It was the light that had deceived Conan, a light that flooded the cave. A light that seemed to rise like smoke from green jewels piled deep inside the circle formed by the skeleton. The light of a greater mass of fire-stones than Conan had ever dreamed existed.
In the Black Kingdoms, Conan had heard the legend of the Dying Place of the Elephants. There, it was said, the great gray beasts went to end their days. There, ivory to buy a kingdom lay, waiting for some bold adventurer to stumble upon it.
He had never heard of such a tale about the Golden Serpents. Indeed, he had never heard of anyone who had seen more of a Golden Serpent than its fire-stone eyesand it was only a tale that Golden Serpents' eyes and fire-stones were one and the same.
Rather, it had been a tale. Now Conan knew it for the truth. In the skull, as large as a horse's, two vast, green orbs flashed. Their glow was identical to that of the jewels on the floor.
Conan softly let out his breath and stalked forward. Nothing living could have been more silent. In that silence, he reached the skeleton and knelt beside it, studying the eyes.
Now he understood why even such vast creatures as the Golden Serpents yielded so many fire-stones. Each eye was the size of a platter, and each one was made of twoscore or more stones. Some were as small as acorns, others as large as the finest Bossonian cider apples. All glowed with that unnatural light.
Conan also understood why the light had nothing of nature in it. No natural creature had such eyes; the Golden Serpents were magicians'
work. The same magicians who had wrought this maze in the rock, where he and Valeria might yet end their days? Perhaps. If so, they were long dead, and their creations likewise.
Then even that small comfort left Conan. A wind colder than any that ever blew in Cimmeria seemed to play upon his spine. Shreds of flesh still clung to the serpent's bones. Golden scales still covered a few of those shreds, and a faint miasma of decay rose from the greater part of them.
Had it been here since the time of its creators, this Golden Serpent's bones would have been fleshless, or the shreds of flesh mummified by the subterranean air. This creature had been living while Conan walked the earth above, perhaps even while he had fought and caroused with the Barachan pirates.
Conan motioned Valeria forward, then moved to where he could look both ways. He waited, steel at the ready, for her to study the bones and see what he had seen.
Chabano's eyes and ears were those of a warrior half his age. He did not need these to warn him of his spy's coming, for Ryku seemed as careless as a child of being seen or heard. He was first among the lesser God-Men, the Silent Brothers, but his lack of jungle craft made him anything but silent.
Chabano used the time he gained to place himself high on a branch above the trail. When the young God-Man came stamping into view like a warthog in rut, Chabano slung both spear and shield, then gripped a stout vine and leaped from his perch.
The other threw up his hands in dismay as Chabano seemed to fly down on him out of the sky. Then he flung himself back against the mossy bark of a forest tree and began silently mouthing curses.
"Cease," Chabano said. He put the tip of his spear under the man's chin and gently raised the weapon until the man closed his mouth. "Or do you think the gods will hear you without your masters also hearing?" the chief added. "Surely you came as if you feared no human foe."
"I do not," Ryku said. "I am in the land of friends."
Chabano laughed longer than was good for Ryku's pride, but he did not take the spear away. By the time the chief was done laughing, a drop of blood showed on Ryku's chin.
"Is friendship then a jest?" Ryku asked. He stood without trying to wipe away the blood, and met Chabano's eyes.
Again the chief decided there was enough courage here to deserve some reward. "It is not. Nor is it found among all the Kwanyi. At least not toward you, if it were known why you are here."
"Who would tell?"
"You would, if someone heated a spear and applied it to sufficient parts of your body to unman or blind you," Chabano said. "Do not deny it."
"I do not," Ryku said sturdily, but seeming a trifle bemused.
"As well. Do not, then, tread like an elephant when you come to our meetings. Even if you have no enemies, I do, and they might follow you to me."
"As you wish." Then Ryku took a more defiant tone. "One would think you feared that the over-throwers of Xuchotl were abroad in the land instead of your own warriors!"
"They could well be. Or do your masters know otherwise?"
"I came to tell you that they do not know one way or the other. They cannot even be sure what magic was wrought to bring down the Accursed City."
To Chabano, it seemed likely as not that it was the city folk's own magic that had finally sent them mad, and not outsider's spells. If they had then fallen on one another and cleansed the city of their foul and useless lives, so much the better.
The folk of Xuchotl had bred for too long, and to little purpose. Now they had left what would be a fine city from which to rule these lands when the Kwanyi under him had done with all their enemies.
That was a dream he would not dwell on, however. Not while this close to Ryku, who had the rank of Silent Brother but more of the God-Men's knowledge than a wise man would offend without good cause.
"Then what do the God-Men wish of the Kwanyi?"
"Who says they wish anything?"
"I, Paramount Chief of the Kwanyi, say so. When have you come to me without telling me some wishes of your masters? They know not what you bear to me, but you do it nonetheless."
"The First Speaker wishes as before to learn anything you discover of how Xuchotl was overthrown," Ryku said. "He also wishes the return of the slave girl taken by the Ichiribu on the night of their raid."
This last demand was new. "Nothing more?"
"It is enough for the First Speaker."
Chabano laughed coarsely. "I should say that a wench of that age is more than adequate for such an old man. What does he want of her?"
Ryku had enough courage, or enough fear of his leader to glare at Chabano, a thing few did and lived. "Know you not what it is to be a man with a woman? It will make a fine tale, that the great chief of the Kwanyi"
"dashed out the brains of a God-Man whose tongue flew too far too long," Chabano finished. He returned the glare, and Ryku fell silent.
"I shall discover what may be done prudently to return the girl, and then find men to do it. This is not to be doubted."
"I do not doubt it," Ryku said. He was wise enough to make no promises for the masters who did not know of his divided loyalties. "What of Xuchotl's fate?"
"What of it?" Chabano retorted. "To ask me to seek wielders of mighty magic is to ask the snake to hunt the leopard. Only by great good fortune will I win any knowledge worth having."
Ryku's gestures and face told Chabano that matters were unchanged. The God-Men would not put into Kwanyi hands any of their power, not even to seek the cause of Xuchotl's doom. They would rather remain in ignorance than risk giving others too much knowledge.
There lay the difference between the First Speaker of the Living Wind and the Paramount Chief of the Kwanyi. For knowledge, Chabano had given much, and might yet give more. There was another difference, too. The chief knew that the God-Men would use the magic of Xuchotl's foes against even the Kwanyi. He would not, if he could help it, give them the power to doom his people.
Ryku went through the rituals of farewell from hunter to chief, then withdrew. He could be heard for a shamefully long distance, but at least he seemed to be attempting silence.
Valeria knelt beside the skeleton and the glowing mass of fire-stones until she saw what Conan had wished her to see. Then she rose. It seemed that every movement of her joints, every breath she took, had to be loud enough to raise echoes and warn whatever lurked farther within this nightmare of stone.
She wanted to whisper, but when she tried to speak thus, no sound came out. Then she took a deep br
eath, bid fear kiss her hindquarters, and laughed aloud.
"So the Golden Serpents are no legend after all? This brute lost its scales a while back, I judge, but the eyes tell the tale."
Conan nodded. "And I'm thinking that it hasn't been dead for as long as the beast we found dead in the fungus cave."
"I wish it had been," Valeria said. "Even a slab of that fungus would seem like a banquet." She looked at the Cimmerian. "What are you staring at? The new shape of my stomach, after being so near empty these past days?"
The Cimmerian grinned. "You take it lightly, our sharing these tunnels with the Golden Serpents."
Valeria blinkedand realized that her eyes were not quite dry. She turned away, and Conan did her the courtesy of letting her stand thus until she had command of herself again.
"How should I take it?" she said at last. "We are, I think, at that time of an ordeal when one can either run mad or laugh. I'll laugh, if it's all the same to you."
Conan's roar raised echoes and made stones fall from the pile. He kissed her roundly on both cheeks, then on the lips, and finished with a smart slap to her rear.
"I'll have to buy that pox-ridden captain a drink the next time I see him. How else would I have won such a comrade if he hadn't driven you into flight?"
"The gods only know. I'd rather voyage with a bog-troll, as often as not." She knelt and set her boots on the floor.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Conan, this may be our last hoard of fire-stones. Have you forgotten that I am of the Red Brotherhood, that you have a name among the Barachans, and that good pirates do not leave fine loot to gather dust?"
Conan laughed shortly and joined her at her work. The fire-stones were light for their size, and enough to fill the toes of their boots was no great burden.
Magic might be in the stones, of course, magic as evil as any in Xuchotl. They might even draw other Golden Serpents, living ones, to avenge the theft of their dead mates' treasures.
Valeria did not care. The magic here would slay her and the Cimmerian or not, as fate would have it. It would no longer put her in fear.
As for the Golden Serpents, let them come. A day or two more and she would be ready not only to spit one on her sword, but to eat it raw afterward!
SIX
-
"Conan," Valeria whispered, "I smell cooking fat. Or else my wits have finally parted their mooring lines."
Conan sniffed the air, more damp and mephitic of late than before. They had come, he judged, half a league through scum-coated water that seemed to both ooze from below and drip from above. He wondered if they were under a river, or more likely, a lake.
At times, the water was no more than a thin coating of slime on the stone, which made footing treacherous even for two nimble warriors like the Cimmerian and his companion. At other times, it rose to their ankles, or even to their knees. After the first such place, Valeria slung her jewel-laden boots about her neck. The Cimmerian's greater stature allowed him to keep his treasure riding at his waist. Neither needed the boots to guard leather-tough feet, and indeed, preferred bare toes by which to feel out lurking menaces.
When knee-deep, the water seemed sometimes almost solid with plant and animal matter that the ancient magic of these tunnels had been unable to keep alive. In those places, it exhaled a noisome stench that made even the hardened Cimmerian wish for something to bind over his mouth and nose.
He wished even more to know what sort of creature had risen to attack Valeria on the day they had entered this maze. Was it a water-dweller, and were they perhaps approaching the lair of more of the breed?
Well-wielded steel was an answer to most creatures, but if the water grew much deeper, swordplay would be sadly slowed… to say nothing of what this muck could hardly fail to do to their blades
Conan finished his sniffing. "Your wits are as sound as ever. I smell it, too. Fish oil, I'd wager."
"What do you have to wager with, Cimmerian?"
"Not as much as you, I'll be bound, but"
It was Valeria who held up one hand and pointed with the dagger in the other. "Stairs?"
Conan's eyes followed the gesture. "If they're not, my eyes are failing me."
Valeria grimaced. "It does seem darker along here." Even her courage was not proof against the thought of the light abandoning them. Magical as it was, they owed their lives to it.
"All the more reason to start climbing the stairs, then."
Between them and the entry to the stairs, the water deepened almost to Valeria's waist. They pushed forward through the filth, greasy whorls of floating muck drifting to either side as they advanced. Conan had both sword and dagger drawn now, and held the weapons clear of the water, ready to strike down at the slightest hint of alien presence.
Nothing except muck and foul odors impeded their passage, although they were black and dripping from thighs to feet when they reached dry stone. Conan climbed the first few steps, reached a spot where the wall had cracked and now sagged across his path, and went to his hands and knees.
He could barely creep under the stone. Ten paces farther along, he could barely move at allbut the sight ahead made his heart leap with hope.
The stairs wound up into natural darkness that reeked of fish oil, animal fat, and burned grain. In places, the steps had crumbled and would offer precarious footing, even without the darkness. In one place, the stairs seemed to rise up a vertical chimney that would need to be climbed with back against one wall and feet against the other.
Far above, like a single star shining on a rainy night, a dim yellow light glowed. Firelight, to Conan's eyes, with no magic about it.
Rather, it told of human presence.
The only problem was that he was just a finger's breadth too large to pass through the gap and begin the ascent. Even his strength might not be equal to shifting the fallen slab, and could well bring the mass down on top of them if he succeeded.
Thank Mitra, there was another way, or at least another hope. Groping into the open, Conan's hand touched a puddle of congealed grease.
Clearly, it had dripped down from above, where what must be a cook fire burned cheerfully.
Conan started retracing his steps. For a moment, he feared he would become wedged; then he felt Valeria tugging at his ankles. Her lithe strength made the difference. Conan slid free, coughed dust from his throat, and stood up.
"You'll have to go first. Slip through the gap, then pass all the grease you'll find"
"Grease?"
"Somebody's done years of cooking up above. The grease must have been dripping"
"Grease?"
"If I want an echo, woman, I'll shout! Go up and see for yourself if you doubt me."
Valeria shook her head hastily, then grinned. "In truth, why should I be surprised? This is the maddest quest I've ever been on. It would disappoint me if it did not stay so to the end."
Conan kept to himself the thought that the quest might be far from over. They could not be out of the jungle yet, or even into the borderlands of the Black Kingdoms, where the name of Amra carried some weight. The people above might be friendly and welcoming; they might also greet him and Valeria with spears, or even with that cook fire that now seemed so merry. There were not as many cannibals in this land as legend had it, but there were enough.
"Well, then. Let's not stand about scratching each other's fleas like a pair of apes. Up!"
Valeria scrambled up the stairs and vanished ahead. Conan followed, to see Valeria's boots and sole garment lying on the stone. She herself was nowhere to be seen, but from the far side of the gap came the sound of someone desperately trying not to spew.
"You mean to smear yourself with this to pass through the gap?"
"Do you see any perfumed oil about?"
"Ask a foolish question…" Valeria muttered. Then Conan saw her, nude and pale in the darkness, kneeling to smear grease on the stone at the narrowest passage. Only when she had finished that work did she begin tossing handf
uls of the grease through the passage to the Cimmerian.
The stuff reeked like a kitchen-midden, and its touch made Conan's flesh crawl. Still, he went to work vigorously, smearing the grease on his skin as fast as Valeria passed it through to him.
"What happens if you still can't make your way past?" Valeria asked.
"Then you climb up yourself and ask the folk above to come down and chip away a passage for me. I'm no more than a finger's breadth too large. It will be no great matter."
He thought he heard Valeria mutter again. "If they don't think I'm a witch or a madwoman, no doubt it will." Then the Cimmerian tossed his weapons and garments through the gap, lay down, and began his passage.
The grease helped. He was almost through this time before he became wedged firmly in place. He stretched out both arms for Valeria to grip, and she added her strength and weight to his. He did not budge.
Conan groped with his feet, seeking a stout rest that would let him use the full power of his massive legs. One foot flailed in the air; the other found the wall. Conan willed all the strength of his body into the muscles of that leg, felt himself moving even as the rock flayed skin from his back and shoulders, then felt the rock itself move.
If he had summoned all his strength before, he now summoned that and half again as much. He heaved upward and forward, ignoring the wrenching of muscles and the creaking of bones. More skin vanished, and his lungs seemed filled with red-hot sand as he fought for the breath not merely to live by, but that he might fight and prevail.
The Cimmerian's strength was equal to the task. The stone did not slip and crush him. Instead, it held firm for a momentthen, incredibly, it opened wider.
Conan thought he heard Valeria utter what might have been either a prayer or an oath. He knew he felt her long fingers gripping his wrists again, and as the grip tightened, she flung herself backward.
For one more moment, the rock held Conan, and he was not sure which would happen firsthis pulling free, or his arms wrenching out of their sockets. Then the tiny widening of the opening, the grease on skin and rock, his own strength, and Valeria's desperate efforts all joined to send him flying out of the gap. He landed almost on top of Valeria, and it was a while before either of them caught their breath enough to notice it. Even then, the woman did not protest. She only smiled and threw an arm around Conan's neck.
The Conan Compendium Page 607