'Your meaning is unclear,' protested Springald.
Again the Stygian laughed. 'Ever the scholar, even in extremity, eh, Aquilonian? Have no fear, all shall be made clear to you. My new friend, King Nabo, has agreed that your fate is to be in my hands.'
'How can you talk to the ugly dog?' asked Conan, deliberately thickening his voice. 'We've had his translator with us.'
'This woman and I'—he gestured toward Aghla—'share a tongue in common. It is a language far older than your infant Hyborian speech, more venerable even than Stygian.' He turned to Aghla and spoke a few words in a language unnatural to the human tongue. Conan recognised it as the language the hag had used in summoning the thing from the lake. She answered in the same language, gesturing toward the prisoners and laughing in a shrill voice.
'You see?' Sethmes said, turning back to his victims. 'We are the best of friends now.''
While all this talk was going on, Conan was careful to watch King Nabo. Despite the Stygian's ironic statement of friendship, the Cimmerian caught some decidedly disgruntled expressions as they flickered across the king's cruel features. He was not happy about the advent of this foreigner in his kingdom.
Conan twisted his head, as if trying to work the pain and stiffness from his neck. Actually, he was assessing the manpower situation in the town. Besides the ordinary townspeople, the king's white-feather and blue-feather warriors were present in abundance. On one side of the square stood the soldiers Conan had last seen in the desert. Seeing them for the first time in reliable light, he discerned that they were a mixed bag of Stygians, Keshanians, and men of various desert tribes. They bore a variety of uniforms and arms, but they had the bearing of disciplined professionals. In their front stood their Stygians: red-bearded Khopshef and black-bearded Geb. Of the bumbana there was no sign.
'So what is your will of us now?' Ulfilo demanded. 'I am . Aquilonian noble, and I'll not be anyone's slave.'
'Oh, you have yet your uses, and surely you would be wasted inching water or hoeing weeds from the crops! For instance, there is he hungry deity at the bottom of the lake. After so many centuries !' local food, he must be eager for a change of diet.'' At this Conan's scalp prickled and Malia seemed about to faint.
'Stygian swine!' Ulfilo bellowed.
Sethmes ignored him, addressing Malia instead. 'You, my dear, need have no fear of being sacrificed. You have a far more important role to play.'
'I am not interested in your plans, priest,' she said. 'I would lather share the fate of my friends.'
'Your wishes are of no account. It was prophesied thousands »f years ago that you would come to this place.' The priest's sardonic mien slipped a little, revealing the fanatic beneath the surface. 'You are known by many names: the Alabaster Woman, the Ivory Queen, the Woman of Snow, and others. It is your destiny to begin the groundwork that will raise imperial Python from the dust and restore its ancient dynasty to the throne!'
'You are mad!' she said. 'I am the daughter of a homeless Hyperborean lady, tossed about by wars and feuds, married to a penniless mercenary captain, and brought here by merest happenstance. If my husband and this scholar had not met by chance in a tavern one day, none of this could have happened!'
'Where the gods are concerned,' said the priest, 'there are no such things as chance, accident, or happenstance. All is foreordained, and all transpires according to prophecy. When the gods want a certain person to be in a certain place, it is no great matter for them to arrange a few wars, and to cause certain men who have nothing in common to meet at the proper place and time.'
Now the priest glared at Springald. 'And you, scholar. Do
you think that it was mere chance that those ancient tomes came to be in the library of the kings of Aquilonia, or that they were sent to Stygia for rebinding, so that they were seen by a predecessor of mine? These things were not accidental!' He wan distracted by Aghla, who spoke a few words in an urgent voice. Sethmes answered and turned to the doomed men.
'My esteemed friend, the priestess Aghla reminds me that her god is hungry, and that I have promised an unusual meal for him. Let me see—who shall go first? I do not suppose any of you would care to volunteer?' He glanced from one to another of them, a cruel smile upon his lips. 'No? I thought not. I will send the least amusing of you first.' He extended a hand pointing a long, bony finger. 'You, Cimmerian. These others are merely bumbling fools, but you entered my house unbidden and slew one of my servants. What a pity it is that you are still half dazed, for you cannot properly appreciate the unique experience that awaits you.'
He spoke some words to Aghla and she screeched something to the guards who still held the Cimmerian. One stooped and slashed the bindings at Conan's ankles and wrists. His head hanging, Conan saw that the man used his own dirk. A sideways glance revealed that the warrior had his weapon-belt draped from one shoulder, complete with sheathed sword. The other guard; carried only a spear.
The guard resheathed his dirk and together the two warriors hauled Conan to his feet. He let his head fall back as if he were about to relapse into unconsciousness. Sethmes stepped from the dais and slapped him forehand and backhand.
'Wake up, barbarian!' he snarled. 'I want you to see what is coming!'
Conan spit bloody froth in the Stygian's face. 'That's for you ' and your foul gods!' Then he let his head fall forward. He heard his companions chuckle with satisfaction.
'This one is half dead already,' said Sethmes. 'But he will do for a beginning.'
Wulfrede barked a short laugh. 'Even half a Cimmerian is pure defiance.'
The drums resumed their throbbing, and the guards marched 'Conan around the tower with the festive procession following. He lurched and stumbled, falling first against one guard, then the other. With the guards muttering curses at what an awkward burden he was proving to be, they marched him out onto the stone jetty.
The Cimmerian ignored the festive sounds behind him as Aghla whirled out to the end of the pier. She stopped to look up at him with malicious delight, then began her weird summoning. He heard Sethmes speaking, presumably to Springald.
'The hellish lake-being!' he said, sounding awed for the first time. 'It came hither from a place so far that even the greatest of Stygian sorcerers have no name for it. It flew across vast gulfs of space and at last found its resting place in this lake. See you how round the lake is? This is the crater the thing made when it fell from the stars, helpless and exhausted after its long flight. A million years it lay in the bottom of the pit it had made, weak and unable to move. In time water filled the crater and still the thing waited. Fish and other life came to inhabit the lake, but the creature exudes a power that alters all life that comes near it and the living things grew strange and twisted.' All this he spoke over Aghla's demented chanting, and the red glow spread in the water.
'The serpent-men of prehistory came to this valley and reared their city beside the lake. The creature consumed them and drew strength from them for millennia, changing them into something unrecognisable, at last destroying them utterly. It waited again, for long centuries. Then came the men of fallen Python, bearing their treasure and their sorcery. They found the ruins left by the serpent-men, and they built upon them, establishing their city and their treasury. Then they waited, commencing a long, long correspondence with the noble refugees of Python who had settled in Stygia.
'They built upon the wizardry of the serpent-men, refortifying the spells that protected the pass and other accesses to the valley, so that only the royalty of Python could use them. But the god of the lake manifested itself, and the colony trafficked with it,
and gradually it destroyed them. Time passed, the correspondence ceased, and the Pythonian royalty in Stygia dwindled in power and wealth until the remnants became the mere priesthood of the ancient Pythonian deity, Ma'at.'
The water creatures began their mad thrashing and the hump began to grow. Conan forced himself to seem semicomatose, but he was full of an unfamiliar sensation: dread. The jetty
and the town behind him were packed with armed men. The priest raved on, his voice growing more excited by the moment.
'Before they metamorphosed into something other than truly human, the Pythonians established communications with the creature, and it was from these strange communications that the first prophecy of the New Python arose. For a hundred generations, the priests of Ma'at in Stygia received visions sent by Ma'at and other gods, enlarging upon the prophecy and bringing about a whole body of lore concerning the establishment of the Purple Throne upon which shall sit the last descendant of the ancient kings of Python. I, Sethmes, am that descendant, and I am the fulfilment of the prophecy!'
The monster was fully visible now, and its tentacles began to uncoil. Aghla laughed insanely and Sethmes screamed in ecstatic Stygian. The drums and chanting rose in volume as the creature reached forth hungrily. Conan knew it was time to make his bid for life or death. He cast off his pose of incapacity and sprang to full, ferocious life.
With his left arm, the Cimmerian lifted the guard on that side and hurled him into the water. The nearest tentacle snatched the man up even as Conan turned and smashed his knotted fist into the face of the other guard. He snatched his weapon-belt from J the warrior's shoulder and hurled him likewise from the jetty, where a tentacle caught him before he could even make a splash.
Aghla screamed even more dementedly than ever, and Conan regretted that he had no time to kill the repulsive creature. With a town full of furious people behind him, there was only one place to go. The Cimmerian took a deep breath and dived into the black waters of the accursed lake.
He cut the water cleanly and plunged deep, pausing only to -.ling the sword across his back. He drew his dirk and gripped . heavy spine in his teeth, then swam deeper, seeking to put distance between himself and the town. With horror clawing at him, he swam toward the loathsome monster. A fishlike thing with simian hands scrabbled at him, its wide mouth, lined with razor fangs, gaping to tear flesh. The Cimmerian thrust his dirk through us eye and the scent of blood brought a swarm of misshapen creatures to tear the stricken thing to shreds and devour it.
Lungs afire, Conan swam on. He knew the beast was directly above him, and he had no idea how far beneath the surface its bloated body extended. If he could not swim beneath it, he was doomed.
The bloody glow ahead of him grew painfully bright. It illuminated murkily a mass of dangling growths, like a waving field !' seaweed. Tiny things swam among the hanging appendages, which now appeared to be long, thin tentacles covered with thorny spines. He was sure this must be the underside of the monster. With a terrible pressure crushing his chest, Conan plunged still deeper, until he cleared the tips of the tentacles.
As he swam beneath the thing, the Cimmerian saw to his further horror that the small, tentacled things swimming among the snakelike growth were miniatures of the monster above. Were they its young? Or had the thing caused lake life to metamorphose into something identical to itself? Or were the processes one and the same for the creature that had come from another world?
Lungs bursting, Conan cleared the thorny arms and began to swim upward. He had no idea how deeply he had plunged, but lie knew that he had to have air quickly or he would drown. Already, spots of black swarmed in his vision against the red glow, and unconsciousness could be only moments away.
He broke the surface abruptly and gasped in a great lungful of air, almost choking on the spray of water that came with it. For several seconds, he could do nothing save breathe and feel his body regain its strength and control. Then he turned to see what was behind him.
The first thing he saw was the humped, unstable shape of ill lake monster, far too close. The red sparks crawled over HI tough hide with greater violence than the night before, and t saw no fewer than six tentacles above its mouth open inn, squeezing screaming victims like ripe fruit. Apparently, the thing had grown so excited that it was snatching victims at random from among the crowd on shore. Conan allowed himself a precious second to hope, ardently, that among those being wrung dry of blood were Sethmes, Aghla, and Nabo. From beyond the thing came the panic-stricken screams of the fleeing crowd. He gave a short laugh at thought of their discomfiture. He hoped that the thing would spare his companions, but when all arc doomed and it is an each-for-himself situation, they would just have to take their chances.
Cursing himself for wasting time, the Cimmerian turned and struck out for the far shore. At first he used a careful breast stroke, not wishing to attract the monster's attention. It seemed happily occupied, but who could tell when a creature was so alien and had so many eyes? When he felt the distance was adequate, he broke into a steady crawl that quickly put distance between him and the monster.
The swim was a long one, and several times he felt the brush of scaly or slimy hides against his limbs. Each time he took his dirk from his teeth and braced himself for attack, but nothing molested him. At last he heard the gentle lapping of water against the gravel of the shore. Too weary to stand, the Cimmerian crawled ashore on hands and knees, gasping and shaking the water from his black mane like a wet dog. He stopped abruptly when he perceived a pair of brown feet inches before his face. Next to them was the blade of a war axe, upon which the owner of the feet leaned. Conan looked up to see a familiar face grinning down at him.
'Welcome to the rebel side of the lake, my friend,' Goma.
XV
The Rebels
Conan lurched to his feet. 'I thought I might find you here.' ''And so you did.' Goma was not alone. A dozen or more warriors stood with him, moonlight agleam on the polished steel of their spears. 'We saw the great commotion from the walls of our fort and came down here for a closer look. The god of the lake is having a fine time this night.'
'It was disappointed because I was to be its dinner and would not cooperate,' Conan told him.
Goma laughed richly. 'Even the lake god would find you too tough to stomach! Come, we will go back to the fort. There are things I would know.'
'There are things I would have known,' Conan protested. ' 'Why did you desert us just when we needed your aid the most?
'Mind your tongue,' Goma warned. 'I am the leader here, and if anyone is to demand answers, it shall be I. You see that these warriors give me their allegiance.' Indeed, Conan had seen the deference with which the others treated Goma.
'Aye. And I've a good notion who you truly are. What of it? We were companions and you left us without a word of warning.'
Goma chuckled. 'You are a hard man to intimidate. But then, one who would defy the lake god and swim away from him is not as other men. Very well, I will explain, and then you are to make no more demands upon me.' Goma's manner, always haughty, had grown even more so.
'When I took service with you and the other whites, I agreed to lead you to the Horns. This I did. I was under no further obligation. Beyond the Horns, I was nearly as much in the dark as you. I had to learn the situation here before I could take any action, and I felt certain that it would be death for you all if you were to be discovered in company with me.'
Their steps had led them up a steep path that ended at the base of a high wall built of heavy, rough-hewn stone. The stonework was as massive as that of the town, but it was! utterly undecorated. This, the Cimmerian surmised, was the pure work of the colonists who fled the destruction of Python,! before they were distorted by the influence radiating from the lake. A heavy door of new timber had been installed in its! gateway. The guards at the open portal saluted Goma as they entered and shut it behind them. The gate creaked on crudely forged iron hinges and was secured by a squared log laid across iron hasps.
Within the encircling wall was a sizeable village of mud-and- thatch huts. Men and women had climbed to the walk below the parapet to view the commotion across the lake, and now they descended to inspect the newcomer. Goma said something and they faded back.
'I told them to go back to sleep,' he informed Conan. 'They will have plenty of time to see you after dawn, and better light to see you
by.''
There was a squat, square keep in the centre of the fort, Goma ignored it and led Conan into a spacious hut that was three or four times larger than the others. Within he sat on a hassock of stuffed skins and gestured for Conan to seat himself.
'You have had a strenuous night, northerner,' Goma said. 'Have you had aught to eat or drink?'
'By Crom, I've had nothing since midday, and I've been fighting, struggling, or swimming ever since. I'm nigh famished.'
Goma clapped his hands and serving women brought platters of food and foaming gourds of beer. Goma waved the servers away and sat in silence while his guest restored himself with meat, fruit, and bread, emptying several gourds to wash it all down. When he was replete, the Cimmerian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back against a cushion.
'When we were taken before King Nabo,' Conan said, 'he was most anxious to learn who had led us hither, and he was very dissatisfied with our answers. Then we pumped the translator for information.'
'Translator?' said Goma. 'Is that the slave Khefi? He was my father's herdsman but he became attached to the court because he could talk with the foreign traders.'
'He is the one. He spoke of the civil war, but he was afraid to say too much even though the guards could not understand him. He said that there were rebels still in the valley. He said also that after the battle in which the old king was slain, the body of his young son was never found.'
Goma smiled. 'You miss little, my friend. Aye, I am that son, and I was able to prove it to these rebels. I have spent many years in my wandering, learning of other peoples, other ways of fighting, and giving the folk here plenty of time to grow sick of my uncle Nabo.'
'I do not think they love him, for what that is worth,' Conan said. 'But they fear him and they fear the ugly old woman, Aghla.'
'Aghla!' Goma spat at the name. 'That ancient, evil creature has been the curse of my family for generations. She never
dies; she enslaves the people to the lake god. They think that ii somehow shares power with her.'
The Conan Chronology Page 535