'And what can you do about the situation?' Rista Daan demanded. His face was lean-fleshed and hard, with deep lines, his silver hair trimmed close. Except for his uncalloused palms, he might have been a soldier.
'I have taken this sort of task before,' Conan told him. 'Frauds like Andolla prey upon the foolish children of the wealthy. They keep the young ones until the money runs out, then kick them into the street.'
'I know all that. You say that you can go to the temple and bring her back to me?''
Conan shook his head. 'You know that will do no good. She will just get away and run back to Andolla. They always do. No, I will have to destroy his hold upon her.''
'And you think you can do this?' Now the man's attitude was less challenging.
'Aye. It will take a few days.'
Daan seemed to come to a decision. He nodded curtly. 'Very well. If you had claimed that you could restore her instantly, I would have told that fat fool of a Reeve to clap you back in the clink. I think there may be more to you than I had thought.'
At a desk near the entrance, Conan collected his weapons and armour while Rista Daan paid for his freedom. That done, they went out into the Square.
'Five hundred!' Rista Daan said as they walked toward his house, which was on the side of the Square exactly opposite Xanthus's. 'Why does Bombas value you so highly?'
Conan shrugged. 'The swine plays so many games that I think
not even he keeps track of them all. It's clear that not everyone gets jailed in this town just for killing a few men. And I but defended myself. At that, I did not kill as many as I might have. He ordered the deaths of the men I but disabled.'
'He just wants a piece of whatever villainy you are up to,' Daan said. 'It's no affair of mine. So long as you perform your task for me, I'll not trouble you about whatever else you occupy yourself with.'
They entered a spacious courtyard, this one lovingly tended. Roses grew lavishly despite the late season. The house they entered had luxurious furnishings and hangings of precious cloth. The servants wore fine livery and did not appear ill-treated. 'Did they feed you in the dungeon?' Daan asked. 'A few stale crusts and some water,' Conan grumbled. 'He pockets even the allowance for prisoners' rations,' Daan said. 'I am not surprised.' He clapped his hands and a servant rushed up. 'This man will conduct you to the bathhouse, of which you stand in sore need. When you return, we shall dine and speak of necessary matters.'
The Cimmerian followed the servant and soon was luxuriating in an immense tub of hot soapy water as attendants scrubbed him industriously. Afterward he sat before a great looking glass while a barber shaved him and trimmed his dense, square-cut mane. Clean new clothes were brought to him and he dressed, noting that the cut in the leather covering of his brigantine had been expertly repaired with fine stitches. His steel cap had been polished. Even if Rista Daan turned out to be as villainous as the others, Conan thought, he could not be faulted for his hospitality. ' The servant now conducted Conan to a dining room, where Rista Daan sat at a heavy-laden table. At the man's gesture, Conan sat and a servitor filled his cup and began to heap the platter before him. For a while the two men ate in silence, Rista Daan sparingly, the Cimmerian ravenously.
When Conan was replete, he sat back and the rich man handed him a small, flat square of wood. In its centre was a miniature
portrait, exquisitely detailed. It depicted a young girl with straight yellow hair and huge blue eyes.
'This is my daughter, Rietta. She is my only child. I want you to be able to recognise her, because she goes by another name within that foul temple. Andolla gives each of his followers a new name when they join him. It helps to sever their attachment to their families.'
'Save those attachments through which money flows,' Conan pointed out.
'Exactly. The young fools under his spell constantly send word to their families, begging for money. Sometimes they go home claiming that they have left Andolla forever. Then they raid the family coffers and flee back to the temple.'
'How did the girl come to follow the knave?' Conan asked.
A look of pain flitted across the man's face. 'I am a spice merchant. I have had to spend much of my life away from home attending to business. As a result, my daughter was in the care of her mother for much of her youth, and my wife was ... not quite right in the head. This was not noticeable when we were wed, but it grew more pronounced as the years went by. Had I been home more, I might have taken more notice and done something about it.' He brooded in silence for a moment. 'Well, that is past and there is nothing I can do about it now.' He contemplated the depths of his wine.
'Rietta's mother found the state gods very dull, and she was greatly addicted to foreign religions, a taste she passed on to my daughter. As the years went by, my wife became obsessed that she lay under an ancient curse, handed down through the women in her family. She began to perform endless rites to protect Rietta from this imaginary onus. I learned much of this later, from the servants,' he admitted. 'My wife behaved almost normally when I was at home. In time, though, her sickness became apparent even to me, and I placed her under the close care of trusted retainers. It was no use. One night, in the midst of a terrible storm, she escaped from her room and fled to the roof of the corner turret. From there, she cast herself to the pave below.'
Daan was silent for a while, then shook himself and went on. 'Rietta was not only grief-stricken, but terrified: The curse had claimed her mother, and now it would descend upon her. At about that time, Andolla moved into the old temple and dedicated it to his foul Vendhyan goddess. Some of Rietta's young and stupid friends told her of Andolla, of what a wonderful man he was, of how he could solve any difficulty of supernatural origin. She went to see him.
'Of course the charlatan had picked up all the town gossip and knew exactly what to say to her. He knew how to protect her from the terrible curse if only she would come stay in his temple. She went, naturally, and has been there ever since. I sought to hire bravos to bring her out, but Andolla has paid off all the gang lords and has protection.'
'How does he bleed you?' Conan asked bluntly.
'Before fleeing to him, Rietta raided my strongbox, taking ten thousand marks in gold and far more in jewels. Andolla must have coached her in how to make an impression of my key. She is not strong enough to have carried it all, so he probably sent someone to help her.'
'He is thorough,' Conan said. 'Is there anything at all to his magical claims, or is he pure fraud?'
'That is difficult to say. He claims to be able to slay with curses, and some who have given him trouble have died mysteriously, but that could as easily be from poison. I am most careful of my food and drink these days. And he is not alone. He has a wife named Oppia, and it is my opinion that she is the more cunning of the two.'
'This grows complicated,' Conan said judiciously, 'but I can set the matter aright.'
'And what is your fee for this task?' Rista Daan asked.
'My usual fee is one thousand marks,' Conan said. 'But since you have already paid five hundred for my freedom ...'
'Five hundred ten,' said the merchant, 'counting what I paid the jailer for delivering your message.'
'Ten!' said Conan. 'I told the man five!'
'We have small rogues in this town as well as the great ones.' At that, both men laughed. 'You'll have the balance of your money when Rietta is back with me. And I am not without influence, both here and in the capital. Whatever charges are against you will be quietly dropped. I like your look, Cimmerian. I think you will render honest service.'
Conan rose. 'Then I had better be about it. Look to have your daughter back within a few days. After that, Andolla should trouble you no further.'
The Square was enveloped in dusk when the Cimmerian left the house. He wanted to call at the temple, but thought it best to check back at the inn first. He had paid several days' advance for his room and Brita's, and he was concerned for her. He looked into the stable to make sure his horse was properly car
ed for, then climbed the stair to his chamber. As soon as he entered, Brita rushed in from the adjoining room.
'Conan! Where have you been?'
'In jail. Where have you been?' Despite himself, he was relieved to see her.
'Where have I not been? I think I have pried into every foul corner of this city, trying to find my sister. She has been seen, but the information is never recent enough to do any good. I fear that she may have fled the city.''
'Probably went back to Tarantia,' he said. 'You'd better do the same.'
'Not until I am sure. Why were you in jail?'
'I think I am the only man in town to be arrested for fighting. That was yesterday morning. Where were you two nights ago?'
'I came here as usual,' she said, 'and I climbed the stair, but I saw a man hanging about on the balcony near our doors, a little man in very strange clothes. I was frightened, so I spent the rest of the night in the carriage house below.''
Conan laughed shortly. 'That was just . . . oh, never mind. Listen to me, girl. I will be away for a day or two. I will contact you if I can, but business calls me elsewhere for a while.'
'Surely you are not leaving town?' she said anxiously.
'No, I shall be here. The rooms are paid for. Do nothing foolish. By now, everyone in town knows your mission. If your sister still wants to avoid you, you will not find her. If not, let her seek you out. Take no more foolish risks, because I will be unavailable for help. Do you understand?'
She looked down and clasped her hands. 'Yes.' He tilted her head back and kissed her.
'Now, stay out of trouble,' he admonished. She smiled and he left, feeling uneasy.
The portico of the temple was brightly illuminated by fires burning in bronze baskets, their smoke fragrant with incense. Prom within came the sound of endless, monotonous chanting. Two hulking young men guarded the doorway, their arms folded across their chests.
'I wish to speak with Andolla,' Conan said when he halted
before the two.
'Our master does not speak with just anyone,' said one of the youths. 'He is a holy man, and spends much time in meditation.'
'Unclean persons cannot simply call upon him,' said the
other.
'I just had a bath,' Conan told them. 'If your master is unavailable, perhaps his wife would speak with me.'
'The Holy Mother Oppia is likewise occupied with spiritual matters,' said the first.
Conan's patience, never lengthy, had reached its limit. He grasped his hilt. 'Would they respond to cries of pain and distress from the entrance?' he growled.
'What is this?' It was a woman's voice. Instantly the two guards turned and bowed as the speaker emerged and passed between them. She was small but well shaped, her hair long and black, her skin dusky. A diamond glittered from one nostril, and a smooth red jewel had somehow been set into the flesh of her forehead.
The guards clapped and chanted, 'Holy Mother Oppia, Holy Mother Oppia.' She waved a hand and they fell silent.
'My name is Conan of Cimmeria, and I think we have business to discuss.'
'I cannot imagine why,' she said, 'but it is never our way to turn away supplicants. Please come inside.'
The guards had given no impression that this was a hospitable temple. Doubtless, Conan thought, the woman just did not wish to be seen speaking with him on the portico. Inside, the temple was illuminated by candles and votive fires burning before idols. The austere Temple of Mitra had been renovated in the overdecorated Vendhyan style. Every surface had been painted to depict ' Vendhyan deities going about their activities, many of the pursuits bloody, others obscene, most of them incomprehensible. There were as many animal as human figures in the decorations, and small monkeys seemed to have the run of the temple.
The temple proper was a vast room in which at least two-score worshippers chanted endlessly, clashing tuneless instruments and making what was, to Conan's ears, a hellish racket. The object of their adoration seemed to be an idol of the same huge-breasted female deity he had seen in the procession. The goddess sat cross-legged, her feet atop her thighs, and in her lap sat a man in the same knee-wrenching posture. His eyes were shut and he was motionless.
The woman led him up a flight of stairs to a second-floor gallery that completely encircled the nave below. Skylights above revealed the moon and stars. Oppia wore a single band of sky-blue silk wrapped tightly about her shoulders and descending almost to her ankles. Her feet were bare, their soles stained bright red.
The room into which she led Conan opened off the gallery. It was bare and businesslike, furnished only with chairs and a large desk stacked with parchments. The decoration was minimal, although sticks of incense burned in the hands of miniature idols. The woman seated herself behind the desk and addressed him coolly.
'You are a man of violence, a swordsman,' she said. 'I have
heard of you. We reject all forms of violence and coercion. Why have you come here?'
'If you will not bear arms,' Conan said, 'then all the more reason for you to hire someone who is more than willing to do so.'
'We have guards, albeit unarmed,' she pointed out.
'Like those two at the door?' Conan all but sneered. 'They are worthless, and you know it. What happens when the families of your acolytes hire bravos to come retrieve their young?''
She leaned back slightly, studying him from beneath lowered lids. 'Misguided persons sometimes wish to kidnap our followers, but we have arrangements with those who control the men of violence.'
'Then before long, the aggrieved families will go outside of town to hire their strong-arm men.' He could see that the thought concerned her. 'And are there not times when some of your followers grow reluctant to stay?''
'Sometimes, very rarely, an evil spirit, an enemy of Mother Doorgah's, infects one of the acolytes with an unreasoning urge to leave, but with patience and goodwill, we overcome these sacrilegious compulsions.'
Conan grinned. 'I can overcome them very quickly. I am good at that sort of work. Also, while I am sure that you have concerned yourself only with spiritual matters, you may have heard that the gangs in this city are fighting each other more and more. Your agreements with them may not hold for much longer. I am not affiliated with any of them.'
For the first time, she looked him over closely and quite openly. 'It may be that we ... that is, that Mother Doorgah can use a man like you. And if you abide here a while, who knows but that we may be able to bring you to the way of goodness and light?'' A minuscule, secret smile curved the corners of her mouth. 'Come, I will show you Mother Doorgah's domain here in the benighted west.' She came from behind the desk and he followed her back to the gallery.
'Here the faithful chant the daily offices,' she said, gesturing toward the nave below.
'How many are there?' he asked. 'Faithful, I mean, not offices.'
'We now have more than one hundred,' she said. 'We offer he blessings of Mother Doorgah to all, but we accept only those whose faith and devotion are sincere.' By which, Conan assumed, she meant as long as they kept the money coming in. 'Great-souled Andolla, my husband, is the conduit through which lows the word of Mother Doorgah.'
She led him into a side chapel. Here was another statue of the ;goddess; this time she was black, her naked body splattered with tainted blood. A necklace of human skulls depended from her leek, and she waved a sword as she danced atop a heap of entrails and severed limbs.
'This is Mother Doorgah in her aspect of the Drinker of Blood and Devourer of Entrails. All Vendhyan gods have both the creative and destructive aspects. We worship her primarily in her nurturing, birth-giving persona.' She smiled at him frostily. 'But re must not overlook her darker side.'
'That would be unwise,' Conan agreed. He disliked the eastern gods almost as much as he detested the pantheon of Stygia. He came of a dynamic, self-reliant people, and he had only contempt for the apathetic, fatalistic followers of such gods, who held inertia and nothingness as the highest good, oblivion as t
he only desirable state of existence.
'This,' said Oppia as they entered another room, 'is where lose whose faith falters practice austerities to restore them to the true way.' There were shackles hanging from the walls, and in the centre of the room was an X-shaped frame fitted with manacles and leg irons. Hanging from one of its arms was a multi-shed scourge, each thong studded with brass barbs.
'This should restore their belief if nothing else will,' observed the Cimmerian.
'I can see that you are a man of little faith,' she sniffed. 'That is only to be expected of a barbarian. Still, Mother Doorgah scorns no one, however base. Come.'
She showed him the gardens, the workshops, the kitchens and laundries, where all the housekeeping of the establishment was done. The temple owned no slaves. Rather, Conan thought, the acolytes were the slaves. They performed all the work. The beauty of the system was that ordinarily one had to pay for slaves. These actually paid to be enslaved. Far from running away, they had to be restrained from running back to the temple.
Behind the temple proper was a large house of four stories, with many rooms. Oppia showed him the large chambers used as dormitories by the acolytes. They were perfectly bare except for sleeping pallets, all of which were neatly rolled against the walls while the acolytes were at services. She described the daily routine of the worshippers, and Conan realised that the wealthy young converts were kept under a discipline stricter than that of military recruits. The offices went on day and night, and the acolytes never had more than two hours of sleep at any time. When they were not chanting, they were working. In the kitchens, he had seen that their diet consisted mainly of boiled gruel. In a state of perpetual starvation and exhaustion, their minds and wills were numbed. Conan was revolted, although he was careful not to reveal his feelings. It made ordinary slavery seem a clean thing by comparison. And yet he was certain that he had not seen the worst of it.
Finally she took him to a spacious apartment on the third floor. 'You will lodge here,' she said. 'I am sure that it is more comfortable than your accustomed quarters.'
The Conan Chronology Page 554