearers with utter contempt. To the warrior-herdsmen, men who carried loads for others were nothing but beasts of burden.

  'My bearers may not be mistreated,' Ulfilo insisted, through Goma.

  An elder shrugged. ' 'Would we abuse another man's cattle? They are nothing to us. Just do not expect us to treat them as men.'

  The Fashoda were most interested in the iron bars, of which the expedition still had a good supply. They also wanted cloth, beads, and wire of copper and brass. The warriors poked at a small box of fishhooks and asked what they might be. When the hooks were explained to them, they laughed heartily. Fish, it turned out, were an abomination to them and were never eaten.

  Jugs of weak beer were brought out from the nearby village and the chiefs and traders sat down to bargain. The elders were somewhat embarrassed because they were not in the habit of amassing trade goods like the lowland people, but they truly wanted what the whites had to trade, especially the iron.

  'These last years have been good,' explained a seam-faced old man. 'The grass has been high, there has been little sickness among men or cattle, and we have repelled all attacks. We have a great many boys clamouring to be initiated as warriors, and we must have spears for them all.'

  'How shall we settle this?' Wulfrede asked the others. 'We

  do not need cattle, but they have seen our goods and they may decide to take them by force if they cannot get them by trade.'

  'We are treasure hunters, not traders,' Conan pointed out. ' 'What we do here is buy good will for our return journey. Tell them to take what they want. Then they can gather hides and ivory, which we will collect when we come back this way.'

  'Excellent!' Ulfilo said. 'Goma, tell them our decision.'

  The chiefs were greatly pleased at this face-saving solution, for the young warriors were by this time all but salivating at the sight of so much iron and copper and brass. Women, too, had come from the village and now they exclaimed happily over the abundance of multicoloured beads.

  'This could have turned out badly,' Ulfilo said that evening as they drank beer from wooden bowls and ate roasted wildfowl. ' 'But all is for the best, clearing our way before us and securing our line of return.'

  'But we must find out whether these people saw Marandos. Surely he must have come this way,' Malia said. To her delight, women had brought out milk, fruit, and flat bread cakes from the village. The change in diet pleased her greatly, but now she was worried about her husband again.

  'The plain is broad,' Goma said, 'and a band like ours could easily go from the escarpment to the pass without coming near this place, but I will ask.' For a few minutes the guide conversed with the chiefs, then he turned to Malia.

  'They say that until six moons ago they dwelled in pastures far to the north of here. These people never stay in one place for long. But they say that a village about three days from here claims to have seen men like ghosts some time back. There may have been a fight, but they are not sure.'

  'That is little to go on,' said Ulfilo, disappointedly.

  'It will have to do,' Conan said.

  IX

  The Mountain Pass

  The trek to the base of the mountains went easily, for now they had an escort of the Fashoda, young warriors who regarded this duty as a sort of holiday from the drudgery of guarding the village's cattle. But nature had a most surprising delay in store for them.

  It began with the appearance of a strange beast. The whites laughed when they saw it; a lone male at the head of a straggling line of its kin. The Fashoda pointed at it with their spears and chattered excitedly.

  'What is it?' Ulfilo demanded.

  'The warriors say we must stop,' Goma translated. 'For the K'hnu is here.' The first sound in the word was a click unlike anything in any northern language.

  'Stop?' said Ulfilo, mystified. 'For that thing?' Indeed, the creature, which was now near and regarding them with profoundly stupid eyes, looked more comical than forbidding. About the size of one of the larger antelopes, it had the head,

  beard, and horns of a goat but the rest of it seemed to be pieces of several animals coupled together.

  'Aye,' Goma told them. 'We may as well rest here anon. It is said that, when Ngai created the world, he had some spare parts left over, and from these he created the K'hnu: the head of a goat, the forepart of a topi, the hinder parts of a wild horse, and the wits of an ostrich. But to make up for their lack of all things handsome or wise, Ngai gifted them with one great ability, which you shall perceive shortly. Set up camp, white men, we go no farther this day.'

  Grumbling and mystified, they did as he advised. Within the hour, the straggling column was a great skein, thousands of animals heading north. Before sunset, the plain was carpeted with them, as far as the eye could perceive. And they were truly witless creatures, as Goma had intimated. Some would turn and head back south for no reason. Others compromised, standing in one spot and bucking up and down. Yet others ran in tight
little circles until they collapsed from exhaustion.

  The travellers killed a few for meat, but the companions of the luckless beasts took no slightest notice, continuing their migration northward.

  'There cannot be so many beasts in all the world!' said Malia, her mind reeling at the sight.

  'And yet,' said Springald, 'Goma tells me that this is not the only such herd. There are hundreds of them, and each year they migrate from south to north, then back again with the changing of the rainy and dry seasons.'

  'It is a good thing we travel afoot, not mounted,' said Ulfilo. 'For I'll wager horses would starve where such a herd has passed.'

  Conan stood near the edge of the vast herd and watched it pass. Soon he was joined by Goma. The two watched the great migration for a while, then the native spoke.

  'You find this a fine sight, swordsman?'

  'Aye. All my life I have been a wanderer, ever tiring of the place where I was and longing to see new things. Up north I

  was a-wearied of the kingdoms and their endless wars and even more tired of them when they were at peace. When the three mad ones approached me with their fool's mission they promised me great reward, but in truth I accepted not for that, but rather to see new places and new things. This'—he gestured toward the expanse of milling beasts—'is such a thing as I have never seen before. The whole plain with its great variety of beasts is another. Years ago I saw its fringes, but I did not find my way into the true interior. However things fall out, I'll not regret the journey.''

  Goma grinned. 'That is ever the way of the adventurer. I alone of my own folk am a wanderer, and I have visited many lands and seen many sights strange to the eyes of my people, things I am glad I have seen, terrible though some of them were. But, in time, a man must return home, not so?'

  'That may be,' Conan said. 'I have visited my own homeland since I left as a boy, but I have never stayed long. Is that what you do, Goma? Do you now return home?' He gave the tall warrior an appraising look, but got only another grin in return.

  'As you say, white man, that may be.'