The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

They rose from the straw and crowded to the window. In the hills beyond the lake, where they had seen the other town, they now saw the twinkling of a number of fires.

  The next day they asked permission to go hunting.

  'Why do you need to hunt?' asked the king through his interpreter. 'Have I not abundant meat?'

  'So you have, King Nabo,' said Ulfilo, 'and your hospitality is most generous. But in our land hunting is the principal amusement of nobles and we find nothing more pleasurable.'

  'Ah, you like to kill!' said King Nabo with a smile of comprehension. This was something he could understand. 'Then by all means go and hunt. You shall have an escort of my white-plumed guardsmen.'

  'We need no guards,' Conan protested.

  'But I insist,' said Nabo, smiling.

  'Then of course we are honoured,' said Springald smoothly. 'Of your goodness, sire, may we have the use of your servant, Khefi? With his aid we may speak with our escort and such others of your subjects with whom we may need to communicate.'

  King Nabo assented with a wave of his hand. 'Good hunting, my friends.' Then he laughed heartily.

  'I do not like the way that savage is playing with us,' said Malia as they walked from the town, spears slanted across their shoulders. The four surviving sailors walked behind the leaders, and behind them a score of white-plumed warriors marched in double file.

  'But what game could he be playing?' asked Wulfrede. 'He has made no demands, has scarcely even questioned us save to ask who led us here.'

  Conan turned to Khefi. 'Why does the king think we need an escort?' He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder, indicating the stone-faced warriors who trotted on their trail.

  'My master fears that you may be attacked,' answered the slave.

  'Attacked?' Ulfilo said. 'Attacked by whom? Are there outlaws here?'

  'Outlaws—yes, and, and—well, rebels.' He all but whispered the last word and cast nervous glances toward their escort, U-spite the fact that the warriors could not understand his Kushite.

  'At last we are getting someplace,' said Conan. 'Khefi, tell us about these rebels. Forget about the white-feathered dogs. Any who looks as if he understands a word, I will slay.'

  'Very well. If asked, I will say that I spoke of the land and he game you might find thereon.'

  'That is well enough,' said Ulfilo. 'Now speak.'

  'King Nabo had a brother. This brother was older, and he became king when their father died some years ago. This king, whose name is Cha'ak, neglected the rites of the lake god, and his made Aghla very angry.'

  'Why did he not kill the disgusting creature?' Springald asked.

  'Even kings fear Aghla, for her magic is powerful and her curses are potent. Anyway, she spoke among the people, saying that great calamity would result from the king's lack of piety. She agitated especially among the elite white-plume warriors.'

  'And who was the commander of this elite unit?' asked Ulfilo with his accustomed grasp of military and political matters.

  'Indeed, sir, their commander was by ancient tradition the next-younger brother of the king.'

  'In this case, Nabo,' said Wulfrede.

  'Exactly.'

  'Pray go on,' Malia urged.

  'Aghla praised Nabo as a pious and dutiful prince, a man well qualified to assume the kingship, and resume the ancient rites. He raised a rebellion and drove the rightful king from the city with the support of his warriors. The blue-feather warriors also supported him, but halfheartedly.'

  'And had the former king no supporters?' Ulfilo asked.

  'Most of his own clan remained faithful to him, and the green-feather warriors who were his personal bodyguard. There was much fighting, all up and down the valley. The final battle

  took place near the forbidden pass, the one through which you entered the valley.'

  'Was the king slain?' asked Conan.

  'He was. His young son fought be his side and was supposed to have died as well, but his body was never found.'

  'We have seen no warriors save those wearing the white or blue feathers. What of the others?' Springald inquired.

  'They fled. And the remnants . . .' He trailed off, once again glancing nervously toward the escort.

  'And the remnants now inhabit the town in the hills beyond the lake?' Conan finished for him.

  'Aye. It is a town far smaller than the one by the lake, but its walls are high and strong. It is really more of a fort, like the coastal forts of the Stygians. The rebels live there and they raid the royal herds and granaries for food.'

  'And my husband Marandos?' Malia asked. 'Tell me truthfully, now: has King Nabo done away with him?'

  'I swear to you,' Khefi said, 'that I have not seen nor heard of such a man. Surely, had he come here, the king would have required me to translate for the strangers.'

  They hunted through the morning, bagging some small, plump gazelle. At midday Ulfilo called a rest and the game was dressed out and cooked over smoky coals. As they ate and passed around the wineskins, the leaders discussed plans.

  'We must make a run for it,' Conan said. 'And the fort in the hills is our only possible place of refuge.' Truthfully, the Cimmerian would have preferred to leave the valley altogether, but he had given his word that he would help them find Marandos, and he would keep faith while they were determined upon their errand.

  'Aye,' Ulfilo said. 'If Marandos survived the pass, that is the only place he could be.'

  'And,' Wulfrede added, 'there must be some reason that fort stands there.'

  'What mean you?' Malia asked.

  'Think of it: the town by the lake makes sense. Those ancient Pythonians, or perhaps somebody else, built there because it is the only reasonable town site in this valley. It is in the midst of the fertile land, it is near the lake, and that is where the valley's streams all come together. It is a natural place to serve as the king's centre of rule and as a market for the villages of the valley. But why a fort nearby in the hills? Surely a border or a pass is a more sensible site for a fort, where enemies might be expected to invade.'

  'Why, then?' said Malia, puzzled.

  'A treasury!' exclaimed Springald, his eyes gleaming.

  'Aye,' the Van concurred. 'Have we not seen it many a lime, in other lands? Kings always like to keep their treasures near them, but they also like to keep them safe, not where greedy barons or townsmen of doubtful loyalty might lay their hands upon it.'

  'Aye,' said Conan. 'That is wise. In Nemedia, and in Corinthia and Zamora and Turan and other lands I have seen royal treasuries sited thus in a strong place near the capital. These castles are often places of refuge for the king in time of rebellion.'

  'This time, it seems, the opposite has happened,' said Ulfilo. 'If Marandos encountered the rebels upon leaving the pass, he may well have ended up there.'

  'Then he may have found the treasure!' said Wulfrede.

  Springald turned to Khefi and addressed him Kushite. 'Did anyone live in the hill fort before the rebels took over the place?''

  The translator shook his head. 'Nay. It was abandoned, and I do not think that anyone has lived there since the days of legend.'

  'It is as I thought,' said Springald. 'Over the centuries, many peoples have drifted through this valley, and some have taken up residence in the ruins by the lake. But none had any use for the hill fort. It may have stood abandoned since the last of the Pythonians perished, thousands of years ago.'

  'Then the treasure may still be intact!' Wulfrede exclaimed triumphantly.

  'If so,' Springald said, 'then it is most likely to be hidden in sealed vaults. We may have some lengthy searching to do.'

  'After all we have come through, what of that?' Wulfrede cried.

  'Ever the optimist!' Malia said testily. 'I remind you that we are 'escorted' by a score of white-plumed guards. Look at them!' She nodded to where the guards rested a little apart. While half the men ate, their spears thrust into the ground beside them, the other half stood alert, spears in hand.


  'Now look at us,' she said. The five of them sat near the fire with Khefi. The four sailors, their bellies full and pleasantly tipsy with wine, snored peacefully in the warm sunlight.

  'The lads are good enough fighters when they are awake,' Wulfrede said. 'And with such doughty swordsmen as we four'—he waved expansively toward his companions—'I think we may take care of these black rogues handily. We need merely make careful plans, and attack suddenly, when they are not expecting it.'

  'But they have encampments all over the valley,' Ulfilo pointed out. 'I'll warrant that messengers have been sent to all of them, warning them to keep an eye on us.'

  'It could turn into a running fight, to be sure,' said the Van, his confidence unshaken. 'But such men as we need not be daunted by the prospect. Think of the rewards for success!'

  'When would be the best time to make the attempt?' Springald asked.

  Ulfilo pondered for a while. 'In the early evening, as we make our way back toward the town. Let us spend the afternoon working our way in the general direction of the hill fort. As we turn our steps back toward the town, they should relax their guard a little. That is the time to strike. In the fading light, we may stand a better chance of making the hill fort unobserved.'

  'That is a sound plan,' said Conan. 'Their spears provide reach, and their shields are large, but they wear no armour. Red-beard, tell the sailors that they must throw their spears quickly,

  then draw their swords and come to close grips instantly. That way they will have the advantage.'

  'I shall tell them. What of him?' He nodded toward Khefi. The interpreter, unable to follow the conversation in the northern tongue, had nodded off to sleep.

  'He must come with us,' Springald said. 'We will need an interpreter to parley with the rebels.'

  'Are you all sure this is such a good plan?' Malia asked, assailed by doubts.

  'We must do something, and soon,' said Conan, 'else we'll all be dinner for that ugly fish god.' The rest nodded agreement.

  'Then it is settled,' said Ulfilo with flat finality. 'We do as planned.'

  That afternoon they continued to hunt, but they were not serious about it, missing many an easy cast. They did much talking and laughing to set their guards at ease, all the while plotting their escape. Wulfrede pantomimed frustration at his bad hunting luck, all the while briefing his sailors on their desperate gamble for freedom. The seamen grinned wolfishly at the prospect of an open fight. They were far more afraid of the lake-monster than of the worse than two-on-one odds.

  As the sun touched the crest of the western range, Ulfilo called a halt. 'Tell them we will return now,' he said to the interpreter. Khefi said a few words to the warriors and they turned their steps toward the town.

  For a few minutes they walked, slowly, as if tired by the day's activities. As they passed through a defile between two small hills, well out of sight of the nearest village, Ulfilo called out: 'Now!'

  Instantly, the party of northerners whirled, hurling their short hunting spears. Three natives went down with spears through their bodies. Others were wounded or had their shields encumbered by the heavy shafts. The guard captain shouted something and the warriors sprang forward as the others ran to meet them.

  Conan, his sword humming, hewed an arm from a tall guards-

  man even as he swayed aside to avoid the man's long, heavy war-spear. All around him he heard the loud impact of swords upon hide shields, and the ugly, meat-chopping sound of steel biting into flesh. He saw a sailor go down with a spear through his throat as he tried to tug his cutlass from a warrior's belly.

  The element of surprise made up for the unfavourable odds, but at close quarters their lack of shields was a handicap. Each man had to dodge with great agility and whirl his sword swiftly to avoid injury and death. Wulfrede hacked a man from shoulder to waist with his great Vanir blade and the Aquilonians wrought slaughter with their swords, but the native warriors fought fiercely and they were expert with their weapons.

  Then Malia screamed. She had been told to stay well clear of the fighting, and the Cimmerian risked a glance in her direction to see what was wrong. He saw that she was surrounded by hairy forms, and that more of them were bearing down upon the combatants.

  'Bumbana!' Conan shouted, slashing a black warrior across the waist. Most of the guards were dead, but now the hairy half-men were upon them. The Cimmerian thrust his sword through one and beheaded another, but he saw Springald borne down by three of the beast-men, and Ulfilo standing back to back with the Van, assailed by a half-score.

  Then Conan had no attention to spare for the others. Before him were snarling faces and knotted limbs and misshapen hands that bore crude weapons. The half-men were clumsy compared to the tigerish Cimmerian, but they were swift and powerful. He knew he must break away and run, but even as he made that decision a knotty-headed bludgeon descended on the back of his black mane and he collapsed to the grass with lights flashing before his eyes. Then the club came down again and there was only darkness.

  XIV

  A Swim in the Lake

  Conan awoke to great pain in his head and a sensation of swaying. His eyelids were sticky, and he had to blink the drying blood from them before he could see his predicament. He found that he was trussed up by wrists and ankles and was slung from a pole carried by two men. He could see at least one other such improvised litter, but darkness prevented him recognizing which of his companions was thus carried.

  At least the carriers were humans, although the sound of bestial gruntings and snufflings told him that the bumbana were not far away. The human part of the procession sang as they marched.

  'Release me, you swine!' shouted someone. 'Let me go or slay me! An Aquilonian nobleman is not to be carried like the carcass of a slain goat!' Despite his predicament, Conan had to smile.

  'I adjure you to hold your tongue, my friend,' said a softer voice. 'There is a certain futility of haranguing men who cannot understand a word you say, not to mention the unlikelihood of

  their heeding you even if they could understand you.' So Springald was still alive, and as wordy as ever.

  'Peace, both of you,' said Malia disgustedly. 'We are doomed.'

  'At least you are walking on your own feet,' Ulfilo grumbled. 'Do you conceive that to be a great satisfaction to me?' she demanded. 'I'd as lief have been killed back there. What I want to know is why they are keeping us alive.'

  'I can think of several reasons,' said Springald. 'None of them would you find comforting, I fear.'

  'Then spare me,' she said. 'My own imaginings are terrible enough, without any of your speculations.'

  'The Poem of Good Advice,' said another voice, 'tells us: 'only the fool speaks when silence is the best course.' ' 'Arc you a fool, then, Vanirman?' Ulfilo said hotly. Wulfrede laughed heartily. 'Our present condition scarcely proclaims us to be numbered among the wise.'

  'Then Conan is either wise or unconscious,' Malia said, 'for he says nothing.' 'Perhaps he is dead,' Springald said. 'If the blackhair was dead,' Wulfrede said, 'the bumbana would have taken him, as they did my poor sailors.'

  A warrior came back from the head of the procession, pointing and barking something.

  'The captain says you are not to talk,' said Khefi. 'Tell him,' Ulfilo said, 'to employ a respectful tone when he speaks to his betters. His feathers and his unbound limbs make him no less a dog.'

  'That would be inadvisable,' Khefi cautioned. They were distracted by the sound of singing, which grew louder by the second. Then they were amid a great crowd of torch-bearing natives. The towns people danced and made sport of the captives, holding torches close to their faces, taunting them with pantomimes of tortures sure to come.

  'This is a merry crew,' said Wulfrede disgustedly. 'I think they deserve their king.'

  'Nothing can live near that accursed lake without becoming twisted,' Springald said cryptically.

  The procession passed through the gate of the town and through the streets, picking up more revell
ers as they went. The townsmen were drinking and celebrating with a good deal more enthusiasm than they had the previous night. The helpless captives were pelted with offal and beaten with sticks, although no one attacked them with weapons. There was one exception. In the abundant torchlight, Conan could see that Malia, although surrounded by guards, was not offered the slightest harm or insult.

  The noise grew as they entered the open plaza before the tower. From his awkward angle, Conan could only see that the dais was crowded. There was a cacophony of noise, a deafening din raised by the mob. The trussed-up men were dropped to the pavement and the poles were withdrawn. As unobtrusively as he could, Conan worked hands and feet to restore circulation. At a signal from the king, the drums stopped and the people fell silent. Warriors grasped the Cimmerian beneath the arms and hauled him to a sitting position. He allowed his head to loll as if he were not yet fully conscious. A jar of water was emptied over his head, washing the clotting blood from his face and eyes. Now he focused his gaze upon the dais, careful to keep his expression groggy and disoriented.

  On the dais, King Nabo sat on a barbaric throne draped with leopard skin. Next to him, on a folding stool, sat another man who, despite his lower chair, towered over the tall king. Between the two men squatted Aghla, her withered face split by an evil leer. The taller man stood.

  'Greetings, my friends,' said Sethmes, archpriest of Ma'at.

  'Stygian!' Ulfilo gasped. 'What means this? We left you in Khemi, months ago! How comes it that you are here?'

  'The black ship that followed us,' Wulfrede said, ruefully. 'I warrant it was this rogue dogging us from the day we sailed from Khemi.'

  'But our agreement!' Springald said.

  At this the priest laughed richly. 'Are you children? Did you

  really believe that bargains made with mere outlanders have any weight among the priesthood of Stygia? From the moment you entered my temple you were doomed, although you were of some small use to me, as your errant Marandos had been. This journey of mine was foretold long ages ago, and barbarian scum have no part in it save as slaves.'