The royal palace of Larsha stood in the centre of the city, in the midst of a broad plaza. It was the one structure that had not crumbled with age, and this for a simple reason. It was carved out of a single crag or hillock of rock that once broke the flatness of the plateau on which Larsha stood. So meticulous had been the construction of this building, however, that close inspection was needed to show that it was not an ordinary composite structure, lines engraved in the black, basaltic surface imitated the joints between building stones.
Treading softly, Conan and Nestor peered into the dark interior. 'We shall need light,' said Nestor. 'I do not care to walk into another slug like that in the dark.'
'I don't smell another slug,' said Conan, 'but the treasure might have another guardian.'
He turned back and hewed down a pine sapling that thrust up through the broken pavement. Then he lopped its limbs and cut it into short lengths. Whittling a pile of shavings with his sword, he started a small fire with flint and steel. He split the ends of two of the billets until they were frayed out and then ignited them. The resinous wood burned vigorously. He handed one torch to Nestor, and each of them thrust half the spare billets through his girdle. Then, swords out, they again approached the palace.
Inside the archway, the flickering yellow flames of the torches were reflected from polished walls of black stone; but underfoot the dust lay inches thick. Several bats, hanging from bits of stone carving overhead, squeaked angrily and whirred away into deeper darkness.
They passed between statues of horrific aspect, set in niches on either side. Dark hallways opened on either hand. They crossed a throne room.
The throne, carved of the same black stone as the rest of the building, still stood. Other chairs and divans, being made of wood, had crumbled into dust, leaving a litter of nails, metallic ornaments, and semi-precious stones on the floor.
'It must have stood vacant for thousands of years,' whispered Nestor.
They traversed several chambers, which might have been a king's private apartments; but the absence of perishable furnishings made it impossible to tell. They found themselves before a door. Conan put his torch close to it.
It was a stout door, set in an arch of stone and made of massive timbers, bound together with brackets of green-filmed copper. Conan poked the door with his sword. The blade entered easily; a little shower of dusty fragments, pale in the torchlight, sifted down.
'It's rotten,' growled Nestor, kicking out. His boot went into the wood almost as easily as Conan's sword had done. A copper fitting fell to the floor with a dull clank.
In a moment they had battered down the rotten timbers in a shower of wood dust. They stooped, thrusting their torches ahead of them into the opening. Light, reflected from silver, gold, and jewels, winked back at them.
Nestor pushed through the opening, then backed out so suddenly that he bumped into Conan. 'There are men in there!' he hissed.
'Let's see.' Conan thrust his head into the opening and peered right and left. 'They're dead. Come on!'
Inside, they stared about them until their torches burned down to their hands and they had to light a new pair. Around the room, seven giant warriors, each at least seven feet tall, sprawled in chairs. Their heads lay against the chair backs and their mouths hung open. They wore the trappings of a bygone era; their plumed copper helmets and the copper scales on their corselets were green with age. Their skins were brown and waxy-looking, like those of mummies, and grizzled beards hung down to their waists. Copper-bladed bills and pikes leaned against the wall beside them or lay on the floor.
In the centre of the room rose an altar, of black basalt like the rest of the palace. Near the altar, on the floor, several chests of treasure had lain. The wood of these chests had rotted away; the chests had burst open, letting a glittering drift of treasure pour out on the floor.
Conan stepped close to one of the immobile warriors and touched the man's leg with the point of his sword. The body lay still. He murmured:
'The ancients must have mummified them, as they tell me the priests do with the dead in Stygia.'
Nestor looked uneasily at the seven still forms. The feeble flames of the torches seemed unable to push the dense darkness back to the sable walls and roof of the chamber.
The block of black stone in the middle of the room rose to waist height. On its flat, polished top, inlaid in narrow strips of ivory, was a diagram of interlaced circles and triangles. The whole formed a seven-pointed star. The spaces between the lines were marked by symbols in some form of writing that Conan did not recognise. He could read Zamorian and write it after a fashion, and he had smatterings of Hyrkanian and Corinthian; but these cryptic glyphs were beyond him.
In any case, he was more interested in the things that lay on top of the altar. On each point of the star, winking in the ruddy, wavering light of the torches, lay a great green jewel, larger than a hen's egg.
At the centre of the diagram stood a green statuette of a serpent with up-reared head, apparently carved from jade.
Conan moved his torch close to the seven great, glowing gems. 'I want those,' he grunted. 'You can have the rest.'
'No, you don't!' snapped Nestor. 'Those are worth more than all the other treasure in this room put together. I will have them!'
Tension crackled between the two men, and their free hands stole toward their hilts. For a space they stood silently, glaring at each other.
Then Nestor said:
'Then let us divide them, as we agreed to do.'
'You cannot divide seven by two,' said Conan. 'Let us flip one of these coins for them. The winner takes the seven jewels, while the other man has his pick of the rest. Does that suit you?'
Conan picked a coin out of one of the heaps that marked the places where the chests had lain. Although he had acquired a good working knowledge of coins in his career as a thief, this was entirely unfamiliar. One side bore a face, but whether of a man, a demon, or an owl he could not tell. The other side was covered with symbols like those on the altar.
Conan showed the coin to Nestor. The two treasure hunters grunted agreement. Conan flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on his left wrist. He extended the wrist, with the coin still covered, toward Nestor.
'Heads,' said the Gunderman.
Conan removed his hand from the coin. Nestor peered and growled:
'Ishtar curse the thing! You win. Hold my torch a moment.'
Conan, alert for any treacherous move, took the torch. But Nestor merely untied the strap of his cloak and spread the garment on the dusty floor. He began shoveling handfuls of gold and gems from the heaps on the floor into a pile on the cloak.
'Don't load yourself so heavily that you can't run,' said Conan. 'We are not out of this yet, and it's a long walk back to Shadizar.'
'I can handle it,' said Nestor. He gathered up the comers of the cloak, slung the improvised bag over his back, and held out a hand for his torch.
Conan handed it to him and stepped to the altar. One by one he took the great, green jewels and thrust them into the leathern sack that hung from his shoulders.
When all seven had been removed from the altar top, he paused, looking at the jade serpent. 'This will fetch a pretty price,' he said.
Snatching it up, he thrust it, too, into his booty bag.
'Why not take some of the remaining gold and jewels, too?' asked Nestor. 'I have all I can carry.'
'You've got the best stuff,' said Conan. 'Besides, I don't need any more. Man, with these I can buy a kingdom! Or a dukedom, anyway, and all the wine I can drink and women I—'
A sound caused the plunderers to whirl, staring wildly. Around the walls, the seven mummified warriors were coming to life. Their heads came up, their mouths closed, and air hissed into their ancient, withered lungs. Their joints creaked like rusty hinges as they picked up their pikes and bills and rose to their feet.
'Run!' yelled Nestor, hurling his torch at the nearest giant and snatching out his sw
ord.
The torch struck the giant in the chest, fell to the floor, and went out. Having both hands free, Conan retained his torch while he drew his sword. The light of the remaining torch flickered feebly on the green of the ancient copper harness as the giants closed in on the pair.
Conan ducked the sweep of a bill and knocked the thrust of a pike aside. Between him and the door, Nestor engaged a giant who was moving to block their escape. The Gunderman parried a thrust and struck a fierce, backhanded blow at his enemy's thigh. The blade bit, but only a little way; it was like chopping wood. The giant staggered, and Nestor hewed at another. The point of a pike glanced off his dented cuirass.
The giants moved slowly, or the treasure hunters would have fallen before their first onset. Leaping, dodging, and whirling, Conan avoided blows that would have stretched him senseless on the dusty floor. Again and again his blade bit into the dry, woody flesh of his assailants.
Blows that would have decapitated a living man only staggered these creatures from another age. He landed a chop on the hand of one attacker, maiming the member and causing the giant to drop his pike.
He dodged the thrust of another pike and put every ounce of strength into a low forehand cut at the giant's ankle. The blade bit half through, and the giant crashed to the floor.
'Out!' bellowed Conan, leaping over the fallen body.
He and Nestor raced out the door and through halls and chambers. For an instant Conan feared they were lost, but he caught a glimpse of light ahead. The two dashed out the main portal of the palace. Behind them came the clatter and tramp of the guardians. Overhead, the sky had paled and the stars were going out with the coming of dawn.
'Head for the wall,' panted Nestor. 'I think we can outrun them.'
As they reached the far side of the plaza, Conan glanced back. 'Look!'
he cried.
One by one, the giants emerged from the palace. And one by one, as they came into the growing light, they sank to the pavement and crumbled into dust, leaving their plumed copper helmets, their scaled cuirasses, and their other accouterments in heaps on the ground.
'Well, that's that,' said Nestor. 'But how shall we get back into Shadizar without being arrested? It will be day-light long before we get there.'
Conan grinned. 'There's a way of getting in that we thieves know. Near the northeast corner of the wall stands a clump of trees. If you poke around among the shrubs that mask the wall, you will find a kind of culvert—I suppose to let the water out of the city in heavy rains. It used to be closed by an iron grating, but that has rusted away. If you are not too fat, you can worm your way through it. You come out in a lot where people dump rubbish from houses that have been torn down.'
'Good,' said Nestor. 'I'll—'
A deep rumble cut off his words. The earth heaved and rocked and trembled, throwing him to the ground and staggering the Cimmerian.
'Look out!' yelled Conan.
As Nestor started to scramble up, Conan caught his arm and dragged him back toward the centre of the plaza. As he did so, the wall of a nearby building fell over into the plaza. It smashed down just where the two had been standing, but its mighty crash was lost in the thunder of the earthquake.
'Let's get out of here!' shouted Nestor.
Steering by the moon, now low in the western sky, they ran zigzag through the streets. On either side of them, walls and columns leaned, crumbled, and crashed. The noise was deafening. Clouds of dust arose, making the fugitives cough.
Conan skidded to a halt and leaped back to avoid being crushed under the front of a collapsing temple. He staggered as fresh tremors shook the earth beneath him. He scrambled over piles of ruin, some old and some freshly made. He leaped madly out from under a falling column drum. Fragments of stone and brick struck him; one laid open a cut along his jaw. Another glanced from his shin, making him curse by the gods of all the lands he had visited.
At last he reached the city wall. It was a wall no longer, having been shaken down to a low ridge of broken stone.
Limping, coughing, and panting, Conan climbed the ridge and turned to look back. Nestor was no longer with him. Probably, he thought, the Gunderman had been caught under a falling wall. Conan listened but could hear no cry for help.
The rumble of quaking earth and falling masonry died away. The light of the low moon glistened on the vast cloud of dust that covered the city.
Then a dawn breeze sprang up and slowly wafted the dust away.
Sitting on the crest of the ridge of ruin that marked the site of the wall, Conan stared back across the site of Larsha. The city bore an aspect entirely different from when he had entered it. Not a single building remained upright Even the monolithic palace of black basalt, where he and Nestor had found their treasure, had crumbled into a heap of broken blocks. Conan gave up thoughts of going back to the palace on some future occasion to collect the rest of the treasure. An army of workmen would have to clear away the wreckage before the valuables could be salvaged.
All of Larsha had fallen into heaps of rubble. As far as he could see in the growing light, nothing moved in the city. The only sound was the belated fall of an occasional stone.
Conan felt his booty bag, to make sure that he still had had his loot, and turned his face westward, towards Shadizar. Behind him, the rising sun shot a spear of light against his broad back.
The following night, Conan swaggered into his favourite tavern, that of Abuletes, in the Maul. The low, smoke-stained room stank of sweat and sour wine. At crowded tables, thieves and murderers drank ale and wine, diced, argued, sang, quarreled, and blustered. It was deemed a dull evening here when at least one customer was not stabbed in a brawl.
Across the room, Conan sighted his sweetheart of the moment, drinking alone at a small table. This was Semiramis, a strongly-built, black-haired woman several years older than the Cimmerian.
'Ho there, Semiramis!' roared Conan, pushing his way across. 'I've got something to show you! Abuletes! A jug of your best Kyrian! I'm in luck tonight!'
Had Conan been older, caution would have stopped him from openly boasting of his plunder, let alone displaying it. As it was, he strode up to Semiramis' table and up-ended the leathern sack containing the seven great, green gems.
The jewels cascaded out of the bag, thumped the wine-wet table top—and crumbled instantly into fine green powder, which sparkled in the candlelight.
Conan dropped the sack and stood with his mouth agape, while nearby drinkers burst into raucous laughter.
'Crom and Mannanan!' the Cimmerian breathed at last. 'This time, it seems, I was too clever for my own good.' Then he bethought him of the jade serpent, still in the bag. 'Well, I have something that will pay for a few good carousals, anyway.'
Moved by curiosity, Semiramis picked up the sack from the table. Then she dropped it with a scream.
'It's—it's alive!' she cried.
'What—' began Conan, but a shout from the doorway cut him off :
'There he is, men! Seize him!'
A fat magistrate had entered the tavern, followed by a squad of the night watch, armed with bills. The other customers fell silent, staring woodenly into space as if they knew nothing of Conan or of any of the other riffraff who were Abuletes' guests.
The magistrate pushed toward Conan's table. Whipping out his sword, the Cimmerian put his back against the wall. His blue eyes blazed dangerously, and his teeth showed in the candle light.
'Take me if you can, dogs!' he snarled. 'I've done nothing against your stupid laws!' Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered to Semiramis:
'Grab the bag and get out of here. If they get me, if's yours.'
'I—I'm afraid of it!' whimpered the woman.
'Oh-ho!' chortled the magistrate, coming forward. 'Nothing, eh? Nothing but to rob our leading citizens blind! There's evidence enough to lop your head off a hundred times over! And then you slew Nestor's soldiers and persuaded him to join you in a raid on the ruins of Larsha, eh? We found him earlier this
evening, drunk and boasting of his feat. The villain got away from us, but you shan't!'
As the watachmen formed a half-circle around Conan, bills pointing toward his breast, the magistrate noticed the sack on the table.
'Whaf's this, your latest loot? Well see—'
The fat man thrust a hand into the sack. For an instant he fumbled.
Then his eyes widened; his mouth opened to emit an appalling shriek. He jerked his hand out of the bag. A jade-green snake, alive and writhing, had thrown a loop around his wrist and had sunk its fangs into his hand.
Cries of horror and amazement arose. A watchman sprang back and fell over a table, smashing mugs and splashing liquors. Another stepped forward to catch the magistrate as he tottered and fell. A third dropped his bill and, screaming hysterically, broke for the door.
Panic seized the customers. Some jammed themselves into the door, struggling to get out. A couple started fighting with knives, while another thief, locked in combat with a watchman, rolled on the floor.
One of the candles was knocked over; then another, leaving the room but dimly lit by the little earthenware lamp over the counter.
In the gloom, Conan caught Semiramis' wrist and hauled her to her feet.
He beat the panic-stricken mob aside with the flat of his sword and forced his way through the throng to the door. Out in the night, the two ran, rounding several corners to throw off pursuit. Then they stopped to breathe. Conan said:
'This city will be too cursed hot for me after this. I'm on my way.
Good-bye, Semiramis.'
'Would you not care to spend a last night with me?'
'Not this time. I must try to catch that rascal Nestor. If the fool hadn't blabbed, the law would not have gotten on my trail so quickly.
He has all the treasure a man can carry, while I ended up with naught.
Maybe I can persuade him to give me half; if not—' He thumbed the edge of his sword.
Semiramis sighed. 'There will always be a hideout for you in Shadizar, while I live. Give me a last kiss.'
They embraced briefly. Then Conan was gone, like a shadow in the night.
The Conan Chronology Page 95
