Conan the Rebel

by Poul Anderson

  'The more I think about this thing,' he answered, 'the wiser it appears to me that we have the lot of them killed out of hand: Conan, the Taian princess, Jehanan, yes, and that Ophirite Falco. ' Abort his deadly destiny, together with the three lesser fates which are somehow linked to it.'

  'My lord, forgive me, but I must say that fear speaks through your lips, not reason,' the priestess-witch retorted. 'We must probe deeper, learn more, before we take any such drastic action. Else the chain of future events that we sever could recoil upon us in unforeseeable ways. For example, Mitra,' at the name of the hated Sun god, both persons uttered a hiss and drew a serpentine line through the air, 'might find another than Conan able to wield the Ax that was forged in heaven, if that is indeed what he is intended for; and this time we would have no forewarning of who or where. We must gather clues, trace out the possibilities in him, before we can ascertain how the deeds he is to do may safely and permanently be prevented from ever coming to pass.'

  'Aye, true,' Tothapis conceded. 'But we have drugs and torture for quick interrogation of him and the rest. Instead, not only have

  the

  you demanded he be luxuriously maintained in the Keep of the Manticore, you want all of them brought together. No!'

  'Potions and pangs will get but little out of that strong, stubborn warrior,' Nehekba argued. 'They should be our last resort, short of his execution, not our first. Whereas if we let the prisoners meet, let them talk and act freely, unaware they are observed, they will reveal everything about themselves – including, I am sure,, whatever weaknesses Conan has that we can use against him.'

  Tothapis remained uneasy. Nehekba persisted: 'What is to fear? No mortal has ever escaped from the Manticore. Be zealous in the'! service of Set, and Our Master of Night will aid you. Does he not delight in guile?'

  Decision crystallized in the wizard. 'Very well,' he said, 'we will try it.'

  He traced the sign and spoke the words that opened a way for' vision and hearing between this house and the castle. The scene that appeared was of a room occupied by the officer of the day. He saw nothing in return, and started apprehensively when the voice of Tothapis addressed him. Scrambling to his feet, he saluted and heard his orders, while sweat sprang forth on his skin. 'Yes, great lord, it shall be done at once,' he chattered.

  Tothapis and Nehekba followed the progress of the men he' summoned. Those carried their assignments through without, incident. After they had departed from the common room, the priest kept his view on the four who were now there. Getting her ' first close look at Conan, Nehekba drew a sharp breath and leaned avidly forward.

  When the door of his apartment opened, the Cimmerian snatched up a chair. His wild hope was that he could brain whoever entered and somehow make his way out of prison. He snarled in disappointment and dropped the weapon as he saw an entire squad of fully armed soldiers. If they were here to fetch him for torture or worse, he would attack and die fighting. But the treatment he had received thus far, baffling though it was, made that seem unlikely. Instead of chains and a dungeon cell, he had been given palatial quarters high in this great building. A physician had poulticed injuries. A barber came in daily, well guarded, to shave him. The rays that passed through a small hinged panel in the door carried delicious food and drink, in abundance. A closet held a variety of fine garments in his size. There was a pool in which he could swim as well as bathe, with fresh water pumped in from outside each time he had drained it. After three days of such conditions he suffered from no more than rage at being confined, longing for daylight, and puzzlement tinged with fear of what this might portend.

  'Rejoice,' said the chief of the squad in accented Shemitish. 'In his kindness, lord Tothapis has decided you should not languish alone, but may have company during certain hours. Come with us.'

  Bewildered, heart thumping beneath his tunic, Conan obeyed. The men conducted him down a corridor whose doors resembled those of his place and doubtless concealed similar appointments. At the end, it gave on a large chamber, richly carpeted, well furnished, full of light and soft air from open windows. Whitewashed walls bore murals of flowers and wildfowl. A large carafe of wine and four crystal goblets stood on a table. Three people, already present, stared as Conan entered.

  'We will bring you back at dinnertime,' the Stygian officer said. He and his men withdrew. Conan heard a heavy bolt slam down. The chamber had but one single exit. Driven by his wish to be free, he went to the nearest window and glanced out. As he had expected, it offered no egress, just a sheer wall going down to the same paved courtyard that his balcony overhung, impossible to climb or jump without smashing himself.

  He turned to confront the others. 'My name is Conan, and I hail from the far northern country of the Cimmerians,' he declared in Shemitish. 'Are you captives here, too?'

  'I – I believe so,' replied the youth. 'I certainly am. We have none of us met before. I am Falco, a son of the Baron of Kirjahan in Ophir.'

  Conan nodded. The fellow's nationality was plain to see, despite Stygian garb. Perhaps eighteen years old, he stood slim, a trifle on the short side, but lithely muscled. Fair-skinned, hazel-eyed, hair ruddy brown, his regular features showed him to be of the western Ophirites, civilized, courdy-mannered, often commercial-minded, rather than of the hard-riding plainsmen in the east of that kingdom; but he would surely have been taught to keep a saddle, shoot a bow, and wield a blade as well as to read, write, and make music for ladies. Conan recalled maps he had seen. Ophir lay north of Shem, and Kirjahan was not far from the Aquilonian border.

  Falco bowed to the woman in the group. 'And may we ask your name, my lady?' he said.

  Conan regarded her with pleasure. She was very tall for her sex, slender but well proportioned and firm-fleshed in a gauzy gown, her hair and eyes dark but her complexion more nearly golden, her countenance moulded out of those of several races but finely formed. The look she gave him was bold, in no way coquettish. She J started to address them in a language he did not recognize, except that it seemed to belong to the Hyborian family. Seeing that nobody understood, she changed over to Stygian.

  'She is Daris of Taia,' Falco interpreted. 'Her father Ausar has taken the lead in the revolt of that province against King Mentuphera.' He hesitated, concern upon his boyish visage. 'If her father yet lives.'

  Conan frowned. After his experience he could not help feeling wary of anyone called Taian. 'How came she here?' he asked.

  Falco inquired, got a reply, and explained briefly what had happened. Conan's suspicions fell from him. 'Why, good for you, girl!' he said. 'Your heart is sister to Bêlit's.'

  The fourth person present uttered a broken cry. The attention of the rest swung to him. A big, sturdily built Shemite, he had stood ' apart, silent, shoulders stooped, grief etched in every line of his cruelly maltreated face. 'Who are you?' Conan inquired.

  'I am no one, nothing,' was the mumbled response. Abruptly the downcast eyes lifted to meet the Cimmerian's. 'But did I hear you speak: a name?'

  'Yes. Bêlit's, the corsair queen of the Black Coast -'

  Conan got no chance to finish. The stranger stumbled forward and seized his arms in a grip that even he found painful. He heard a hoarse scream: 'Lives she, then? How fares she?'

  'As well as may be,' Conan said. 'She has a galley and a crew of Suba pirates to harry ships and shores in vengeance -' A terrible

  thought struck home. 'Who are you?'

  The Shemite let him go. 'I was Jehanan, her brother.' He slumped onto a chair, his body driven by sobs that came from the depths of his breast.

  'Jehanan!' Conan squatted down beside the weeping man, embraced him, and said quickly, 'Hearken. I am Bêlit's lover now, and we were utterly happy together until I was lured ashore by a false promise that I could liberate you, Jehanan, and bring you hack to her. By the lance of Crom, I will do that yet!'

  'No. No. She would not want to see what I have become.'

  'What do some scars matter?'

  'In these of
mine -' Jehanan touched face, left shoulder, ribs -'dwells pain unending. I can move about despite it, work, fight, aye. But it unmans me, and sleep comes only with exhaustion.'

  Conan gasped. He released the other and rose, to stand white-cheeked, nostrils wide, muscles aquiver and iron-hard throughout his mighty frame. Falco drew Daris clear of him. After a moment, Conan roared. The lion sound echoed and re-echoed in the room. He seized a heavy table and battered it to kindling against the floor.

  Then he could speak. 'They will pay, they will pay, they will pay such a weregild as the world never knew ere now.' He began to prowl, back and forth. His tone became swordblade-flat. 'Jehanan, do not despair. If nothing else, there is revenge to be had. And later, well, cool sea air and wide sea horizons bring much peace to the soul. What we must do is plan our escape. To that end, first we must all of us exchange all the information we have.'

  He bent his glare on Falco. 'We start with you, young sir,' he said. 'How do you come to be here, and what do you know about the place?'

  The Ophirite flushed. He was not used to being ordered around like a commoner. But having considered more closely the giant who paced before him, he said respectfully, 'If you wish it – of course. May I suggest we sit down over some wine?'

  Conan shook his head. 'Do as you please, but talk,' he grated. His wrath was his own intoxication; it was as if he could hear edged metal whistling and clattering in his skull, and a bitter taste was on his tongue.

  Falco filled three glasses. The first he offered to Daris, who took it' and perched alertly on a settee. The next was for Jehanan, who snatched and gulped while tears still cataracted from his eyes. The third he brought over to the Taian maiden, joined her, sipped, murmured, 'Excellent,' and leaned back to converse.

  'I sorrow at the tragedy I have learned of,' he said, 'but frankly, sir, I cannot believe escape is possible, and I actually wonder if it would be quite desirable. Perhaps I should begin at the beginning.

  'I am a younger son of the Baron of Kirjahan, and thus my hope of advancement has lain away from home, in the direct service of my king. A year or more ago, his intelligence officers had assembled facts that, taken together, appeared ominous – things that travellers abroad had seen and heard, reports of troop recruitment here, invoices of exports to Stygia, and the like. Its King Mentuphera. is known to be a man vauntingly ambitious for power and glory. Could he be preparing a venture that would threaten Ophir?

  'Finally, Lord Zarus of Vendishan was dispatched to Luxur, the Stygian royal seat. Ostensibly he was – is – a special ambassador, sent to discuss such matters as the improvement of trade relations between our countries and cooperation in the suppression of piracy. In fact, he is to gather what intelligence he can. I was in his entourage as an amanuensis.

  'Forbidden to go more than a few miles from the city, discouraged from meeting people, incessantly spied upon, our mission nevertheless collected enough clues in the course of several months that Zarus did come to. fear something dangerous was in train. Finally, I offered to burgle the Stygian foreign office, where more evidence should be. I had memorized much about the building plan and the routine of workers and guards. Lord Zarus warned me that if I was caught, he would have to disown me and my fate would likely be grim. I went ahead regardless.'

  Contemplating the Ophirite, Conan thought, with a hint of wryness in the middle of his fury, that no boy of spirit ever really believes he can die. Still, it was a spirit, the Cimmerian admired.

  'I wormed my way in one night,' Falco continued. 'By a dark lantern I found and read a file of correspondence meant for very few eyes. Yes, it showed that King Mentuphera. has made secret allies of several city-states in Shem, as well as those tributary to him. They plan a joint invasion and conquest of Ophir. If that succeeds, they will be at the frontier of Aquilonia. Weakly and foolishly ruled, racked by civil strife, it will soon fall to them, isolating Argos for later attention. Vast will be the domains of Mentuphera. and the cold glee of Set.'

  He winced, then shrugged in an effort to appear a self-possessed man of the world. 'Unfortunately, I was caught. Perhaps somebody noticed my lantern beam by sheer ill fortune, or perhaps a magician's familiar scuttled off to bear tidings – know not. I drew my rapier, killed one guard -' surely his first kill, Conan thought -'and wounded more, but their numbers overcame me.'

  He stared out a window. His voice dropped. 'What followed was eldritch. I was not tortured or beheaded or anything like that. Instead, they soon took me by hidden ways to a dock where a priest-manned boat waited, a boat driven not by oars or sail but by demonic fires, spreading wings to skim the water so fast that we reached Khemi in two nights and a day. I heard it is the sole vessel of its kind, built in ancient Acheron by magical arts since lost. The chief priest aboard spoke little to me but did admit that seldom have prisoners been thus conveyed. He also told me that his government would make no complaint about my action, would not mention me at all, and leave Lord Zarus to wonder what had happened.

  'At journey's end I was brought here and put in soft confinement. Here I have been since, a matter of weeks.'

  'Have you any idea why you are so carefully handled?' Conan asked.

  Falco nodded. A blush reddened his face. 'Yes, sir, I do, and that is the reason I wonder if our escape would necessarily be a good thing. Instead, perhaps we should hope for eventual release.'

  Conan halted, folded his great arms, and scowled. 'Say on.'

  Falco drank deep and avoided the Cimmerian's whetted gaze. 'Well, I have been having a frequent visitor. The most wondrous lady -'

  Jehanan brought his head sharply up. He tensed.

  Falco sighed. 'Yes, the lady Senufer is a dream of beauty and, well, love. I have, uh, some knowledge of women, but never had I

  imagined there could be one like her. She is living proof that not Stygians are bad and, and in fact, peace is not a lost cause.'

  'Never mind her body,' Conan said with a sardonic grin. 'Tell me! about her business.'

  'Well,' Falco responded, 'she has explained to me that a strong party in favour of peace does exist among the nobility. They see no gain worth making in foreign adventures. Rather, many of them would like the country opened up, letting new ideas come in from abroad. They are striving to change the king's mind, and they do have considerable influence. One of them learned about my capture immediately afterward and thought I should be preserved as a – oh -a potential liaison. His associates could not get me freed, but they could arrange for my detention here. Senufer is... remarkable in every way. At first she simply came wanting to make my acquaintance, that she might report on me to her kinsmen, but soon -' Fiery red, he tossed off his wine.

  Jehanan could endure no more. He sprang to his feet and croaked, 'Believe her not. She is another fiend, like her who sought me out. You will learn that to your sorrow, boy.' 'What do you mean?' Conan rapped.

  Slowly, the shame of it often locking his tongue, Jehanan forced himself to relate his woes, and how a gorgeous wanton who called herself Heterka had restored his joy in life, only to dash it from him again for her sport.

  Conan's expression grew stark. He did accomplish going over to Bêlit's brother, wringing the hand that trembled before him, and murmuring a few words of consolation. Thereafter he cast his glance at Daris. 'Best we hear her entire story,'he said. 'I think we are all in the same spider web.'

  Falco translating her Stygian, the woman described her own experiences. At mention of the wingboat, the Ophirite was surprised, and surprised her in turn by relating his tale. Conan merely nodded. Jehanan had sunk back into misery.

  'Well,' the barbarian said, 'time that I spun you my yarn. I am, you remember, an adventurer from the far North, who has knocked about the world for a number of years. I suppose the part of my life that matters to us here began when I met Bêlit.'

  Jehanan seemed rather heartened by the account of his sister. 'She not herself a fine man, it seems,' he even said. Conan continued. The effort of putting words togethe
r, telling the basic story without giving away information that might be useful to possible eavesdroppers, took his mind away from overt anger. Down below, it seethed onward, white-hot. He poured himself a glass of wine to cool it a little.

  At the end, the three who were seated looked up his height into his glacier-blue eyes and heard him say:

  'Clear is to see, we are in a weird affair. I gather this Tothapis I heard mention of is a leading priest-magician, right?' Falco nodded confirmation. 'Now why should he go to such trouble to snare me, a plain buccaneer? That is the job of the royal navy. Why are the rest of you also so important to somebody – a spy, a slave, and a prisoner of war, albeit she is a princess of sorts? Why are we suddenly brought together and left alone like this? Who has profited from any of it?'

  'Senufer's people must have been working on our behalf,' Falco suggested. 'Probably she can tell me more when next we meet.'

  'Trust not a Stygian witch!' Jehanan rasped.

  Falco bridled. 'You were unlucky,' he said, 'but of Senufer I will hear no evil spoken.'

  Though Daris could not follow their Shemitish, she sensed the tension and spoke in Stygian. Falco relaxed and told Conan: 'The lady proposes that if we have no further questions, we spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other, swapping memories and tales and songs, over this wine.'

  'You have the right idea there, lass,' Conan said -in Cimmerian, which he might as well. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  When the prisoners had been returned to their separate quarters, Tothapis obliterated the image. He sat pondering while Nehekba rose and stretched her supple form.

  'Well, my lord?' she challenged. 'Do you agree this was worthwhile?'

  'Perhaps,' he replied. 'We did get a heap of personal information about them. It remains to be seen how much can be used in the necromancy that traces out and cuts the skein of their fate.'