Below swept many yards of shimmering satin the colour of ice seen through turquoise. Over it the mauve bodice continued downward in a broad central panel. This fell to the skirt's hem, where it was purfled in silver in the Finquese style of Bakhaurus. A bandeau of scintillant cloth-of-silver circled the bodice over the bosom, sewn there and clasped with an ornate pin of shell and pearls and silver wire. From this outer bandeau draped a sort of third skirt, long behind; in front it formed a deep, inverted V whose arms flowed down the queen's legs and thighs like folded wings of mesh-mail.
From the royal lobes cascaded prodigiously ornate eardrops like bursts of incandescent light. Elsewise her jewellery was but a single ring formed of a serpent of gold and another of silver, intertwined.
Conan swallowed. She was only a few years older than he, and the mercenary who was bodyguard to her older cousin did entertain an interesting if silly dream or two ...
Gathered with the queen were the City Governor, Acrallidus, whose beard was grey though his hair was not, and his son of about fourteen years; Krallides; and robed in dun and red, the queen's adviser Arkhaurus, a man of about forty-five. A huge carnelian seal hung on his chest from a chain of twisted silver wire. The handsome young man so near to my lady queen's right hand was Sergianus, duke's son of Tor, in Nemedia. A great sapphire-set disc of gold was suspended by a gold chain to flash on his chest.
The young noble from afar was enamoured of the queen and attached to her, Conan saw almost at a glance; he noted too how Queen lalamis looked at that same Sergianus. The queen had a suitor then, come down from a land well to the north-west. A smith's son forgot his dreams.
All gave listen while Khashtris told of the adventure in Shadizar, of the later plot, of the loyalty of Shubal and the heroism and prowess of the Cimmerian. Eyes appraised the big youth anew. Now Conan saw respect and interest in those gazes. He was silent. In this, his first visit with such a collection of high-placed personages, he sought to look older, the brave and noble bodyguard.
He hoped that wise-eyed Acrallidus could not recognise a thief when one stood before him, however mailed and lauded
Khashtris finished her glowing narrative, and all were silent while Queen lalamis the Sad gazed upon the tall newcomer.
'Conan of Cimmeria: you have twice saved the life of our beloved cousin, and we are more grateful than may be expressed in words. Name a boon, warrior: what would you ask of the Queen of Khauran?'
Perhaps Conan appeared disrespectful to some; it was merely that he spoke instantly: 'My soul!'
The queen blinked, stared. Some of those around her looked questioningly at each other, but still none other spoke.
'He speaks literally, Lady Queen,' Khashtris told her cousin. 'A certain Zamboulan sorcerer in Arenjun had the means of stealing souls from their living owners and lodging them in mirrors. Now the sorcerer is dead, but Conan and Ins soul remain separated. Should the mirror be broken, he will be ... a horrid purposeless creature which he has Described to me.'
'Incredible,' Acrallidus murmured, while the queen all but whispered, 'Horrible!' And Sergianus lifted one eyebrow as if in doubt: 'Sorcery? Separate soul from body? is incredible, indeed!'
'So is the curse on the rulers of Khauran,' the ruler of Khauran said in a passing quiet voice. 'Conan: what is it you need us to do?'
The Cimmerian showed them the leathern package he had strapped to his belt; it resembled a well-stuffed pillow, covered in leather and criss-crossed with thongs, knotted and knotted again. He squatted to place it on the pink-tiled floor, a few feet before the three steps to the queen's dais.
'The mirror is contained here, Lady Queen. It must be placed in your hands.'
'Need I unwrap it?'
'No, Lady Queen,' Conan said.
While all watched, he untied, broke, and slipped the thongs. Next he unwrapped four folds of what was now revealed to be a large, broad strip of well-tanned and unusually supple leather. Within, thong-bound, were two plates of metal. Soon he separated them to withdraw a package wrapped in the dark green velvet that had draped a chamber of Hisarr Zul. There was much of the stuff, and while Conan unfolded its windings with care, the eyes of everyone present stared in expectation.
At last Conan had unwrapped that which he had protected so well against accidental breakage; the smallish mirror of Hisarr Zul.
'You had it wrapped well enough, Cimmerian!' Conan looked at the speaker, the man called Sergianus of Nemedia in his sleeved, long, wine-red overtunic belted over a slightly longer tunic of green.
'Nothing in the world has been of more importance to me, Lord Sergianus, save only my life.'
'Yet you risked that to rescue our cousin,' Queen lalamis said.
'Aye. And she has brought me to you, Lady Queen. Only the wearer of a royal crown can end the spell and return my soul to me. If the mirror is broken, I and my soul are parted forever. If it is broken by a crowned ruler, we are united.'
The queen was leaning forward, her gaze moving from the squatting man to his mirror and back again to his face. 'Then we must break it for you, Conan.'
Wait.' This from Arkhaurus, the royal adviser, and Conan's eyes narrowed. 'Wait, my queen. Suppose that all this is part of a sorcerous plot? —that some awful sorcery will be loosed on our lady queen by the breaking of the mirror? Dare we place faith in-'
'Lady cousin and Queen! I owe this man my life, twice over! I refuse to believe that he can be doubted, or that any plot is afoot against you. He is the unfortunate . . . and Arkhaurus wrongs both him and me.'
'Queen of Khauran -' Acrallidus began, and the queen lifted a hand. The City Governor broke off, and none spoke, for they'd been silently commanded to silence. The queen studied Conan in obvious contemplation. At last, with a brief nod, she straightened.
'Bring me the mirror, Conan of Cimmeria.' Taking up the small bit of wood-framed glass in both hands, Conan carried it to the foot of the dais. Standing on the floor at the base of the three-stepped marble platform, he did not have to look up to meet the eyes of the seated queen. lie held out the mirror with both hands; with both hers she took it. Royal fingers touched his. Conan noticed that they felt no different from any other fingers, unless softer. Conan's mind accommodated that intelligence by shifting a bit, and never again would he stand - much less kneel! - in awe of royalty.
Queen lalamis looked down into the glass of a dead sorcerer, and a wordless exclamation escaped her red-tinted lips. Then: 'Why - there is a man in this glass, a tiny youth with - it is you, Conan!'
'Some think it more I than what stands here of me,' he
I. I, without himself fully understanding the twisted meaning of those words.
'Sorcery!' Arkhaurus said, in a low hiss.
'I want to see!' That from young Krallides son of Acrallidus, and he pressed forward.
The queen did not afford him that privilege. Holding the mirror with care, she stood. Conan moved aside as she ascended the steps of the dais in a rustle of satin. Three steps she took along the carpet bisecting the floor of rose tiles and she stopped. Lifting the mirror with both hands, then looked at Conan.
'Lady Queen,' Sergianus said urgently, 'flying glass-'
Conan glanced angrily at the man just as lalamis hurled : mirror against a wall of stone.
The Cimmerian heard the crash, and jerked as if struck; for he felt a great surge within him; a sudden wholeness, as though his body had encompassed emptiness now filled. An alien he was staring at Sergianus, and Conan's eyes were huge and his face showing astonishment. The hairs stood up along his arms and on his nape. None other noted; all stared at the mirror.
Perhaps the others underwent similar reaction to Conan's; they saw the mirror shatter against the audience-chamber wall, and yet they saw no flying shards of glass. All floated, just before the wall whereon the mirror had shattered
three feet above the floor.
The gleaming slivers and bits of glass seemed to dance like refulgent dust-motes of many sizes, or spilled gem-.tones. A
nd then gasps sounded, for each tiniest bit of glass burst into flame. All flared brightly so that every watching - squinted - and then flame and glass vanished.
On the floor near the wall lay the wooden frame of I Hisarr Zul's mirror of sorcery. Not one trace of flame could lo seen; not one particle of glass. No faintest hint of the scent of fire remained in the chamber.
Now all looked at the Cimmerian. They saw how he .lured at Sergianus, who, also noting, frowned. Then Conan blinked. He seemed to stagger. He gave his shaggy head ii jerk. After shooting Sergianus a disbelieving look, the 'Cimmerian turned to the queen. When he lifted his head, Shubal and Khashtris saw Conan smile, naturally and far
from bestially, for the first time since the dark-maned giant had entered their lives.
'Lady Queen, it is done. T am in debt to Khauran and it royal house. felt my soul return to me!'
'I but repaid a debt, Conan,' the queen said, forgetting the royal pronoun. 'You are welcome in Khauran, saviour of - our cousin.'
V
In the Tavern of Hilides
Conan and Shubal had been walking about Khauran for a couple of hours when the Shemite guided his younger companion on to a street of taverns and inns. They approached the door under a broad-striped awning of orange and bright green. The awning was particularly horrid and hurt Conan's 'yes; the shop was not and did not. Small, cool and clean,
I barely housed two longish trestle tables and benches, and lour other tables: three-legged, for two people who wanted more intimate converse. The two bodyguards, their charge within the palace, sat at one of the latter tables.
'Shubal! You've not been here in awhile!'
'That's because I've been up in Shadizar with my lady,' Shubal told the burly, ruddy-faced man with the large pot belly and eyes like new-tanned cowhide. His brown hair and beard looked as if someone had recently hurled a handful of sand into each.
'Ah! Oho! Shadizar, eh? Eh? And you came back,' the fellow said. 'Why, from all the tales I've heard of that place, your return is a miracle! Just yesterday Verenus made his delivery, and said Pertes's son went off to Shadizar-a month ago! What was it Verenus said; how do we keep good Khaurani boys on the family farm after they've seen Shadizar City of the Wicked, eh? Eh?'
'The miracle that brought me back is this little fellow with me,' Shubal said, tapping Conan's shoulder. 'Since Verenus was just here, Hilides, fetch us a mug each of that watery ale of his.'
'Done. It was tapped this morning. What do you mean, he's a miracle? It's a miracle a lad that age grew so big, mayhap, and suffers himself to be seen in company with such as you! Is that it? Eh?'
'Shadizar wasn't hard for me to leave,' the Shemite implied. 'Noble Khashtris and I were nearly killed there.'
Hilides set glazed earthenware mugs before the two without so much as a thump. The fellow had the arms of a woodman or warrior, Conan thought, and the belly of a king.
'Oh! Got a story to tell, do ye? How'd it come about, Shubal? Whorehouse brawl? Irate husband? Ho ho! Eh?'
'This braying mule-brain is our host, Conan: Hilides. Hilides: Conan, a Cimmerian. Noble Khashtris's new bodyguard—with me, of course.'
'Cimmeria.' The big taverner looked at Shubal's big companion. 'Conan. Co-nan. Welcome to Khauran, Conan. Sorry about your taste in friends. A passing nice corselet you have there. You're not from Shadizar, eh?'
Conan shook his head. 'The mail is,' he said, and drained his mug. 'Small cups you use, Hilides.' Then he made a face.
Hilides laughed. 'Does go down easy, don't it! Took it too fast; stings the tongue that way! And wait'll it comes back; you'll jump a mile when you fart. Verenus Cling-' coin's brew. Shubal swears he waters it.'
'No, I don't Hilides; I swear you water it.'
'Ha! Hoho!' Hilides slapped his gut, which Conan saw was solid and firm as a thigh. 'Only thing I water is my garden! think Verenus brews it from alfalfa, Conan. Oddly though, it's popular.'
'That's because it's cheap,' Shubal said, 'and Verenus's daughter is coming on to be a beauty! Uh, be careful about drinking much, Conan. Noble Khashtris is ... sensitive about that.'
'I've barely dampened my throat,' Conan said. 'Fill it, Hilides, or a man-sized mug, if you have one. This will go on Shubal's bill until our lady parts with some coin, unless you'll make a chit for me, too.'
'For a well-employed friend of Shubal, Shem's gift to womankind, I will. You look good for it; you could buy Verenus's brewing for a half-year with that mail. As a welcome to Khauran, though, I'll buy the second one.'
'The second?'
'Aye - you knocked back that first mug so fast you didn't even taste it, and I'll not support such waste!'
Conan chuckled while Shubal laughed. 'But only,' Hilides called back, 'if I hear about Shadizar and your adventure there, Shubal!'
'Huh! Try to stop me from talking about it,' Shubal said, looking around. He nodded at one man, threw up his hand in greeting to another. At this hour of the afternoon, only three others gave Hilides business. 'Oh - Hilly! A little Shemite sausage?'
Conan blinked. 'This little place stocks sausage from down in Shem?'
'Not really,' Shubal said smiling. 'Hilides adds some pepper and sage and a bit of honey to the Khaurani summer sausage his wife makes, and calls it Shemite. He doesn't charge any more for it, and I think I'm the only one who knows any different. I don't say anything. It's a popular treat here. It is good, Conan. Put hair on your chest.'
Conan said nothing. He had no hair there as yet, and wished he did. It was not a favoured subject with him. He was sitting back, leg asprawl; now he leaned forward and thumped a pair of meaty forearms on the small round table.
'Shubal: What do you know about that Sergianus?'
'Hardly anything. No one else does, I think. It bothers me a bit now; today is only the second time ever I saw him, and this is the first time I've set eyes on that medallion he wears.'
'It bothers you?'
'I think I recognise it. Or I've seen its twin.'
'And-'
'Well, where I've seen it certainly wasn't in Nemedia, Conan; never been up there. Or one just like it — as I remember.'
'You think maybe he's a thief? Or buys stolen goods, maybe?'
'I haven't thought about it at all, in truth. As for buying stolen goods-most of us do, at one time or another. No, I don't think anything. I just don't remember where I've seen it—I mean, one like it.'
'Did you notice anything , , . unusual about Sergianus, Shubal?'
'Certainly. He has an odd voice - and a suicidal bent.'
'What? Why do you say that?'
'Conan, he is paying court to our queen. I do believe, judging from the looks they exchange and his concern for her, that they two may love each other.'
'One larger mug of Verenus's beer,' Hilides said, 'on me. And a bit of the fiery sausage of Shem.' He stood at Conan's elbow.
'Thanks, Hilides,' Conan said, hardly glancing at the man. 'Shubal . . . why is that suicidal?'
Hilides, half-turning away, paused. 'Suicidal?'
'Conan,' Shubal said, 'the unhappy Queens of our Khauran have more to contend with than the Curse of the Witches. They also have a hard time keeping consorts. Our Queen lalamis was wed at fourteen, delivered of twins at fifteen - -'
- and one of them the Witch,' Hilides said, lingering.
' — and widowed when she was only seventeen. A fevert carried off her husband, and almost killed her. She lay abed for months.'
'Months,' Hilides said, standing over the little three-legged table and imperturbably injecting himself into the conversation. 'Months, and was wan and slow to move for! a full year. Some think she's never recovered; it's been four! years now. Lord Arkhaurus feels that the problem is as much in her mind as in her . . . body.' The taverner hesitated over the final word, and lowered his voice, as though it might be worse than untoward to use such a word in speaking of the queen. 'This young duke's son from Nemedia doesn't worry about that though, does he?'
'That's ju
st what we were talking about,' Shubal said, I around a mouthful of deceptively pale sausage, dotted with red. 'Conan and I are just come from the audience chamber, and Conan asked-'
'The audience chamber! And then here? My benevolent! stars - Hilides is honoured today!'
'Oh stop, Hilly. Anyhow, Conan asked if I noted aught unusual about Noble Sergianus. I told him aye, the man's plainly suicidal.'
'Oh.' Hilides grinned and wagged his head. 'For hanging about our queen? Mayhap he is, eh? Are they thick? So I
hear. In the meanwhile, though, I also hear that she's happier than she has been in years. Or so they say, eh? I don't spend my time loitering about the audience chamber, nibbing elbows with our Sovran and her charming visitor from Nemedia.' He glanced around. 'Merkes-our Shubal's just come from an audience with Herself!'
From across the room a man said, 'Ishtar? Don't be silly. She doesn't speak to Shemites!'
'I meant the queen . . .'
Shubal half-turned to call to the man named Merkes. 'Or anyone as ugly as you, Merkes! For your information, though, Ishtar is a Khaurani import: Herself is a Shemite goddess.'
'I meant the queen,' Hilides said again, trying to regain control of a conversation that wasn't his to begin with.
'Bosh and cowfeathers!' Merkes said from within a vast black beard. 'She was born right here in Khauran, right where Her temple stands now, across from the palace.'
'You damned chauvinists,' another man said; the one Shubal had waved to. He sat in the far corner, rear. 'Ishtar's from my own Nemedia!'
Shubal shook his head, laughing. 'The ignorance of the clientèle this place attracts! Everyone knows that Bel was horn in Shumer, of Shem -'
The Conan Chronology Page 30
