Conan's stomach growled. 'I wish we would encounter one soon. I have neither spear nor bow, but I am hungry enough to chase down a deer with nothing but my sword.'
In the mild climate Conan had removed all but his wolfskin tunic and leggings. The rest of his clothing and armour was bundled in his cloak and tied across his back. Sword and dagger were belted at his waist.
They were headed toward sunset, whatever that might mean in this place. They were crossing a deep cleft in a mountainside with a stream at its bottom. This stream flowed uphill, as did some others they had seen. Others flowed downhill, and they had even encountered one that had an uphill current on one side and a downhill current on the other. Conan had been in many strange places in his life, but this was the oddest of them all.
'Be still!' Rerin hissed.
Conan did as he was bidden. He listened hard, and soon heard a rumbling, slithering sound. His eye caught a hint of movement upon the ridge-line they had just crossed. He thought he could make out something like a scaly back, sliding just above the crest of land. The bulk of the thing was below the crest, but from what he could see it looked as if half a league of the thing was going by.
'Crom!' he said when the thing was out of sight. 'What was that? It looked like the grandfather of all serpents.'
Rerin shook his head. 'I know not, but I do not think it is native to the Shifting Land. What called it hither I dread even to contemplate.'
'Just as well we got into this valley when we did,' Conan said. 'If we had been slower crossing the ridge, it might have seen us. If it has eyes, at any rate. If there are more like that hereabout, we may be in for trouble.'
'May be?' said Rerin. 'We have been in mortal peril since we crossed from the world of men.'
With a slight rustling noise, an animal emerged from a clump of bushes. It was piglike, with a snout for rooting, and small, hoofed feet. For a moment it stood and squinted at them nearsightedly, its nostrils quivering at their strange smell. In that moment Conan grabbed up a jagged rock and threw it, all in one motion, almost too swift to see. The stone struck the beast between the eyes with a loud crunch, and it fell over on its side, stone dead.
Conan grinned. 'There's our dinner!' He drew his knife and advanced on the dead creature.
'You are as handy with a rock as with a sword,' Rerin observed.
Conan began butchering the carcass. 'Cimmerian lads are expected to find much of their own food after they have learned to walk. I've spent many a night on a cold mountainside watching over the clan's cattle on short rations. Woe to the rabbit or mountain goat that came within range of my throwing-arm during those lean days. I am even better with a sling, but a simple stone will do.'
'So I see. I shall build us a fire, though I fear to attract attention.'
'I would rather die fighting than starve,' Conan
said. 'In any case, I would like to speak with the inhabitants of this land, so let them come.'
Soon the joints of the 'pig' were sizzling and smoking on spits over the flames. As the meat was lightly cooked Conan carved away chunks and stuffed them into his mouth, thrusting the joints back over the flames to cook some more. Rerin ate somewhat less ravenously, but he managed to put away a goodly portion of the meat as well. From time to time Conan took up his sword and hacked at a hairy root that kept creeping toward them from the nearest tree line.
'It may come from this demon land,' Conan said, waving a rib, 'but it tastes as good as any wild boar I have eaten in the world of men.'
'Pray we find other things as agreeable,' Rerin said gloomily.
'Cheer up, wizard. We are alive, we are free, and we are on the track of the lady to whom we both owe allegiance. There are worse things than that.' He picked up a large rock, one of a pile he had gathered by them, and threw it. It crushed a small bush he did not like the look of. 'We could be dead,' he went on, 'or in chains.'
'I envy your ability to be calm in the midst of the unknown, young man.'
Conan shrugged. 'I have never found any advantage in worrying about things before they happen. If danger threatens, I can fight it or run from it, but until it is before me there is little I can do about it. Does that not make sense?'
Rerin sighed. 'Of a sort.' He stared into the flames, and his expression went blank. Conan knew that this meant the old man was in one of his trances, so the Cimmerian applied himself to his eating until Rerin should come out of it.
After several minutes Rerin blinked and was once more aware of his surroundings.
'Well?' said Conan eagerly, 'did you learn aught of Alcuina?'
'She is in some manner of danger, but it is not mortal peril, as if something were about to slay her.'
'Eh? What do you mean? Either she is in danger or she is not.'
'It was not clear to me. From what could learn, she has escaped from her captors, and they search for her. She has fallen in with others, and these mean her no less harm.'
'That does not surprise me,' Conan said, 'in this place. Do you know yet where she is?'
'There was a veil between me and her whereabouts, and fear that she has fallen in with magic-practitioners of no mean order. However, before I was cut off from her I saw a great building, like a castle. I think she is in that place.'
'A castle,' Conan mused. 'I have dealt with castles before, and border forts, strong-houses, temple treasuries, and the like. Any strong place made by men may be broken into, and its treasures despoiled.'
'You speak as if from much experience,' Rerin said. 'However, I fear that this place may not have been made by men.'
'That is bad, as is your talk of magic-practitioners. But, we can only do our best.' He tossed a bone over his shoulder into the dark beyond. They could hear something pounce upon it. Conan lay down with his head pillowed on his cuirass and drew his wolfskin cloak over him. 'You take first watch. Keep the plants
at a distance.' He placed his hand upon his sword hilt and was soon snoring peacefully.
Rerin closed his eyes and raised his palms in a gesture of prayer. 'Father Ymir, for all mankind I am grateful that you did not make many like him, but on behalf of Alcuina and myself, I thank you for sending him to us when you did.'
In a high tower of the great castle, in a chamber filled with strange instruments and the sounds and smells of stranger beasts, Hasta stood over a brazier, inhaling the fumes from blossoms that blackened and crisped upon the coals. His silver eyes revealed nothing, but his body twitched spasmodically, and the mirror he faced revealed not his reflection but a writhing nest of multicoloured smokes. Inhuman sounds emerged from his lips in a mumbling stream.
Behind him a door opened quietly, and Sarissa entered. Now she wore a caped robe of sheerest material, which moulded itself to breasts and buttocks and thighs, concealing nothing and enhancing everything. She waited quietly, not daring to disturb her brother in the midst of his trance. There were limits to her power, but none to the painful and humiliating ways he could express his displeasure.
Below in her chamber she had at last tired of her new toy, who was now sobbing and exhausted, and had become aware that some important spell was being cast within the castle. As earthly beings know instantly the sound of a loved one's voice, so Sarissa recognised the vibrations of her brother's spell-casting and decided to go investigate. Her people's abiding burden was boredom, and they spent much of their time in search of new diversion.
Rerin and Conan were in an open field, tramping toward far mountains, when they were struck by a dizzying sense of disorientation. It was like a combination of taking a long fall and standing in an earthquake. Yet, when it passed, they were standing as they had been and the nearby trees did not sway. It was not the first time they had experienced this sensation, which was commonplace in the Shifting Land.
'What's changed now?' Conan asked irritably. 'Anything in our path?'
'I fear so.' Rerin pointed to a deep cleft that had appeared in a hillside before them. In the cleft was the entrance to a great cavern. It
looked like a feature of the landscape that had been there forever, yet it had not been there a few minutes before.
'I do not like this,' Conan said. He opened his bundle and buckled on his cuirass. Clapping on his helmet, he fastened its chin strap. 'Let's skirt that cave at a good distance,' he advised. 'It has the aspect of a demon-haunt.'
'I agree,' Rerin said. 'It has appeared too conveniently before us, and I fear some hostile power has taken an interest in us.'
They edged away from the ominous cave mouth, keeping a wary eye on it. They were just past it and beginning to relax when the attack came. With an inarticulate cry, Rerin grasped Conan's shoulder and pointed. From the mouth of the cave a thing of pure nightmare was emerging.
'Crom!' Conan said in a choked voice.
The creature was the size of an elephant, and it stood upon innumerable, jointed legs. It was covered with a horny carapace and bore before it a pair of huge pincers on massive arms. From its rear protruded what appeared to be a cluster of snakes, arching high over its back. Between the pincer-tipped 'arms' was a tiny head bearing two antennae, which waved about as if under their own volition.
The two men stood absolutely still, knowing that the slightest movement or sound might give away their position. Whatever unearthly senses the monster might possess, ordinary vision did not seem to be among them. For several heartbeats the situation remained static, then the antennae ceased their random motion and pointed straight at them. Slowly, the thing began to creep in their direction.
'I think,' Rerin said in a most unwizardly and strangled voice, 'that it is time to run.' He proceeded to do exactly that, and any watcher would have been amazed to see how his skinny old legs kept him ahead of the fast-leaping Cimmerian.
Conan ran for his life, but he heard hideous sounds growing closer behind him. Surely the ungainly thing could not run as fast as a Cimmerian mountaineer? He looked back over his shoulder and saw to his horror that the monster was scuttling after them on its multiple legs, faster than any man could run.
With the instantaneous decision that so characterized him, Conan halted in mid-stride, whirled about, and drew his sword. It was not that he thought he stood a chance against so formidable a creature, but that any slight chance he might have would not be improved by further, tiring flight. He could just hear the old man's pattering footsteps receding into the distance, then he had no attention to spare for anything but his immediate concern.
The monster bulked huge as it bore down upon him.
As always, the part of Conan's mind that controlled his fighting worked with lightning speed, cataloguing the thing's strengths and weaknesses.
There were alarmingly few of the latter. Its armoured body looked as invulnerable as the walls of a strong castle. Its tiny head with the crucial antennae might be attacked, but it was wedged between the powerful arms, and to attack it meant coming within reach of the pincers. The snakelike multiple tails were as yet an unknown quantity. All this went through his mind between grasping his hilt and the moment when his sword point cleared the sheath. That left the legs, which were relatively spindly. Having made all the calculations that might do him any good, Conan charged.
At first his path took him directly toward the monster, which reached for him with its terrible pincers. With timing so precise that few men could have matched it, Conan dove to one side just as a pincer almost touched his cuirass. He went into a forward roll and came up in a crouch by the thing's flank, swinging his sword with both hands. The nearest leg gave way beneath his blow, but it was no easy task. The legs looked thin against the monster's bulk, but each was still as thick as the arm of a strong man and armoured with horny chitin.
By striking at the joints he was able to cripple two of the legs before going into another dive and roll. He knew that it would be death to stand in one place for more than a moment. This time he managed to hew away a single leg before some instinct made him look up, just in time to see one of the serpentine tails plunging down at him. In the instant that he saw it he also noted its bulbous tip from which protruded a transparent, needle-like fang dripping some green, viscous fluid.
He dropped aside and rolled away just as the tail passed through the space where he had been standing. A cloud of stinking smoke erupted from the grass where the fluid was splattered.
Conan ran, and the thing whirled to chase him. He was gratified to note that, fast as it was in running, it was somewhat slower in turning upon its own axis. This gave him time to get a score of paces away and ready himself for his next attack. He knew that it would take a long time to disable enough legs to stop the thing, but he could see no other method open to him. He repeated his first tactic, crippling two more legs and dodging the tails, but this time the monster sent three tails plunging at him, and he was saved from them more by chance than by his own speed. The creature had anticipated his tactic this time. Apparently then, it had a form of intelligence. His original tactic had worked well, but he dared not try it again.
Once more he charged at the beast, with his sword gripped in both hands. Now it held its pincers wide, expecting him to dodge to one side or the other. Instead he came straight in, hacking at the tiny head. He felt his sword connect jarringly, then he was beneath the creature, rolling and chopping at its legs, careful to attack the legs on the same side he had started working upon. Thus, he had to disable only half as many legs as by working on both sides. As he rolled from beneath it the thing sent the whole cluster of tails darting at him, but he was well clear before the ground exploded in smoke and steam from the action of the acid venom.
This time as the thing turned and charged him it was noticeably slower, and it sagged a bit to the wounded side. That was all to the good, but what could he do next? If the thing was capable of learning, then it would be prepared for the tricks he had used ere now and would counter them. This was a difficult puzzle, and one he had a terribly short time to solve.
There was one way he had not as yet attacked it. He could see little way to do it damage, but it might buy him a little time. As it neared he waited until the pincers made their grab for him, then he leaped, got one foot atop a pincer, and launched himself upon the thing's back. He made an experimental chop at the backplates, only to confirm that the stuff was as impervious as steel armour. The footing was treacherous as well. The tails were not able to reach so far forward, but he dared not stumble back toward them. He jumped off to one side, planning to hack at a few legs before running once more.
As he landed, an unseen stone in the grass turned beneath his foot, and he went sprawling on his back. Before he could rise, one of the tails came down like a meteor. It smashed against his breastplate, and his nostrils were assailed by the chemical fumes of the disintegrating bronze. Then he saw another about to strike his face. Even his quick reflexes were not swift enough to save him, but something batted the swollen poison-gland and fang aside, splattering his face with a fine dew, which burned fiercely but was not strong enough to kill. Instantly he was on his feet and running, and old Rerin was at his side.
They stopped at some distance from the monster. It was turning, once again seeming to be slowed by its injuries.
'It's good to know your staff is good for something besides leaning upon, old man,' Conan said.
'Get your armour off quickly,' Rerin urged. 'The venom will eat through and start on you!'
Conan ignored the buckles and cut the straps of the cuirass with his dagger. The once-fine bronze lay smoking upon the ground, slowly collapsing as the venom ate the metal away. He fought the urge to wipe at the spots where the stuff had splashed him. The pain was bearable, and it would only mean a few new scars among the many he already had. The thing was bearing down upon them once more.
'If it had eyes,' Conan muttered, 'I could reach its brain with a thrust.'
'It may not have a brain as we know such things,' Rerin said. 'But its antennae serve it for eyes and ears. If you can disable those, perhaps you may finish it at leisure.'
T
he thing was almost upon them. 'Have you a spell to aid me, old man?' Conan asked.
'No.'
'Ah, well,' said Conan.
To get at the antennae he must reach the head. He had done that once before, but the thing must be ready for such a move. Besides supporting the antennae, the little head bore on its bottom a set of sideways-working jaws with which the thing ate. It occurred to Conan that if he could not get close to the head by his own efforts, perhaps he could persuade the beast to convey him thither.
This time the creature did not simply bear down upon Conan. Instead it halted and reached for him with its clawed pincers. He dodged from side to side, and it brought its own rear around, to menace him with the deadly, whip-like tails. As it made a pass with its pincers he leaped onto the arm, straddling it in the 'wrist' just behind the pincer. It was a matter of some anxiety to him that the thing might raise him within range of the tails, but to his relief it instead brought him toward the jaws.
The instant he was within sword range, Conan hacked at the base of the nearest antenna. A shudder went through the whole beast, shaking him violently upon his precarious perch. He hacked again, and the antenna fell away. The thing went into a paralytic tremor. Conan leaped down from the pincer; the other made a slow, uncertain grab at him, but he evaded it easily. With both feet braced he hewed off the other antenna with a single chop.
As the antenna fell, Conan turned and ran. The beast behind him made clacking, chittering noises, but Conan did not look back until he was once again with the wizard. He was in time to see the creature's spasmodic jerkings cease as it collapsed upon the sward. Smoke rose from it, and it began to collapse in upon itself, much as had his cuirass as the acid had eaten it away. Soon there was little more than a smoking hulk left of the frightening creature.
'It was not a natural part of this place,' said Rerin. 'With its vital principal gone, there is nothing to hold its component matter together, and it melts into the aether.'
The old man was breathing hard, and Conan was more than a trifle breathless himself. 'That was a brave thing you did, wizard. Had you not knocked that stinger aside with your staff, I would have died over there. I thank you. There is a warrior's heart inside that withered old carcass of yours.'
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