Conan the Rebel

by Poul Anderson

  The officer drew closer, to exhort his platoon. Conan saw him clearly, and smote still harder in the hope of bursting through the pack around him and cleaving that head. The hope was vain. The Stygians pressed too thickly and savagely for even his power.

  Jehanan howled. 'Ramwas!' It was like the baying of a maddened wolf. 'Ramwas! Ramwas!'

  And the Shemite went berserk. Where he had fought with care, ever mindful of his friends and how best he could aid them, he shed all heed for anything. His shield became a weapon of offence, edge chopping, boss crunching. His sword flew about, meteor-swift. He did not seem to feel the wounds he took, and they bled little though many were deep. His face was a gorgon mask from which men shrank back appalled. Striking, trampling, become troll-strong, he broke through their crowd. Dead and wounded strewed his path, hideously mangled in those few seconds.

  'Ramwas, remember!' he bayed, and was upon the officer. That man drew sword. Jehanan's shield knocked it loose, to spin and twinkle through yards of air. Jehanan's blade pierced the belly of the Stygian. Keening, the Shemite lifted the transfixed noble straight up over his head and threw him at a wall. The skull shattered, the brains exploded forth.

  Conan himself had with a chill recalled who Ram was was. But he remained a lion that saw a way out of the trap. Most soldiers had recoiled in fright and confusion. He charged, Daris beside him. The two who tried to oppose them, he struck down in as many blows.

  They reached Jehanan. A human soul had come back into his eyes. His wounds were beginning to open and copiously bleed. A loop of entrail dangled from his ripped, red-soaked kaftan.

  'Go,' he croaked. His gesture was at the nearest lane between houses. 'I can hold them for a span... yet.'

  'No, Bêlit's brother, we stand together,' Conan protested.

  The Shemite met his gaze. 'I am sped. Let me die in... her service. If you should win back... tell her... I loved her.'

  Conan clasped the hand of his which clutched the dripping sword. 'I will tell her more,' the Cimmerian vowed, 'that you died a free man.'

  'Aye. Freed of this body, let loose to soar. Fare you well, my brother.'

  The words had passed in a single minute, while the Stygians milled or stood shaken, leaderless, more than half of their number dead or disabled. Otherwise only the moans of the maimed had voice. But a member of the troop, perhaps a non-commissioned officer, soon raised a shout. He urged them to attack, he slapped their faces and hustled them into formation.

  Conan led Daris, on whose cheeks tears ran down through sweat, into the lane. Jehanan took stance at its mouth. 'Come,' he gibed, 'come, dogs, and we will make rat food of you. What, do you reckon three against you to be heavy odds? Why, then, we will meet you one at a time, dear mongrels.' Even then, he sought to give their dazed minds the idea that his comrades stayed with him, lest the soldiers go roundabout in pursuit. He sought to remind them that they were supposed to take the fugitives alive if at all possible, lest crossbow make short work of him.

  Conan and Daris departed. The last words they heard from Jehanan were in his native speech. 'Ishtar of the lovers, who descended into hell for her man, receive me home to you...'

  The passageway opened on a street as broad as the Avenue of Kings. Opposite were stately, lotus-columned buildings which fronted on the plaza beyond. Few people were in sight, and those all appeared to wear the collars of slaves, who dared not break off whatever errands were theirs. The racket of combat must have drawn freemen to go watch – none from this particular alley, as had been clear to see from the start, but surely elsewhere – unless certain individuals prudently took refuge in a government office.

  'We cannot linger,' Conan panted. 'The hue and cry will be out for us very soon, well before we can get to a city gate. We had best hide somewhere till dawn, I suppose, when the laden caravans enter and the warehousemen bring their goods down to the cargo vessels at dock. In that tumult, we will have a chance of slipping out unnoticed.'

  Daris regarded his bloodiness and her own. 'Not as we are.'

  'No, curse it, we must tend our cuts, wash our garb and ourselves – better yet, get fresh clothes of a different sort – but where? How? And where can we find refuge in a town we know not, when criers will be telling everybody about us, and doubtless about a reward for information?'

  Daris squeezed Conan's arm. 'Think,' she urged. 'Let us hark back to everything Falco has told us – no, wait, let me try remembering. I have never been here before, but it is, after all, the royal seat of Stygia, and I was taught about it in my girlhood.' She snapped her fingers. 'Aye! On the left side of the plaza as we stand is a large and famous temple of Set. Behind it lies a walled garden said to be laid out as a maze, where surely is at least one pool. Beneath it are crypts for secret rites. Who would ever think to look for us there?'

  Conan stiffened. For a moment he was daunted. Then he cast his maned head back and formed a silent laugh. 'Wonderful! If we have borrowed Set's boat, he should not begrudge us a night's lodging. Come, lead me.'

  They took care to walk as if they were on legitimate business, weapons again concealed beneath dress, and no slaves were sufficiently close to pay them any heed. From the street they had left drifted shouts and clamour still, as Jehanan fought his last battle. Rounding the corner of the archival building, they came on a nine-foot wall whose coloured bricks formed the image of a mighty python and which was topped by iron pickets in the form of cobras. At its rightward end loomed a huge structure in diminishing tiers. Daris had no need to explain that that was the temple, for a cupola on top was in the coils of a gilt snake figure. Beyond its edge, across a plaza inlaid with the crown and sceptre of Stygia's kings, Conan glimpsed the palace colonnade.

  Nobody else was in sight, but that would not last long. 'Up you go, girl,' he said, and boosted her on a stirrup of his hands. He himself jumped, caught a picket, and hauled his body aloft. The cobras were meant to repel intruders simply by arousing fear. It was no trick to wriggle by them and spring down to the grounds below.

  Conan was prepared to kill anyone who might be there, but none were visible. That was not surprising, for in truth the garden was a maze. Though it was formal and trimmed, the word that came to his mind was rank. In the gathering breathless heat, palms stood skeletal above man-tall hedges whose dense leaves and thorns confined a person to the paths between. Those paths were decked in moss to muffle every footfall, even as the brooding green masses swallowed spoken sound. Vines trained into serpentine patterns crawled along trees. Their crimson flowers were somehow less vivid than sullen, as were beds of the black and the purple lotus from which subtle poisons were obtained. No bird sang here, but winged beetles toiled through the air, spiders squatted in webs that formed part of the whole pattern, killer ants went in files down the labyrinth.

  After walking a while, Daris shuddered and drew close to Conan. 'I am sorry,' she confessed in a thin whisper. 'I did wrong to bring us to this evil place. Fear flows through me like slime, for we are lost.'

  He hugged her waist. 'You have never been in a jungle, have

  you?' he answered. 'I have, and this is not very much worse than Mme. At least it is free of parrots. There must be water to keep the surf moist. First we look for that. I'm thirsty enough to drain the

  Vilayet Sea.'

  He took off his sandals, to let foot soles feel how textures changed. He snuffed, he listened, he called on woodsman's instinct, and always he read his direction by the sun that was Mitra's. Before long he had found their way to a fountain.

  It splashed through a series of onyx basins, into a pool where water lilies grew thick and carp swam. Conan surmised that porous pipes ran everywhere from here, underground, to wet the soil. No matter. He held Daris back when she would drink. 'Could be from the Styx,' he warned, and cautiously tasted it himself. It was cold, pure, artesian. Conan chuckled. 'What did the architect mean by this – or did he simply blunder?'

  They drank and drank and drank. They stripped, washed their bodies, rinsed out
their tattered clothes. As they did, a flush deepened the gold of Daris' face and bosom. Conan, watching her with honest appreciation, recollected that her nudity had not embarrassed her earlier.

  'Best we let our garments dry, so we don't leave tracks later,' he said. They hung the clothes on an over-arching bough. Thereafter they squatted by the poolside, snatched fish out, and ate these raw. There was no telling when they would again get food. By the time they were done, the air had sucked all damp from the linen. 'We're lucky that no gardener has come on us yet,' Conan remarked. 'Or, rather, he is. However, we would be wise to seek a spot where interruptions are less likely.'

  Having cut bandages for their wounds, which were superficial, they proceeded. Above the highest trees, the fane gave them a mark to steer by. Now and then they circled bewildered among giant fungi or bestial topiaries, but soon regained lost ground and won closer. Finally the maze ended. Across a flagged strip rose the lowest wall of the temple. The front was ornate, but this rear was plain, in blocks of dark granite, save for a frieze of hieroglyphs. Slit windows and several doors confronted Conan when he peered from the shelter of a clump of deadly nightshade. Silence weighed down emptiness. He wondered at his luck, and if it was really luck, until he recalled that a temple of Set was busiest at night. Priests, acolytes, even most slaves were asleep at this hour.

  Entrances were shut and generally barred. Testing them, he found one whose direly inscribed door swung aside for him. It did not have a latch. From the gloom beyond, a breath of cold and dankness blew up a staircase. He nodded. 'The way to the crypts,' he said. 'No need to lock that off. Who but a sorcerer would willingly go in?'

  Daris smiled. 'We,' she said, and trod springily forward.

  Conan shut the door behind them. Hewn from the living rock, the stairs went down farther than he could see by the bracketed lamps that flickered at intervals. The walls bore scenes of procession, ritual, human sacrifice. The ceiling was low, and bulged outward above each riser in a full-relief image of a serpent. Thus at every step Conan and Daris must bow to Set. Rage flamed white in the Cimmerian. He clenched his teeth till his jaws ached.

  'Jehanan, brother of Bêlit,' he vowed under his breath, 'you shall be avenged. In your name will I yet tread the Snake beneath my heel.'

  After a passage which seemed endless, the stairs gave on a corridor, also wanly lit, full of shadows and echoes. Occasional doorways broke the parade of sinister murals. The first two that Conan found belonged to chambers for enormous sarcophagi; he wondered if the mummies within were of human beings. The third spilled forth some light of its own. Entering, the pair discovered a room furnished as a shrine. At its far end was an altar whereon a great bronze lamp burned before a full-sized golden eidolon of a cobra, coiled, neck raised, wise wicked eyes staring at any who might enter to do homage. Below the altar stood a crystal bowl of milk. On the side walls, rich hangings framed pictures of men whose heads were ophidian.

  Daris considered the hieroglyphs at the rear. They were not the writing of Taia, which had an alphabet of Hyborian origin; but she had studied the Stygian symbols as part of her education. 'The Sanctuary of Set the Hooded, the Venom-fanged,' she translated,

  adding: 'Dedicated to him in this of his many aspects. That milk is for a sacred cobra which lives somewhere near.' She paused. 'We may not be alone.'

  Conan inspected the artefacts. 'This lamp was filled with oil and its wick trimmed a few hours ago,' he declared, 'and it is too big to need further attention until tomorrow. Likewise, the milk is fresh. I dare say an attendant takes care of such things each morning before he retires. We will be gone earlier than that. I do not think any rite will take place hereabouts during the night; the crypts are for special, sorcerous use, are they not? As for the cobra, if he comes by, the worse for him.'

  He unslung the ax beneath his kaftan. Stretching, he seized first one velvet hanging, then the other, ripped them loose, and spread them on the stone floor. 'It is chilly here,' he laughed, 'but we have drunk and dined, and now we have light, blankets, good company -' He broke off. 'Why, Daris, you weep.'

  'I may, may I not, if we are safe?' she sobbed between the fingers that hid her face. 'For Jehanan, dead in an alien land.'

  He went to embrace her. She laid her head against his breast, held him tight in her turn, and cried onward, but quietly, almost stoically. He stroked her hair and back as once he had done to console Bêlit, and murmured into the fragrance of her tresses:

  'Do you wonder how I can jest when the brother of my love lies slain? Daris, dear, you are born of a warrior folk. Surely you understand. Death comes to us all when fate wills it, whether we spoil our lives by skulking in fear of the end or enjoy the world while it is ours and depart it uncowed. Jehanan died in glory, in joy. He had had his revenge and he was giving his comrades back their own lives. If his belief was true, at this moment he, made hale again, rides a unicorn through the queendom of Ishtar, toward a tower where a beautiful woman waits to become the mother of his children. If his belief was wrong, well, then he has forgotten, he is at peace. He wanted us to remember him, Daris, but I do not think he ever wanted us to mourn for him.'

  She lifted her eyes to his and breathed, 'Conan, here at the gates of hell you give me heart.'

  Passionately, defiantly, before the altar of Set, they kissed. But when at last she said in her ardour, 'Oh, beloved, I am yours, take me -' he drew back.

  She stared at him. 'I mean it,' she avowed shakenly. 'I love you, Conan.'

  'And I am more than fond of you,' he answered. 'Too fond to make you my mate when I shall leave you as soon as may be for Bêlit.'

  'She would understand!'

  Conan smiled sadly, wryly. 'All too well would she understand, and upbraid me for such treachery to a battle comrade. Be my sister, Daris, and I will be honoured.'

  She wept again for a while, and he gave her what chaste comfort he was able. Seldom had he required a greater effort of himself.

  The wingboat slipped free of the marsh and turned down the canal toward the Styx. Though noonday blazed, there was no further reason for stealth; she could outrun anything on water or land.

  Daris stood lookout in the bow. Wind sent her midnight locks flying and pressed a tunic around each graceful curve of her body, but the face was saddened that should have been triumphant. Astern, Falco steered and Conan finished an account in his laconic fashion:

  '- So a little before sunrise, as well as I could gauge by the oil in the lamp, we went hunting. First we came on an acolyte. I killed him, tucked the body into a closet, and donned his garb. It was small on me, and of course my scalp is unshaven, but a cowled cloak hid that. Next we met a slave. That poor devil I only stunned and hid away bound and gagged with pieces of Daris' kaftan, while she put on his livery. It disguised the absence of an iron collar on her. We walked right out the main door – few were yet astir – and on to the gate. I doubt anybody would have challenged a pair of temple servants, even without the usual dawn-tide chaos. And we walked overland to you, and now the three of us are bound for Taia.'

  Adoration filled the glance which the youth gave him. 'Never did such a warrior bestride this earth,' Falco said. 'Someday, Conan, you will win a kingdom of your own; but first you will redeem mine and hers.'

  'Maybe,' the Cimmerian replied curtly. 'We shall have a deal of lighting before any of that can happen.'

  The Ophirite gave him a closer regard. 'Yes, our plan failed and we lost Jehanan. Yet he got what must have been nearly his dearest wish; you two mocked Set once more, in his very house; we here are free again.' Falco's tone grew worried. 'You and Daris are more subdued than I would have looked for. Did something happen that you have not told me about?'

  'We talked about some private matters that are not of the happiest,' Conan said gruffly. 'Listen, we have a couple of days and nights ahead of us with nothing much to do but travel. You are young and lusty, and she is fair to behold and may be just a bit distraught. Take no advantage of any moods she may fall into,
do you hear? We will bring her home in honour.'

  'Oh, certainly, certainly.' Falco's expression changed from surprised to dreamy. He stared aloft and sighed, 'I have my Senufer. Her day and mine will come.'

  Conan looked grim but said naught.

  High above the boat, on wings that shone golden in the sun, an eagle kept pace.

  XIV

  Wayfarers in Taia

  Heaven was moonless but crowded with stars when the wanderers reached the mouth of the Helu. That river flowed swifter, louder, and brighter than the Styx into which it emptied. Eastward of the latter, which here ran north, mountains walled off countries still more arid, where nomads roamed. West of it, Taia rose steeply on either side of the Helu Valley, silver-grey in starlight, toward rugged highlands – Taia, which the Stygians called a rebellious province but which the dwellers therein called a nation at war for its liberty. Where the two streams met, on the left bank of the lesser, the white walls of little Seyan town stood amidst slumber and shadow.

  'We will go up this tributary,' Daris said, pointing, 'past the cultivated sections, to a grotto I know where we can safely hide the boat. Thence it should be no long stretch afoot to Thuran. If my father is not there now, he will return there in due course, and meanwhile the priests of Mitra will give us hospitality.'

  Eagerness tinged her voice, which pleased Conan. She had not done or said anything foolish on the way, as he had feared she might. Far from sulking or crying, she was quietly friendly to both her companions. But the good cheer while bound for Luxur had vanished. He hoped very much that she would get it back.

  Having gauged they could pass under a bridge across the Helu, he gave the vessel his command. He had overcome his repugnance for this craft. While he still reckoned such a means of travel unmanly, he must admit its usefulness in a situation like this. The boat swung about. From the bows, Falco signalled everything clear. The force of the mountain river, eddying out into the sullen Styx, vibrated through the hull.