The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  Conan shook his head slightly. 'We must not leap up and depart in haste, for that would draw attention. Besides, he seems completely absorbed in what he's telling the Stygian.'

  'At least,' breathed Rudabeh, 'Darius is one of whom I have little fear. He is unworldly and idealistic, and gossip says he is at outs with the High Priest and the Vicar. Behold, here comes the harper. Dare we wait to hear him?'

  'Surely!' said Conan. 'I'll order one more cup for each of us ere he begins.' He waved to Mandana.

  Rudabeh yawned, then smiled through her veil. 'I ought not to drink so much, but this wine is so refreshing. What is it called?'

  'Wine of Kyros, from the coast of Shem. I hear the combination of climate and soil makes it the world's best; and if there be a better, I have yet to taste it.'

  The harper sat on his stool and tuned his instrument. Sweeping skilled hands across the strings, he sang a tragic lament in a voice quivering with despair. At the end he got a brief round of applause. He acknowledged it with a bow, then passed around the room, holding out his cap for donations.

  His next song was a rollicking ballad about a fabled robber who stole from the rich but gave to the poor. But now a dispute broke out among the four Turanians, whose angry voices nearly drowned out the delicate chords of the harp: and the fluting voice of the singer. Several patrons tried to quiet them, but they paid no heed. Since they were speaking Hyrkanian, Conan could follow the thrust of the dispute.

  The Turanians were arguing over who should enjoy the favours of Mandana for the night. Conan had been discomfited to learn that Bartakes rented out his daughter for this purpose. Although he had shed most of the stern moral code of his barbaric homeland, Conan considered it dishonourable for any man to prostitute his kinswoman. But then, he told himself, what could one expect of decadent Zamorians? Besides, he admitted, before he met Rudabeh he had intended to avail himself of the tavern wench's services.

  The dispute was at length referred to the dice box, and for a while the twang of the harp competed with the rattle of dice. Then a shout announced the winner, and the other three congratulated him with loud, lewd jests.

  Rudabeh, taking a sip of her wine, said: 'It is - it is a shame we cannot hear the music. Corin, can naught be done to quiet those louts?'

  Conan had resolved not to let himself be drawn into any brawls that night. He feared that either his identity or that of his companion might be exposed, or that - if nothing worse - Bartakes would forbid him the premises. On the other hand, it went against his nature to sit supinely by while a woman in distress appealed to him for aid.

  Before he could decide which impulse to follow, one of the Turanians rose unsteadily to his feet and lurched across the common room to Conan's table. He slapped Conan on the shoulders and barked in broken Zamorian:

  'You, fellow! How much you take for loan of your woman for this night?'

  Keeping a tight rein on his volcanic temper, Conan replied: 'My woman, as you call her, is not for sale or rent. Besides, I thought you had already gained the innkeeper's daughter?'

  Swaying, the Turanian spat on the floor. 'That was Tutush won her, not me. Here I am, randy as goat and no woman. What you take? I pay good money.'

  'I have told you,' grated Conan, 'the lady is not for sale.'

  The Turanian gave Conan a cuff on the shoulder that was somewhere between a friendly pat and a hostile blow. 'Oh, do not play great lord with me! I Chagor, mighty swordsman. When I want, by Erlik I take -'

  Conan snapped to his feet and brought his fist up in a , whistling arc to Chagor's jaw. The fist connected with a jarring smack, and the Turanian fell backwards as if pole-axed. His face expressionless, Conan sat down and took a swallow of wine.

  But the Turanian's facilities soon returned to him. He reached out feebly, trying to regain his feet. Conan rose again, turned Chagor over with his boot, and grasped him by the slack of his jacket and trews. Carrying the man to the door, he kicked it open, strode out and dropped the Turanian into the horse trough. After pulling him out of the water and dipping him back several times, he dropped him in the dirt and re-entered the inn.

  Scarcely had the door closed when he found himself facing Chagor's three companions, each with scimitar bared. With the quickness of a pouncing panther, Conan swept out his own blade. He was about to launch a headlong attack, knowing that only by tigerish speed could he hope to keep his three adversaries from surrounding him and cutting him down. Then from behind the Turanians, a voice commanded in Hyrkanian:

  'Hold! Put up your swords! Back to your table, clods!'

  The graybeard with the skullcap had risen to thunder his orders in a voice like the crack of a whip. To Conan's astonishment, the lumbering Turanians obeyed promptly. They backed away, sheathed their sabres, and returned, sullen and grumbling, to their table.

  Conan scabbarded his own sword and strode back to his table. There he found that Rudabeh, sitting with her back to the corner, had dozed off and slept through the noisy confrontation.

  The harper had disappeared. The young priest who had been in conversation with the Stygian scholar rose, nodded to his acquaintance, and hurried out.

  Conan took a draft of wine and looked up to see Parvez standing by his table. The diplomat said: 'Good even, Captain Conan! And how are things in Yezud?'

  Conan growled: 'I thank you for stopping the brawl, sir, but I am Corin the blacksmith.'

  With a chuckle, the Turanian pulled up a vacant stool and sat down. 'So that is what you go by here, eh? Very well, you shall be Corin to me. But think not that I do not know you. By the way, what did you with Chagor?'

  'I gave him a much-needed bath; you could smell him half a league up-wind. Here he comes now.'

  Chagor had staggered in dripping. He glared about the room; but when Parvez pointed a stern finger, he went meekly back to the table whereat sat the other three.

  'At least, I am glad you did him no lasting harm,' said Parvez. 'They are good enough fellows, but betimes the devil gets into them.'

  Conan pushed Rudabeh's goblet toward Parvez. 'You may as well finish this, since my companion sleeps.'

  Parvez sniffed and tasted. 'Kyrian, eh? You must be in funds.'

  'What are you doing here?' countered Conan.

  'Diplomatic business.' Parvez lowered his voice and glanced around. 'Perchance we can be of service to each other. I will tell you a thing or two, since I think I can trust you further than most of the Wights hereabouts. I have a hold on you, and I know more about you than you suspect; so it behooves us to put some faith in each other. In Aghrapur you had the name of a man of his word, despite your proclivity for violence.'

  Tensely, Conan growled: 'I'll keep your secrets exactly as well as you keep mine.'

  'We agree, then? What know you of the abduction of Princess Jamilah?'

  Conan told Parvez of his encounter with Harpagus in the Marshes of Mehar. Then he repeated what Rudabeh had told him of the veiled woman. The Cimmerian ended by saying: 'How did you trace the lady hither?'

  'That required no skill. The High Priest of Zath sent message to His Majesty, stating that Her Royal Highness was safe and well and would be detained until Feridun's plans had attained fruition.'

  'But what in the nine hells,' asked Conan, 'does the temple of Zath want with the princess? They already have all the wealth any mortals could desire. Would they force the worship of Zath upon the kingdom of Turan?'

  'Nay - at least not for the nonce. I visited the High Priest this day for the answer to that very question. Feridun scornfully rejected any talk of ransom; and in the course of our speech he revealed more by his omissions than by his admissions. When I put his hints and blusters together, I was convinced that he plans to launch some sort of revolution in Zamora, to cast down the sovereign he terms 'corrupt and effete'. Apparently he seized the princess to make certain that King Yildiz shall not intervene to save his brother monarch, as called for by an ancient treaty. He assured me that the lady will be well cared for until his gr
eat 'cleansing' is accomplished.'

  'I have naught to do with that abduction, as some may think,' said Conan gruffly. 'I do not use women as counters in a game.'

  Lord Parvez raised quizzical eyebrows. 'I myself first thought that you had helped to carry off the lady, because of your simultaneous disappearance; and it was I who sent forth a warrant for your capture. It was fortunate that you made your escape, for now I think you innocent of that offence, although you remain in bad odour in Turan because of Orkhan's slaying.'

  'I killed in self-defence,' growled Conan, 'whatever that bitch Narkia has averred.'

  Parvez shrugged. 'That concerns me not, whatever be the truth of it. High Priest Tughril swears to have your heart for the death of his son, but that is his affair, and yours.' Parvez rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  'I know about that, too,' said Conan, telling of the assassin Varathran's attack on Catigern and the price that had been placed on Conan's head.

  'I don't understand,' Conan continued, 'why this scum should attack the Brythunian instead of me. We look not alike.'

  'I can imagine it,' said Parvez. 'Suppose Tughril sends a man to recruit a trusty murderer. In the gutters of Shadizar, his messenger finds Varathran and tells him: 'Go slay Conan the Cimmerian, a great hulking fellow who has fled to Yezud, to seek service in the temple guard.' With no further description to go by, Varathran arrives here and discovers two great, hulking men enmeshed in a battle. One is a palpable civilian, whilst the other wears the habiliments of a captain of mercenaries. Naturally, he takes Catigern for his quarry.'

  'You seem to have followed my every move hither,' said Conan uncomfortably.

  'Gathering information is my trade, just as fighting is yours. And now, friend - ah - Corin, I have a proposal to make.'

  'Well?' growled Conan, his blue eyes lighting with interest.

  'I want Jamilah, unharmed. You are the one man whom I count upon to get her.'

  Conan pondered, then said: 'How am I supposed to do that? The lady is hidden in that maze of corridors within the temple, just where I know not. Even if I could locate her, how could I smuggle her past the Brythunian guards? There must be at least a score of those fellows on duty there, day and night.'

  Parvez waved a negligent hand. 'In your former and less respectable days - and don't think I know not of them, too - you performed feats of stealth, daring, and cunning no whit the less.'

  'But even then, I never learned the art of picking locks. My fellow th - my associates said my thick fingers were too clumsy to make it worth their while to teach me. So how could I enter her locked chamber? I am no weakling, but those stout oaken doors are beyond my power to burst by main force. I should need an axe, the sound of whose strokes would bring the guards on the run.'

  The Turanian smiled. 'As to that, I can help you. When I came hither, it was with His Majesty's orders to recover the lady, by personally invading the temple if need be, or face loss of my head on my return. To tip the odds further in my favour, he caused the royal sorcerer to present me with this bauble.'

  Parvez produced a bejewelled silver arrow, as long as a man's finger. 'This,' he said, 'is the Clavis of Gazrik, one of the magical gimcracks in the royal strongbox. With it you can unlock any door. Having no practical experience at burglary, I dreaded this undertaking; but your appearance simplifies my task.'

  'How does that thing work?' queried Conan.

  'Touch the point of the arrow to the lock and say kapinin achilir genishi! and the lock will unlock itself. The Clavis will even make a bolt slide back, if it be not too heavy. I can lend you the object until your mission be accomplished.'

  'Hm. What shall be my price for this work?'

  'Let me think,' said the Turanian. 'I can pay you fifty pieces of gold from what I have with me. I must needs keep enough to assure my return to Turan with the lady.'

  'Hah!' exclaimed Conan. 'For such a risk? Not so, my lord. It would have to be much, much more.'

  'I could recommend you to high office and an additional emolument when I got home. I have influence, and I am sure I could at least assure you of a senior captain-ship.'

  Conan shook his head. 'Had this come ere my unfortunate encounter with Tughril's son... But as things stand, Tughril has already set one assassin on my trail, and he is likely to set others. From what I know of his little ways with traps and poisons, in Turan I shouldn't have the chance of a snowball in Rush.'

  'Well, young man, what do you wish that is within my power to grant?'

  Conan's eyes blazed bluely across the table. I'll take your pieces of gold - in advance, mind you - and also that silver arrow, but not as a loan. I'll take it to keep.'

  Parvez argued briefly against giving up the Clavis; but Conan was firm, and the older man gave in. 'It is yours,' he said at last. 'His Majesty will not be pleased, but platitude for the return of Jamilah may outweigh his resentment at the loss of the bauble.' Parvez handed over the arrow and counted out the gold. 'I suspect you have further plans for the use of the device. King Yildiz would pay handsomely for the Eyes of Zath.'

  He winked at Conan and extended a hand, which the Cimmerian gripped to seal the bargain. With a glance at the ill-sleeping Rudabeh, Parvez added: 'How will you get your fair companion home? At least, I presume she is fair beneath all those swathings.'

  Conan reached over and shook the girl. He even slapped her slightly, to no avail. Rudabeh slumbered on.

  'I'll carry her,' grunted Conan, rising. He gathered the dancing girl in his arms and bade Parvez a curt good-night. As he passed the table at which sat the four Turanians of Parvez's suite, Chagor spat on the floor and muttered something that sounded like a threat. Ignoring it, Conan strode out into the starlit night.

  The cooler air outside failed to revive Rudabeh, who was dead to the world. So Conan marched up the hillside path to the gate of Yezud with the girl in his arms. He endured in silence the gibes of the Brythunian guards who opened the small door in the gate for him. He was confident that they would not carry tales to the priests, because to do so might spoil their own off-duty amusements.

  Conan had meant to lead Rudabeh directly to the back door of the temple. But it occurred to him that, if he delivered her in this unconscious state, he might get her into the gods only knew what kind of trouble. The priests might ask Conan awkward questions, too. After a moment's thought, he carried her through his smithy and into his private abode.

  Since the night was moonless, Conan's room was pitch dark, save for a few dulled coals in the brazier. Feeling his way, he laid Rudabeh on his pallet and loosed her veils. She stirred but did not awaken.

  Conan ignited a splinter from the coals in the brazier and lit a candle. When he brought the light closer to Rudabeh, he saw that she was indeed a beautiful girl. As he looked down upon her, his passions rose. The blood pounded in his temples; he set down the candle and began gently to unfasten the girl's garments.

  He untied her cloak and spread it out. He unlaced the, flimsy jacket and spread it, baring Rudabeh's firm breasts.

  The dim-lit room swam to Conan's gaze as he looked upon his prise. His breath quickened. He started to unfasten his own garments when a thought made him pause.

  Conan prided himself upon never having forced or deceived a woman. If one wanted to extend her ultimate hospitality to him, he would quickly accept; but he had never coerced a girl or tried to befool her with false promises. To take advantage of Rudabeh's present condition would offend his code almost as gravely as an outright rape.

  Still, his passions were strong. For an instant he stood immobile as a statue while the two opposing urges battled within him.

  A fleeting vision of his aged mother, back in her Cimmerian village, tipped the balance. Telling himself that there would be other chances openly to solicit Rudabeh's love, he stooped and was just tying up her jacket when she stirred and opened her eyes.

  'What do you?' she mumbled.

  'Oh,' said Conan. 'You're alive, thank Mitra. I was going to listen to
your heart to see if it still beat.'

  'I think you had something else in mind,' she said as he helped her up. 'Ulp - I am going to be sick!'

  'Not on the floor! Over here!' he pushed her to the washstand and bent her head over the basin.

  Half an hour later, just before midnight, Conan delivered Rudabeh, clean and sober, to the back door of the temple, on the north side. 'I thank you,' she said, 'but you should not have been so generous with the wine of Kyros.'

  'I'll be stingier next time. How can I see you again?'

  She sighed. 'Ere Feridun became High Priest, you could come to this door and knock four times. Then old Oxyathres would open it, and you could tell him which girl you wished speech with and give him a coin. But Feridun has ended all that. Now you must wait until the priests give me leave to spend an evening at home; and that is something not even the keenest astrologer could predict. We shall have to meet by chance at my mother's house again.'

  'Would you like another visit to Bartakes's place, when that time comes?'

  'Ah, no indeed! I dare not go outside the city wall again. It was God-like luck that the priest Darius failed to mark my presence, and I cannot face such a risk a second time.'

  She gave him a quick kiss and was gone. Conan walked back to his smithy, scowling and muttering. He wondered: if he had taken advantage of her, would it have left him feeling a bigger fool than he felt now?

  VIII

  The Eight Eyes of Zath

  For several days, Conan laboured at his craft. He looked forward to seeing Rudabeh again at her mother's home, but the dancing girl failed to appear.

  'The way the priests work the poor lass,' said Amytis, nobody never knows when she will get home. She is supposed to have four evenings off each month, but it's a lucky month when she gets three.'

  Once he had caught up with the backlog of work that had piled up in the smithy before his employment, Conan performed his duties in a more leisurely manner. Every day he took an hour or two off to exercise his horse. Once he stopped at Bartakes's Inn to chat with Parvez, who showed increasing impatience.