When he did, the thick slab lifted. With Hordo's aid he slid it aside, then scrambled warily up. A heavy smell of incense filled the air. As the others followed with torches, Conan saw that he was in a windowless room filled with barrels and bales. Some of the bales were broken open to reveal incense sticks.
"A temple?" the Cimmerian asked in disbelief. "The passage comes out in the cellar of a temple?"
Hordo laughed and nodded. Motioning for silence, the one-eyed man climbed a wooden ladder fastened to one wall, and cautiously lifted a trapdoor. His head went up for a quick look, then he motioned the rest to follow and scrambled out himself.
Conan was quick to follow. He found himself in dim light from silver lamps, between a large rectangular block of marble and a towering, shadowed statue. With a start it came to him that he was between the altar stone and the idol of Erebus, a place where none but sanctified priests were allowed. But then, what was one death sentence more or less?
Quickly everyone found their way out of the cellar and, by way of narrow halls of pale marble, to a courtyard behind the temple. There two more of the Free-Company waited with the horses. And, Conan was glad to note, with hauberk, helm and scimitar for him. Hastily he armed himself properly.
"We can be beyond the city walls," Hordo said, swinging into his saddle, "before they think to look outside the Palace."
"We cannot leave yet," Conan said quietly. He settled his helm on his head and likewise mounted.
"Ariane is in Albanus' hands."
"Yet another woman?" Karela said dangerously.
"She befriended Hordo and me," Conan said, "and as reward for it Albanus has her. I swore to see her safely out of this, and I will."
"You and your oaths," Karela muttered, but when he galloped out of the courtyard she was first of the company behind him.
Chapter XXIII
Isolated plumes of smoke rose into the bright afternoon sky above Belverus, marking houses of the wealthy that had been visited by revolutionary mobs. The sound of those mobs could be heard from time to time, borne on the breeze. It was a wordless, hungering snarl.
Once in that gallop across the city Conan saw one of those howling packs, some three of four score ragged men and women pounding at the locked doors and barred windows of a house with axes, swords, rocks, their bare hands. In the same instant that he saw them, they became aware of the Free-Company. A growl rippled through them, a sound that seemed impossible to come from a human throat, and like rats pouring from a sewer they threw themselves toward the mounted men. In their eyes was a hatred of any who had more than they, even if it was only armor. Many of the weapons they waved were bloodied.
"The bows will drive them back," Hordo shouted.
Conan was not so sure. There was desperation in those faces. "Ride," he commanded.
Galloping on, they quickly left the mob behind, yet even as it was disappearing from sight its members kept pursuing, their howls heard long after they could no longer be seen.
On reaching Albanus' palace, Conan did not pause. "Every third man stay with the horses," he commanded. "Everybody else over the wall. Bring your bows. Not you," he added, as Karela maneuvered her horse close to the wall.
"You do not command me, Cimmerian," she spat back. "I go where I please."
"Erlik take all hardheaded women," Conan muttered, but he said no more to her.
Standing on his saddle and taking a care where he placed his hands among the pottery shards, he hoisted himself to the top of the wall. As if they had trained for such a thing Hordo, Karela and four and twenty of the others smoothly followed. Below, half a score of men ran from the gatehouse. They had only time to gape before arrows humming like hornets cut them down.
Conan dropped to the ground inside, his eyes blue ice, and ran past the bodies. He half heard the thuds of the others following, but he paid them no mind. Ariane filled his mind. His word had sent her to Albanus. Now his honor demanded he free her if it cost his own life.
With a single heave of his massive arm he threw back one of the tall door of the palace. Before the crash of its striking the marble wall had finished reverberating in the columned hall, a helmeted man in the cloak of the Golden Leopards ran to face the young Cimmerian giant, sword in hand.
"Ariane," Conan shouted as he beat aside the soldier's attack. "Where are you, Ariane?" His blade half-severed the man's head; he kicked the falling body aside and hurried deeper into the palace.
"Ariane!"
More Golden Leopards appeared now, and Conan threw himself at them in a frenzy, his wild battle cry ringing from the arched ceiling, his blade slashing and hacking as if possessed of a demon, or wielded by one. The soldiers fell back in confusion, leaving three of their number dead or dying, unsure of how to face this wildman of the barbarian northcountry. Then Hordo and the others were on them as well. The one-eyed man's fierce mien was matched by the ferocity of his attack. Karela danced among them, blade darting like a wasp, each time drawing back blooded.
Even as the last body fell, Conan was shouting to his men. "Spread out. Search every room, if need be.
Find the girl called Ariane."
He himself strode through the halls like an avenging god. Servants and slaves took one look at the thundercloud of his face and fled. He let them go, seeking only one person. Then he saw another that interested him. The gray-bearded chamberlain tried to run, but Conan seized a fistful of the man's tunic and lifted him till only the other's toes touched the floor.
Conan's voice held the promise of death. "Where is the girl Ariane, chamberlain?"
"I... I know no girl-"
Conan's arm knotted, lifted the other clear of the floor. "The girl," he said softly Sweat beaded the chamberlain's face. "Lord Albanus," he gasped. "He took her to the Royal Palace."
With a groan the Cimmerian let the gray-bearded man drop. The chamberlain darted away; Conan let him go. The Palace. How could he get to her there? Could he return through the secret passage from the Temple of Erebus? He would spend the rest of his life wandering in the ancient labyrinth without ever finding his way into the newer Palace.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned to find Hordo bearing down on him, Machaon and Karela close behind.
"Machaon found someone in the dungeons," Hordo said quickly. "Not the girl. A man who looks like King Garian, and even claims he-"
"Show me," Conan said. Hope took life again within him.
The dungeons beneath Albanus' palace were much like any others, rough stone, heavy wooden doors on rusting hinges, a thick smell of stale urine and fear sweat. Still, when Conan looked into the cell to which Machaon led him, he smiled as if it were a fountained garden.
The ragged, dirty man chained to the wall stirred uncertainly. "Well, Conan," he said, "have you joined Albanus and Vegentius?"
"Derketo," Karela breathed. "He does look like Garian."
"He is Garian," Conan said. "That bruise on his cheek names him so."
Garian's chains clanked as he touched the bruise. He laughed shakily. "To be known by so little a thing."
"If this be Garian," Karela demanded, "then who sits on the Dragon Throne?"
"An impostor," Conan replied. "He has no bruise. Fetch me hammer and chisel. Quickly." Machaon disappeared to return in moments with the required items.
As Conan knelt to lay chisel to the first manacle at Garian's ankle, the King said, "You will be rewarded for this, barbarian. All that Albanus possesses will be yours when I regain the throne."
Conan did not speak. One mighty blow with the hammer split the riveted iron band open. He moved to the next.
"You must get me out of the city," Garian went on. "Once I reach the army, all will be well. I grew up in those camps. They will know me. I'll return at the head of ten thousand swords to tear Albanus from the Palace."
"And to start a civil war," Conan said. He freed the other ankle, again with a single blow. "The impostor looks much like you. Many will believe he is you, most especially since he sp
eaks from the Dragon Throne. Perhaps even the army will not be as quick to believe as you think."
Hordo groaned. "No, Cimmerian. This is not our affair. Let us put the border behind us."
Neither Conan nor Garian paid him any mind. The King was silent until Conan had broken off the manacles from his wrists. Then he said quietly, "What do you suggest, Conan?"
"Re-enter the Palace," Conan said as though that were the easiest thing in the world. "Confront the imposter. Not all the Golden Leopards can be traitors. You can regain your throne without a sword being lifted outside the Palace walls." He did not think it politic to mention the mobs roaming the streets.
"A bold plan," Garian mused. "Yet most of the Golden Leopards are loyal to me. I overheard those who guarded me here talking. We will do it. I go to regain my throne, Cimmerian, but you have already gained my eternal gratitude." His regal manner was returning to him. He regarded his own filth with an amused smile. "But if I am to re-enter the Palace, I must wash and garb myself to look the King."
As Garian strode from the cell, shouting for hot water and clean robes, Conan frowned, wondering why the King's last words had been so disquieting. But there was no time to consider that now. There was Ariane to think of.
"Cimmerian," Karela said angrily, "if you think I will ride at your side back to the Palace, you are a bigger fool than I believe you. 'Tis a deathtrap."
"I have not asked you to go," he replied. "Often enough you've told me you go where you will."
Her scowl said that was neither the answer she expected nor the one she wanted.
"Hordo," the Cimmerian went on, "bring the men in from the street. Let all know where we go. Let those who will not follow go. I'll have no man ride with me this day against his will."
Hordo nodded and left. Behind Conan Karela uttered an inarticulate oath. Conan ignored her, his mind already occupied with the problem of gaining entry to the Palace and, more important to him than regaining Garian's throne, getting Ariane free.
When Conan strode from the palace with Garian, now resplendent in the best scarlet velvet he could find to fit him, the Cimmerian was not surprised to find all eight and thirty of his men mounted and waiting, even those who bore wounds from the past hour's fighting. He knew he had chosen good men. He was surprised though, to see Karela sitting her horse beside Hordo. Her green glare dared him to question her presence. He mounted without speaking. There were enough problems to be confronted that day without another argument with her.
"I am ready," Garian announced as he climbed into the saddle. He had a broadsword strapped on over his tunic.
"Let us ride," Conan commanded, and led the small band out of the palace grounds at a gallop.
Chapter XXIV
The approach to the Palace, up the winding streets to the top of the hill and across the greensward to the drawbridge, was made at a slow walk. Garian rode slightly to the front of Conan. A King should lead his army, he had said, even when it was a small one. Conan agreed, hoping the sight of Garian would make the guards hesitate enough to let them get inside.
At the drawbridge they dismounted, and the guards there indeed stared open-mouthed as Garian strode up to them.
"Do you recognize me?" Garian demanded.
Both nodded, and one said, "You are the King. But how did you leave the Palace? There was no call for an honor guard."
Conan breathed a sigh of relief. There were not Vegentius' men. The guards eyed those behind the King, most especially Karela, but kept their main attention on Garian.
"Do you think the King does not know the secret ways beneath this hill?" Garian smiled as if the thought were laughable. As the two guards began to smile as well, though, his face became grim. "Are you loyal men? Loyal to your King?"
The two stiffened as one, and both recited the oath of the Golden Leopards as if to remind Garian of it.
"My sword follows he who wears the Dragon Crown. My flesh is a shield for the Dragon Throne. As the King commands, I obey, to the death."
Garian nodded. "Then know that there is a plot against the Dragon Throne, and its perpetrators are Lord Albanus and Commander Vegentius."
Conan put his hand to his sword as the soldiers started, but they merely stared at the King.
"What are we to do?" one of them asked finally.
"Take those who are in the barbican," Garian told them, "leaving only two to lower the portcullis and guard the gate, and go with them to your barracks. Rouse all who are there. Let your cry be, 'Death to Albanus and Vegentius!' Any who will not shout that are enemies of the Dragon Throne, even if they wear the golden cloak."
"Death to Albanus and Vegentius," one guard said, and the other repeated it.
When they had disappeared into the barbican, Garian sagged. "I did not think it would be this easy," he told Conan.
"It won't be," Conan assured him.
"I still think I should have told them of the imposter, Cimmerian."
Conan shook his head. "It would only confuse them. They'll find out after he's dead, if luck is with us." It mattered little to him when or how they found out, so long as there was enough confusion for his purposes. He eyed the door to the barbican. What took them so long?
Suddenly there was a cry from inside the stone gatehouse, cut abruptly short. One of those who had stood at the gate appeared in the door with a bloody blade in his fist. "There was one who would not say it," he said.
One by one those others who had been on guard slipped out, sword in hand. Each paused long enough to say to the King, "Death to Albanus and Vegentius," then trotted into the Palace.
"You see," Garian told Conan as they led the Free-Company through the gate. "It will be easy."
As the portcullis rattled down behind them, shouts rang out from the direction of the Golden Leopards'
quarters, and the clash of swords. An alarm gong began to ring, then stopped with a suddenness that spoke of the death of him who had sounded it. The sounds of fighting spread.
"I want to find Albanus," Garian said. "And Vegentius."
Conan only nodded. He, too, wanted Albanus. Vegentius he would take if he came across him. He hurried on, the Free-Company deployed behind him. First he would try the throne room.
Abruptly two score golden-cloaked soldiers appeared ahead.
"For Garian!" Conan called, not slowing. "Death to Albanus and Vegentius!"
"Kill them!" came the reply. "For Vegentius!"
The two groups ran together roaring, swords swinging.
Conan ripped the throat from the first man he faced without even crossing swords, and then he was like a machine, blade rising and falling and rising again bloodier than before. The way was forward. He hacked his way through, like a peasant through a field of wheat, chopping and moving forward, leaving bloody human stubble behind.
And then he was clear of the melee. He did not pause to see how his companions fared against those who had survived his blade. The numbers were on the Free-Company's side, now, and he yet had to find Ariane. Of Garian he cared not one way or the other.
Straight to the throne room he ran. The guards that normally stood at the great carven doors were gone, drawn into the fighting that sounded now in every corridor. The door that usually was opened by three men, Conan pushed open unaided.
The great columned chamber stood empty, the Dragon Throne guarding it with a malignant glare.
The King's apartments, Conan thought. He set out still at a run, and those who faced him died. He no longer waited to call out the challenge. Any who wore the golden cloak and did not flee were the enemy.
Few fled, and he regretted killing them only for the delay it caused him. Ariane. They slowed him finding Ariane.
Karela stalked the Palace halls like a panther. She was alone, now. After the first fight she had searched among the bodies for Conan, uncertain whether she wanted to find him or not. There had not been long to look, for other soldiers loyal to Vegentius had appeared, and the fighting that followed had carried all who still s
tood away from that spot. She had seen Garian laying about him, and Hordo desperately trying to fight his way to her side. The one-eyed man had been like death incarnate, yet she was glad he had not been able to follow. There was that she had to do of which her faithful hound would not approve.
Suddenly there was a man before her, blood from a scalp wound trickling down his too-handsome face.
The sword in his hand was stained as well, and from the way he moved he knew how to use it.
"A wench with a sword," he laughed. "Best you throw it down and run, else I might think you intend to use it."
She recognized him then. "You run, Demetrio. I have no wish to soil my blade with your blood." She had no quarrel with him, but he stood between her and where she wanted to go.
His laugh turned into a snarl. "Bitch!" He lunged, expecting an easy kill.
With ease she beat aside his overconfident attack and slashed him across the chest with her riposte.
Shaken, he leaped back. She followed, never allowing him to set himself for the attack again. Their blades flashed intricate silver patterns in the air between them, ringing almost continually. He was good, she admitted, but she was better. He died with a look of incredulous horror on his face.
Stepping over his body-she hurried on, until at last she came to the chambers she sought. Carefully she pushed the door open with her blade.
Sularia, in the blue velvet robes of a noblewoman, faced her, frowning. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Some lord's leman? Don't you know enough not to enter my apartments without permission? Well, as you're here, what word of the fighting?" Her eye fell on the bloody sword in Karela's hand, and she gasped.
"You sent a friend of mine to the lowest of Zandru's Hells," Karela said quietly. With measured paces she stepped into the room. The blonde backed away before her.
"Who are you? I know none who are friends of your sort. Leave my chambers immediately, or I'll have you flogged."
Karela laughed grimly. "Jelanna would not know your sort, either, but you know of her. As for me, I do not expect you to recognize the Lady Tiana without her veils."
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