His finger was on the trigger of his arbalest, the wicked square head of the quarrel leveled full on the other’s broad breast. The stranger scowled, and his dark face was lowering. He showed no fear, but seemed to be hesitating in his mind as to whether he should obey the command or chance a sudden break of some land. Arus licked his lips and his blood turned cold as he plainly saw indecision struggle with a murderous intent in the foreigner’s cloudy eyes.
Then he heard a door crash open, and a medley of voices, and he drew a deep breath of amazed thankfulness. The stranger tensed and glared worriedly, like a starded hunting beast, as half a dozen men entered the hall. All but one wore the scarlet tunic of the Numalian police, were girt with stabbing swords and carried bills - long-shafted weapons, half pike, half axe.
‘What devil’s work is this?’ exclaimed the foremost man, whose cold gray eyes and lean keen features, no less than his civilian garments, set him apart from his burly companions.
‘By Mitra, Demetrio!’ exclaimed Arus thankfully. ‘Fortune is assuredly with me tonight. I had no hope that the watch would answer the summons so swiftly - or that you would be with them!’
‘I was making the rounds with Dionus,’ answered Demetrio. ‘We were just passing the Temple when the watch-bell clanged. But who is this? Mitra! The master of the Temple himself!’
‘No other,’ replied Arus. ‘And foully murdered. It is my duty to walk about the building steadily all night, because, as you know, there is an immense amount of wealth stored here. Kallian Publico had rich patrons - scholars, princes and wealthy collectors of rarities. Well, only a few minutes ago I tried the door which opens on the portico, and found it to be only bolted. The door is provided with a bolt, which works both from within or without, and a great lock which can be worked only from without. Only Kallian Publico had a key to that, the key which you see now hanging at his girdle.
‘Naturally my suspicions were roused, for Kallian Publico always locks the door with the great lock when he closes the Temple; and I had not seen him return since he left earlier in the evening for his villa in the eastern suburbs of the city. I have a key that works the bolt; I entered and found the body lying as you see. I have not touched it.’
‘So,’ Demetrio’s keen eyes swept the somber stranger. ‘And who is this?’
‘The murderer, without doubt!’ cried Arus. ‘He came from that door yonder. He is a northern barbarian of some sort - a Hyperborean or a Bossonian, perhaps.’ ‘Who are you?’ asked Demetrio.
‘I am Conan,’ answered the barbarian. ‘I am a Cimmerian.’ ‘Did you kill this man?’ The Cimmerian shook his head. ‘Answer me!’ snapped the questioner. An angry glint rose in the moody blue eyes. ‘I am no dog,’ he replied resentfully.
‘Oh, an insolent fellow!’ sneered Demetrio’s companion, a big man wearing the insignia of prefect of police. ‘An independent cur! One of these citizens with rights, eh? I’ll soon knock it out of him! Here, you! Come clean! Why did you murder--’
‘Just a moment, Dionus,’ ordered Demetrio curtly. ‘Fellow, I am chief of the Inquisitorial Council of the city of Numalia. You had best tell me why you are here, and if you are not the murderer, prove it.’
The Cimmerian hesitated. He was not afraid, but slightly bewildered, as a barbarian always is when confronted by the evidence of civilized networks and systems, the workings of which are so baffling and mysterious to him.
‘While he’s thinking it over,’ rapped Demetrio, turning to Arus, ‘tell me - did you see Kallian Publico leave the Temple this evening?’
‘No, he’s usually gone when I arrive to begin my sentry-go. But the great door was bolted and locked.’
‘Could he have entered the building again without your having seen him?’
‘Why, it’s possible, but hardly probable. The Temple is large, and I walk clear around it in a few minutes. If he had returned from his villa, he would of course have come in his chariot, for it is a long way - and who ever heard of Kallian Publico travelling otherwise? Even if I had been on the other side of the Temple, I’d have heard the wheels of the chariot on the cobbleStones, and I’ve heard no such thing, nor seen any chariots, except those which always pass along the streets just at dusk.’ ‘And the door was locked earlier in the night?’ ‘I’ll swear to it. I try all doors several times during the night. The door was locked on the outside until perhaps half an hour ago - that was the last time I tried it, until I found it unlocked.’ ‘You heard no cries or struggles?’
‘No. But that’s not strange. The walls of the Temple are so thick, they’re practically sound-proof - an effect increased by the heavy hangings.’
‘Why go to all this trouble of questions and speculations?’ complained the burly prefect. ‘It’s much easier to beat a confession out of a suspect. Here’s our man, no doubt about it. Let’s take him to the Court of Justice - I’ll get a statement if I have to smash his bones to pulp.’
Demetrio looked at the barbarian.
‘You understand what he said?’ asked the Inquisitor. ‘What have you to say?’
‘That any man who touches me will quickly be greeting his ancestors in hell,’ the Cimmerian ground between his powerful teeth, his eyes glinting quick flames of dangerous anger.
‘Why did you come here, if not to kill this man?’ pursued Demetrio.
‘I came to steal,’ sullenly answered the other. ‘To steal what?’ rapped the Inquisitor. ‘Food,’ the reply came after an instant’s hesitation. ‘That’s a lie!’ snapped Demetrio. ‘You knew there was no food here. Don’t lie to me. Tell me the truth or--’
The Cimmerian laid his hand on his sword hilt, and the gesture was as fraught with menace as the lifting of a tiger’s lip to bare his fangs.
‘Save your bullying for the fools who fear you,’ he growled, blue fires smoldering in his eyes. ‘I’m no city-bred Nemedian to cringe before your hired dogs. I’ve killed better men than you for less than this.’
Dionus, who had opened his mouth to bellow in wrath, closed it suddenly. The watchmen shifted their bills uncertainly and glanced at Demetrio for orders. They were struck speechless at hearing the all-powerful police thus bearded and expected a command to seize the barbarian. But Demetrio did not give it. He knew, if the others were too stupid to know, the steel-trap muscles and blinding quickness of men raised beyond civilization’s frontiers where life was a continual battle for existence, and he had no desire to loose the barbaric frenzy of the Cimmerian if it could be avoided. Besides, there was a doubt in his mind.
‘I have not accused you of killing Kallian,’ he snapped. ‘But you must admit the appearances are against you. How did you enter the Temple?’
‘I hid in the shadows of the warehouse which stands behind this building,’ Conan answered grudgingly. ‘When this dog-‘ jerking a thumb at Arus - ‘passed by and rounded the corner, I ran quickly to the wall and scaled it--’
‘A lie!’ broke in Arus. ‘No man could climb that straight wall!’
‘Did you ever see a Cimmerian scale a sheer cliff?’ asked Demetrio impatiently. ‘I am conducting this investigation. Go on, Conan.’
‘The corner is decorated with carvings,’ said the Cimmerian. ‘It was easy to climb. I gained the roof before this dog came around the building again. I went across the roof until I came upon a trap-door which was fastened with an iron bolt that went through it and was locked on the inside. I was forced to hew the bolt in twain with my sword--’
Arus, remembering the thickness of that bolt, gulped involuntarily and moved further back from the barbarian, who scowled abstractedly at him, and continued.
‘I feared the noise might wake somebody, but it was a chance I had to take. I passed through the trap-door and came into an upper chamber. I didn’t pause there, but came straightway to the stair--’
‘How did you know where the stair was?’ snapped the Inquisitor. ‘I know that only Kallian’s servants and his rich patrons were ever allowed in those upper rooms.’
A dogge
d stubbornness shadowed Conan’s eyes and he remained silent.
‘What did you do after you reached the stair?’ demanded Demetrio.
‘I came straight down it,’ muttered the Cimmerian. ‘It let into the chamber behind yonder curtained door. As I came down the stairs I heard the noise of a door being opened. When I looked through the hangings I saw this dog standing over the dead man.’
‘Why did you come from your hiding place?’
‘It was dark when I saw the watchman outside the Temple. When I saw him here I thought he was a thief too. It was not until he jerked the watch-bell rope and lifted his bow that I knew he was the watchman.’
‘But even so,’ persisted the Inquisitor, ‘why did you reveal yourself?’
‘I thought perhaps he had come to steal what--’ the Cimmerian checked himself suddenly as if he had said too much.
‘--What you had come after, yourself!’ finished Demetrio. ‘You have told me more than you intended! You came here with a definite purpose. You did not, by your own admission, tarry in the upper rooms, where the richest goods are generally stored. You knew the plan of the building - you were sent here by someone who knows the Temple well to steal some special thing!’
‘And to kill Kallian Publico!’ exclaimed Dionus. ‘By Mitra, we’ve hit it! Grab him, men! We’ll have a confession before morning!’
With a heathen curse Conan leaped back, whipping out his sword with a viciousness that made the keen blade hum.
‘Back, if you value your dog-lives!’ he snarled, his blue eyes blazing. ‘Because you dare to torture shopkeepers and strip and beat harlots to make them talk, don’t think you can lay your fat paws on a hillman! I’ll take some of you to hell with me! Fumble with your bow, watchman - I’ll burst your guts with my heel before this night’s work is over!’
‘Wait!’ interposed Demetrio. ‘Call your dogs off, Dionus. I’m not convinced that he is the murderer. You fool,’ he added in a whisper, ‘wait until we can summon more men, or trick him into laying down his sword.’ Demetrio did not wish to forgo the advantage of his civilized mind by allowing matters to change to a physical basis, where the wild beast ferocity of the barbarian might even balance the odds against him.
‘Very well,’ grunted Dionus grudgingly. ‘Fall back, men, but keep an eye on him.’
‘Give me your sword,’ said Demetrio.
‘Take it if you can,’ snarled Conan. Demetrio shrugged his shoulders.
‘Very well. But don’t try to escape. Four men with crossbows watch the house on the outside. We always throw a cordon about a house before we enter it.’
The barbarian lowered his blade, though he only slightly relaxed the tense watchfulness of his attitude. Demetrio turned again to the corpse.
‘Strangled,’ he muttered. ‘Why strangle him when a sword-stroke is so much quicker and surer? These Cimmerians are a bloody race, born with a sword in their hand, as it were; I never heard of them killing a man in this manner.’
‘Perhaps to divert suspicion,’ muttered Dionus.
‘Possibly.’ He felt the body with experienced hands. ‘Dead possibly half an hour,’ he muttered. ‘If Conan tells the truth about when he entered the Temple he would hardly have had time to commit the murder before Arus entered. But he may be lying - he might have broken in earlier.’
‘I climbed the wall after Arus made the last round,’ Conan growled.
‘So you say.’ Demetrio brooded for a space over the dead man’s throat, which had been literally crushed to a pulp of purplish flesh. The head sagged awry on splintered vertebrae. Demetrio shook his head in doubt.
‘Why should a murderer use a pliant cable apparently thicker than a man’s arm?’ he muttered. ‘And what terrible constriction was applied to so crush the man’s heavy neck.’
He rose and walked to the nearest door opening into the corridor.
‘Here is a bust knocked from a stand near the door,’ he said, ‘and here the polished floor is scratched and the hangings in the doorway are pulled awry as if a clutching hand had grasped them - perhaps for support. Kallian Publico must have been attacked in that room. Perhaps he broke away from the assailant, or dragged the fellow with him as he fled. Anyway, he ran staggeringly out into the corridor where the murderer must have followed and finished him.’
‘And if this heathen isn’t the murderer, where is he?’ demanded the prefect.
‘I haven’t exonerated the Cimmerian yet,’ snapped the Inquisitor. ‘But we’ll investigate that room and--’
He halted and wheeled, listening. From the street had sounded a sudden rattle of chariot wheels, which approached rapidly, then ceased abruptly.
‘Dionus!’ snapped the Inquisitor. ‘Send two men to find that chariot. Bring the driver here.’
‘From the sound,’ said Arus, who was familiar with all the noises of the street, ‘I’d say it stopped in front of Promero’s house, just on the other side of the silk-merchant’s shop.’
‘Who is Promero?’ asked Demetrio.
‘Kallian Publico’s chief clerk.’
‘Bring him here with the chariot driver,’ snapped Demetrio. ‘We’ll wait until they come before we examine that room.’
Two guardsmen clomped away. Demetrio still studied the body; Dionus, Arus and the remaining policemen watched Conan, who stood, sword in hand, like a bronze figure of brooding menace. Presently sandalled feet re-echoed outside, and the two guardsmen entered with a strongly built, dark-skinned man in the helmet and tunic of a charioteer, with a whip in his hand; and a small, timid-looking individual, typical of that class which, risen from the ranks of artisans, supplies righthand men for wealthy merchants and traders.
This one recoiled with a cry from the sprawling bulk on the floor.
‘Oh, I knew evil would come of this!’
‘You are Promero, the clerk, I suppose. And you?’
‘Enaro, Kallian Publico’s charioteer.’
‘You do not seem overly moved at the sight of his corpse,’ observed Demetrio.
‘Why should I be moved?’ the dark eyes flashed. ‘Someone has only done what I dared not, but longed to do.’
‘So!’ murmured the Inquisitor. ‘Are you a free man?’
Enaro’s eyes were bitter as he drew aside his tunic, showing the brand of the debtor-slave on his shoulder.
‘Did you know your master was coming here tonight?’
‘No. I brought the chariot to the Temple this evening for him as usual. He entered it and I drove toward his villa. But before we came to the Palian Way, he ordered me to turn and drive him back. He seemed much agitated in his mind.’
‘And did you drive him back to the Temple?’
‘No. He bade me stop at Promero’s house. There he dismissed me, ordering me to return there for him shortly after midnight.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Shortly after dusk. The streets were almost deserted.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I returned to the slave quarters where I remained until it was time to return to Promero’s house. I drove straight there, and your men seized me as I talked with Promero in his door.’
‘You have no idea why Kallian went to Promero’s house?’
‘He didn’t speak of his business to his slaves.’
Demetrio turned to Promero. ‘What do you know about this?’
‘Nothing.’ The clerk’s teeth chattered as he spoke.
‘Did Kallian Publico come to your house as the charioteer says?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long did he stay?’
‘Only a few minutes. Then he left.’
‘Did he come from your house to the Temple?’
‘I don’t know!’ The clerk’s voice was shrill with taut nerves.
‘Why did he come to your house?’
‘To - to talk matters of business with me.’
‘You’re lying,’ snapped Demetrio. ‘Why did he come to your home?’
‘I don’t know! I don�
��t know anything!’ Promero was growing hysterical. ‘I had nothing to do with it--’
‘Make him talk, Diomis,’ snapped Demetrio, and Dionus grunted and nodded to one of his men who, grinning savagely, moved toward the two captives.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he growled, thrusting his head forward and staring domineeringly at his shrinking prey.
‘You’re Posthumo,’ answered the charioteer sullenly. ‘You gouged out a girl’s eye in the Court of Justice because she wouldn’t give you information incriminating her lover.’
‘I always get what I go after!’ bellowed the guardsman, the veins in his thick neck swelling, and his face growing purple, as he seized the wretched clerk by the collar of his tunic, twisting it so the man was half strangled.
‘Speak up, you rat!’ he growled. ‘Answer the Inquisitor.’
‘Oh Mitra, mercy!’ screamed the wretch. ‘I swear that--’
Posthumo slapped him terrifically first on one side of the face and then on the other, and continued the interrogation by flinging him to the floor and kicking him with vicious accuracy.
‘Mercy!’ moaned the victim. 'I'll tell - I’ll tell anything--’
‘Then get up, you cur!’ roared Posthumo, swelling with self-importance. ‘Don’t lie there whining.’
Dionus cast a quick glance at Conan to see if he were properly impressed.
‘You see what happens to those who cross the police,’ he said.
The Cimmerian spat with a sneer of cruel contempt for the moaning clerk.
‘He’s a weakling and a fool,’ he growled. ‘Let one of you touch me and I’ll spill his guts on the floor.’
‘Are you ready to talk?’ asked Demetrio tiredly. He found these scenes wearingly monotonous.
‘All I know,’ sobbed the clerk, dragging himself to his feet and whimpering like a beaten dog in his pain, ‘is that Kallian came to my house shortly after I arrived - I left the Temple at the same time he did - and sent his chariot away. He threatened me with discharge if I ever spoke of it. I am a poor man, without friends or favor. Without my position with him, I would starve.’
‘What’s that to me?’ snapped Demetrio. ‘How long did he remain at your house?’
The Conan Chronicles, Vol. 1: The People of the Black Circle Page 7
