The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  'Now we know where the fish came from,' Wulfrede commented.

  'Fish as odd as those we saw might well come from such a lake,' Springald said. 'I do not like the look of it.'

  'Aye,' said Conan uneasily. 'There is something strange about it.'

  The lake was almost perfectly circular, and it lay, as near as he Cimmerian could make out, in the very centre of the valley, at its lowest level. Apparently, all the streams of the valley seemed to empty into the lake.

  'There must be an outflow somewhere,' Conan said, 'but I see none.'

  'Perhaps it drains into underground caverns,' Springald hazarded.

  ' 'We have more important matters to concern us than an odd lake,' Ulfilo told them. He turned away from the window and took a seat on the straw-covered floor. 'Such as: why will these

  people tell us nothing of Marandos? We can be sure that he entered this valley. Why do they conceal him from us?'

  'They may have slain him,' Springald said.

  'You saw how a man was butchered just for sneezing,' Conan said. 'I do not think King Nabo is one to conceal a bit of bloodletting.'

  'Perhaps they do not know of him,' Malia said. She still stood by the window, gazing out over the lake.

  'How could they not?' Ulfilo demanded.

  'We may have paid too much attention to the lake,' she said. 'Look beyond it to the low hills. Do my eyes fail me or do I see another city there?'

  Once more they all crowded to the windows. Following the direction of her pointing finger, they could indeed make out a cluster of structures that were clearly man-made.

  'Perhaps he is there!' she said. 'It may be that more than one tribe inhabits this valley, and it could be that the two are rivals. That could explain the king's caution.'

  Ulfilo scratched in his beard. 'Aye, that may be so. But we have no way of knowing if yon pile of stone is even inhabited. The distance is too great.'

  'I see no smoke,' Wulfrede said, 'but fires of dry wood might not smoke enough to be seen at such a distance. We must watch that place tonight. Torchlight would be visible.'

  Conan turned to the translator and addressed him in Kushite. 'What is that town in the hills?'

  'It is nothing,' the man said hastily. 'Just old stones.' There was undeniable fear written on the translator's face.

  'Do not press him,' Ulfilo said quietly.

  'What is your name?' Conan asked.

  The man looked relieved to be on safer ground. 'I am Khefi. As you guessed, my father was a Stygian trader who kept a compound for merchandise and slave caravans on the Zarkheba River. My mother was his concubine, a woman of Kush. While driving a herd of cattle to a market south of the Zarkheba, I was captured by slavers and sold from one market to the next over the better part of two years. In time I was sold to a band of squat, squint-eyed men of a race unknown to me. They brought me here, by way of a cavern that pierces a sheer range of craggy mountains to the north. They sold me to the father of King Nabo. First I was a herdsman, but I rose quickly in the royal service, for I am capable and know tongues other than that spoken in this valley.'

  'Your traders came here,' Wulfrede, 'and you translate for outsiders. This valley, then, is not as forbidden to outsiders as you said before.'

  Khefi shrugged. 'No people wishes to be shut off entirely from the outside. King Nabo must have steel and cloth, and like other people, the folk here prise colourful glass beads and looking glasses. At some times they want slaves, at others they have slaves to trade. But no strangers are allowed to stay longer than necessary to transact their business.'

  'And how are we to be received?' Ulfilo asked.

  ' 'That is up to my master. There is no law here save the will of King Nabo. Today he entertains you. If you please him, he may send you on your way with presents. If not'—he shrugged again—'he will probably kill you all.'

  XIII

  King of the Accursed Lake

  They rested, managing to sleep for a while, through the late afternoon and early evening. They were awakened by the sound of drums thundering below. Serving women arrived bearing ewers of water and robes made of trade cloth. All but Conan exchanged the rags of their remaining clothing for the robes, belting their weapons over the colourful cloth.

  'Thus far we are being treated hospitably,' said Springald, hopefully.

  'That may change at any moment,' Ulfilo said. 'The favour of a king is always a chancy thing, and I suspect that a savage king may be even less reliable than the civilised sort.'

  'These women are not uncomely,' said a scar-faced sailor. 'Just how hospitable be this king, do you think?'

  'You will keep your hands off the womenfolk,' said Ulfilo sternly. 'We know too little as yet. He might take mortal offence. Wait until he indicates plainly that you may make free with them.'

  'That is a hard thing to ask,' said the sailor. 'We have been a long time wandering with no female company.''

  'Aye,' grumbled the others.

  'This king takes a man's head for sneezing in his presence,' said Conan with a sardonic smile. 'What do you suppose he cuts off for trifling with his female property?' The sailors looked suddenly serious and said nothing.

  When the setting sun stained the waters of the lake a sinister red, Khefi entered their chambers. 'The king has prepared a feast in your honour,' he announced. 'Be so good as to accompany me.'

  Ulfilo turned to Springald. 'Bring the satchel of presents,' he ordered. 'We have a few remaining that a king will not find unsuitable.' To the others he said: 'I want every man to be on his best behaviour. We did not come this far, and endure so much, to leave our bones in this place or go home empty-handed.'

  'You've no arguement from me on that point,' Wulfrede said fervently.

  'I hope fish is not on the menu for the feast,' Malia said.

  'Eat what you are given and smile,' Conan advised. 'There are many things far worse than eating repulsive fish.'

  They descended the steps through the chaotic tower and were led to cushions of stuffed zebra hide, where servants fanned them while the drummers and fluters played and costumed dancers cavorted. Men in demon-masks pranced on stilts, swatting at one another with inflated bladders while near-naked women, their bodies glistened with oil, gyrated energetically to complex rhythms. Children clapped and sang melodiously in eerie, many-levelled harmonies.

  The dancing and singing reached an ecstatic pitch as the king emerged from his tower with his entourage. Behind him was the hideous Aghla.

  'Who is that ugly old monkey?' Wulfrede asked Khefi.

  'Be careful what you say,' the translator cautioned. 'She can read men's hearts even if she does not understand their

  tongues. She is a member of the royal family, and is perhaps the king's great-great-grandmother. She is said to be more than two hundred years old, and has prolonged her life through unspeakable rites. She sniffs out witchcraft plots against the king. Any who attract her suspicion die horribly.''

  'Then all must be in danger here,' Conan said, 'for no one could have pleasant thoughts about that creature.'

  The king seated himself, Aghla squatting by his side, and at his signal the newcomers were given gourds of foaming beer. Wulfrede took a long drink and smacked his lips appreciatively.

  'It is not northern ale,' he pronounced, 'but it is drinkable. Perhaps these people are not as savage as we thought.'

  Fruit, meats, and flat cakes of bread were placed before them, and they all ate hungrily. To their relief, there was no fish. Between courses, Ulfilo ceremoniously presented King Nabo with his gifts: a handsome necklace of silver plaques with designs in bright enamel, and a dagger with a handle of carved crystal. The king seemed pleased, but Aghla studied them with her small, shiny black eyes and favoured them with a malicious, toothless smile.

  'That creature's regard does little for my appetite,' Wulfrede grumbled.

  'You seem to be doing justice by the viands,' Malia observed.

  The Van tore a gazelle leg from a steaming carcass. 'W
ould I insult my host? Besides, who knows when we will next eat? It is best to stock up when opportunity exists.' He set his teeth to the savoury flesh, suiting action to words.

  The feast continued through the long, sultry evening, until all were replete with food and half foundered with drink. Conan ate well but he knew better than to overindulge in the grain beer and the palm wine. The company was too doubtful and the circumstances too uncertain. He noted that Ulfilo and Springald were likewise cautious. Wulfrede felt no such compunctions, but he had powerful control and seemed little the worse for all the gourds he had drained.

  As the moon rose over the hills to the east, King Nabo stood and clapped his hands. The drums fell silent and slaves cleared away the litter of the feast. There was a bustle at the rear of the surrounding crowd, and a pair of guards came forward, drag-ring between them a young woman who wore a copper collar riveted around her neck. Her features differed from those of the valley people. Her face was round and blunt-featured and she wore no decorative scars. She was plainly terrified. The king spoke and everyone laughed. None seemed to take pity on the young woman's evident fear.

  'What has this one done?' Ulfilo asked. 'I heard no sneezing.'

  'She has done nothing,' Khefi said. 'She is just a slave. She is to be the night's offering to the river spirits.'

  At this the hair rose on the back of Conan's neck. 'A sacrifice?'

  'Aye. That is the main reason the folk here buy slaves, for hey need few for labour. But their spirits demand sacrifice, and they find this preferable to choosing sacrifices from among themselves. At great festivals, many are sacrificed in a single day.'

  'This is inhuman!' Malia said, indignantly.

  Wulfrede shrugged. 'My own people make human sacrifices from time to time. These folk may slay each other to their heart's content for all I care.'

  'Aye,' said a gap-toothed sailor, much the worse for the wine he had drunk. 'I have sailed a-slaving on the Black Coast many times, and more of the cattle die than survive the voyage. These are worthless creatures. Pay the wench no heed.'

  Conan's fingers tightened upon his hilt. 'I do not like slaving, and I do not like sacrifice. Most especially, I do not like foul demons that demand blood. Such things are unclean.'

  'I remind you,' Ulfilo said steadily, 'that we are few and they are many. Our royal host'—he spoke the words with utmost contempt—'does not share your feelings in the matter.'

  'King Nabo does restrain his more delicate sensibilities to the minimum,' Springald agreed.

  Now the drums resumed, this time to a slow, hypnotic beat. Women came forward and draped the neck of the slave with garlands of bright, fragrant flowers. With her hands trussed behind her, she was pushed into a line that began to form before the dais. The king stood and took a torch. Holding it high, he exhorted his people.

  'The king says: We have feasted well now from the abundance of our land. Let us now in thanks feed our hungry gods, who eat not of the produce of the soil, or of the flesh of the beasts, but only the flesh and blood of men and women.'

  'Must we go?' said Malia, looking even paler than usual.

  'To fail to do so would be an insult to the spirits,' Khemi warned them. 'If you would live, and continue in the king's favour, you must attend.'

  Perforce, they accompanied the king's party as they processed around the great tower. From the base of the tower, a long stone jetty ran a hundred paces into the lake. The air had a rank, marshy smell that was more like that of the sea than that of an upland lake, the victim now looked numb, her face wearing an expression of ox-like resignation. Before her Aghla danced, laughing madly and capering, twirling on her stick-thin legs, more like an agile child than an ancient woman. As she danced she sang, or rather screeched, in a high-pitched, whining voice, calling out ecstatically.

  'One should not summon gods as if calling hogs to slop,' Springald muttered.

  'The gods of this land have little sense of decorum, I fear,' Malia said, making a creditable effort not to display the dread and revulsion she so clearly felt.

  The people were singing now. Their voices rose and fell in al complicated harmony interspersed with much clapping and frenetic drumming, much of it stirring and oddly beautiful, despite the bizarre and hideous circumstances.

  The head of the procession reached the end of the jetty. In the forefront, her toes almost at the stone lip, Aghla raised her rattling staff and called upon her gods. At first her voice continued her screeching song, but this gradually changed until she was making sounds that were not those natural to any human palate. Harsh gutturals and clickings and even stranger sounds streamed from her spittle-flecked lips, and as she chanted the water began to change.

  'What is that?' Malia hissed.

  She pointed to a spot of colour that had appeared upon the quiet surface of the water. It was a glow of deepest crimson. Then they saw that it was not upon the surface, but rather had its origin in the deepest part of the lake. Slowly, the weirdly glowing spot grew. Whatever was making it was coming nearer he surface.

  Something broke the surface, startling them. Then something else leapt from the water and splashed back. Now they could see that huge, misshapen fish were springing up, like a shoal of ocean fish fleeing a shark. Other creatures likewise leapt or disported themselves on the surface. The uncertain light made them difficult to see, but they seemed like nothing that ought to swim in fresh water. Some flailed the air with tentacles. Others flapped bat-like wings. To their shock, they saw a gross fish seize a squid-like creature with what appeared to be hands and use them to stuff the wriggling thing into its mouth.

  'This is not natural!' Malia said.

  'did you expect it to be?' Springald enquired.

  The Cimmerian needed all his resolution to stay in place. Sorcery and dealings with unclean beings repelled him at any time, and this promised to be surpassingly horrible.

  As Aghla's chanting reached a fevered pitch, the water of the lake seemed to bulge impossibly upward, forming a domed hump that glowed with a bloody, unnatural phosphorescence. Around the bulge, the lesser creatures churned the water to froth. A hideous, unstable form took shape within the bulge, a creature of writhing flesh and knotted tentacles and many glaring eyes.

  'What is this?' screamed a sailor. All of them trembled and stared at the apparition, terrified.

  'You will stay where you are!' Wulfrede barked at them.

  'Ikhatun!' Aghla howled. 'Ikhatun! Ikhatun!'

  Now the watery hump lost its tension and burst, cascading down the titanic bulk of the monstrous 'god.' Sparks of red fire crawled along its rough black hide and the stench that came from it was repulsive beyond belief. Aghla stepped aside and King Nabo shoved the woman forward. With sight of the abomination from beneath the lake, the woman lost her brutish resignation and her face was a mask of sheer terror. A number of the creature's eyes came to bear on her and a long, lumpy tentacle uncoiled from its shapeless carcass and snaked out toward her. The woman struggled to get away, but the king held her bound wrists in an iron grip.

  The woman screamed dementedly as the tentacle neared her. It terminated in a leaf-shaped pad whose inner surface was lined with fang-like teeth. As the king stepped back, this appendage enveloped the woman's body and lifted her high. She screamed even more loudly as the thing tightened around her and began a repulsive, rhythmic, squeezing motion. The woman continued screaming for an impossibly long time.

  A sailor shrieked and whirled to run away. Wulfrede reached for him but the man eluded the shipmaster's grasp. An eye of the monster tracked the motion and a tentacle snapped out, incredibly swift for so massive a member. Its tooth-lined extremity wrapped around the squalling man and whirled him back toward the thing's body. As the thing held its squirming prey high, a mouthlike orifice split open on its apex, revealing quivering, wet membranes and tissue that writhed like a knot of worms. The tentacles squeezed powerfully, and thick streams of blood poured down into the cavity, drenching the interior. The blood-red spar
ks writhed and crackled across the thing's rough hide with redoubled fury. At last, the tentacle-pads opened. The bodies within were but scraps of ragged flesh adhering to pulverized bone. These remains dropped into the mouth, which

  closed over them with a disgusting sound. The monster grumbled and hooted, then began to subside beneath the water. When it was gone, the lesser creatures followed it into the depths.

  Without further ceremony, the natives turned and straggled back to their homes. The visitors stood shaken but steadfast, although the four remaining sailors looked fit to perish from fright. The king' gave them a sardonic smile as he passed, and Aghla favoured them with a silent, toothless laugh, as if she knew that they were to be the next victims and found the idea hugely amusing.

  They were silent as they went back to their quarters. Malia was first to speak as they sought their beds upon the straw.

  'What was that thing? Was it truly a god?'

  'I do not think so,' said Springald, tugging off his much-patched boots. 'I think it was nothing so familiar.'

  'What do you mean?' Ulfilo asked.

  'Its shape, its whole aspect, hint of gulfs far beyond our own world.' His voice was haunted and had lost much of its accustomed jocularity. 'I think it is not of terrestrial origin.'

  'But is it a god?' Wulfrede asked.

  The scholar shrugged. 'We know that it is powerful. But who truly knows what is a god, and what is not? It exerts a great power upon the people who live here. I think it has altered the nature of everything that lives in the lake. God or not, it wields godlike power.'

  'I care not what the sickening thing is,' Conan said. 'And I have no use for the people who worship it. I think that we must get away from here as soon as we can.'

  'I have no arguement with that,' said Ulfilo, 'for we've found no trace of my brother or the treasure in this place. But where can we go?'

  Conan stood by one of the windows and now he pointed out across the lake. 'Look.'