The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  'It is supposed to have taken three years to sail there and back, only a single ship of the original five making the entire journey. They were great sailors in those days.' He sighed.

  'Anyway,' the scholar went on, 'there came a time of famine for all of Shem. The crops failed, the grass withered, and the flocks and herds died. Consequently, the people died. Only the maritime nation of Ashur prospered, and this brought about much jealousy. Then Ashur was struck by a devastating earthquake. The other Shemites said that the famine was sent upon them by their shepherd gods, who were angry that Shemites would turn against them and sail upon the sea. The earthquake is the ultimate expression of their displeasure and a call to the other Shemites to take action.

  'The earthquake had levelled the walls and much of the city. A horde of starveling Shemites descended upon Ashur and laid waste, killing all the folk and burning such ships as were left afloat after the earthquake. They also torched the archives that held the ship's logs and charts. Only a very few books and charts of that nation survived, and this is one.' He took back the tome.

  Helphormis lived near the end of Ashur's ascendancy. This is . record of his voyage to the seldom-visited Coast of Bones.'

  'How does it happen that this book survived the burning?' 'Conan asked.

  Springald shrugged. 'Sometimes there is no explanation of these things save the whim of the gods. After great destruction, some things come though unharmed. Oftimes great and valuable works will be destroyed, while trifling things survive unharmed. perhaps the original scroll was stored in a chest in a basement and escaped the burning. Perhaps it was on a ship at sea. Or it might have been bought or otherwise obtained by a traveller and was already in Aquilonian hands all the time of the disasters. Whatever the case, some scholar thought it worth translating and binding in book form.'

  'And what had this ancient captain to say about our destination?' Conan asked.

  'Let me see ...' Swiftly, Springald flipped through the pages. It was clear that he knew exactly where to look. 'Ah, here it is: 'The jagged white rocks being so numerous and so dose-set, we spent all of a very anxious day working the ship between them, until we lay at safe anchor just before sunset. We await daylight to go ashore.' Here he records the next day. It begins with a date which means nothing to us, since the dating system used in Ashur has perished and we can only approximate.

  ' 'At first light we rowed ashore. A party went to the green

  stream to refill our water casks but found the water much fouled' by river weed and it will take much work to purify enough for our needs. The beach is of fine white sand, and narrow. Heavy jungle grows within twenty paces of the high-tide mark.' '

  'Aye, that is how I remember the place,' Conan affirmed. 'Were the Borana there so many years ago?'

  'There is no mention of them. But there were people.' He turned over several pages. 'Here is the record of the second day of the trek inland: 'Since setting foot in the jungle we have seen signs of human habitation: strange images and fetishes hung ! from the trees, carved idols of stone and wood, the ashes of fires and so forth, but until today we saw no men. About noon we came upon a party of warriors.' '

  'Why were they travelling inland?' Conan asked.

  'Merchant captains seeking new trade often explored to find local people with valuables to exchange.' Conan was aware that Springald had avoided the question, but he let it pass.

  'He continues: These men are not like the coastal blacks we have seen. They are taller men, with lighter skins and different features, wearing much paint on their faces and bodies. Their loins are wrapped in fine cloth of an unfamiliar weave, and they bear wide-bladed spears of good forging. Many of them wear ornaments of beaten gold. Our two black guides displayed much amazement and fear at this appearance and the foreign warriors regarded them with the greatest contempt, although toward us they maintain a stern wariness that is somewhat short of hostility.' ' Springald glanced up at Conan. 'You realise that I am translating a bit here. The Aquilonian of five hundred years ago sounds strangely in our ears. I think that my translation is quite accurate.'

  'And this translated from Shemitish,' Conan said. 'Think you that that translation was accurate?''

  Despite his shaky condition, Springald managed a smile. 'That is a very pertinent question, my friend. I have never shown it to a scholar conversant with Old Shemitish, but my own admittedly sketchy knowledge of that tongue tells me that

  n is an accurate translation.' He glanced toward the dark cloud which had been so tiny such a short time before. It now coloured part of the horizon. In the waist, Wulfrede swore and barked orders. The sailors began to shorten sail. Springald turned even green at the sight.

  'Mitra! Does this mean that we are in for rough weather?'

  'Conan grinned at him. 'Aye. And if you'd keep your books dry you'd best lock them away in your chest. A ship like this is nailed together loosely, so as to give the timber play in rough water. She'll stay afloat when other ships would break apart, but n carries a price. She'll leak like a basket when the water comes down hard.'

  'Say you so? Well, I have so much to learn.' He thrust the hook back into his satchel and buckled its flap down. 'I trust you will enjoy the storm. I know I shall not.' With that he staggered down the ladder.

  Conan awaited the oncoming blow with relish, knowing that it was not one of the great, terrible storms. This would be a mere gust, lasting no more than an evening and a night, and allowing him to see how the ship handled when the weather was rough. As he watched the billowing clouds approaching and the sails being taken in, he thought of Springald, and his book.

  Conan was no longer the boy who had once cruised these seas with Bêlit. He had served in many armies and had learned a great many things about the ways of powerful men. He had also learned a bit about written languages. Most of the civilised armies demanded that a man who would hold officer's rank be able to read and write. Springald had clearly allowed Conan to handle his book under the assumption that this barbarian could not read Aquilonian. Springald had been wrong.

  It was true enough that the archaic form of Aquilonian in the book had been confusing to Conan, but he had been able to piece together many words, and among them had been a single phrase of three words written in letters a bit larger than the others, as if it had special meaning. It had been: 'Horns of Shushtu.'

  'A little fun coming up for our landsmen, eh, Conan?' said Wulfrede as he leapt from the deck over the rail of the poop, ignoring the ladder that connected the two.

  'They'll be sick,' Conan commented, 'but they'll endure it. These are not like the merchant's factors that sailormen toy with so often. They'll swallow their discomfiture and come back as haughty as ever. You cannot shame the real aristocrats.'

  Wulfrede nodded. 'Aye, I think you're right. That Ulfilo looks like he could be a hard one. And the white wench holds her nose as high as any I've seen. Even the bookman brooks no insolence from the sailors.' He paused, then went on in a different tone: 'Conan, have you noted the satchel that the bookman carries?'

  'I could hardly miss it,' Conan admitted.

  'I am no scholar, but I am sailor enough to recognise charts and logbooks when I see such.'

  'Aye, that is what he carries. But then what of that? He is a scholar and what he studies are the voyages of ancient explorers. What else would he keep with him?'

  Wulfrede snorted. 'Scholars live in their dusty schools and libraries and read about the adventures of braver men. No, a man sets out to sea with a bagful of charts when he is looking for something, and it is not just some other man's brother! I tell you, Conan, these Aquilonians are searching for hidden treasure! What else would take a high noble away from his lands to voyage upon unknown waters?'

  Now it was the Cimmerian's turn to snort. 'Treasure maps! You know as well as I that those things are traded about in every sailor's dive to separate the gullible from their money. I've been offered as many as three in a single evening, in Kordava. I even bought one or two, back
when I was too young to know much about maps, or money.'

  'Would such frauds fool a real expert?' Wulfrede said. 'Do you think this Springald would be gulled by the childish maps peddled in ports?'

  Conan shook his black mane. 'No, I'll own he would not. But that does not mean that your suspicions are well founded. And even if they search for treasure, surely they do not think they can trek inland by themselves. They would be nothing but Imner for the Borana, if the wild beasts and the great snakes there not get them first.'

  'Aye. So just what are their plans?'

  'I do not know. I know what they hired me for and I intend to hold up my end of the bargain. When we get them to where icy want to go, then perhaps we shall see what their true intentions are.'

  Then the storm was upon them and they had too much work keeping the ship afloat and on course to waste time and breath in fruitless conversation.

  On a beautiful day, as the sun beat down fiercely, the water in which the Sea Tiger sailed changed colour from blue to deep green, then to muddy brown. The three passengers were on deck and remarked upon the phenomenon.

  'What could this mean?' Malia asked Springald. Conan was amused that she should ask the scholar instead of a sailor. But Springald knew.

  'We have entered the effluent of a river. Were you to dip a bucket into that murky fluid you would find that it is fresh rather than salt. Not that I would recommend that you drink of it. From he tremendous extent of this effluent this can only be the Styx, called the Nilus in some tongues, and it is by far the largest river in the world. It drains a whole continent and carries with it all the corruption and waste of that great land. Stygians can drink it, but foreigners who do fall ill of a thousand diseases.'

  'Then we must be near Khemi,' Ulfilo said. All three were fully recovered from their seasickness and were as hale as ever. He turned to the Cimmerian. 'How close are we, Conan?'

  'We will be there by mid-afternoon,' he said sombrely. The Cimmerian now wore only the short breeks common to sailors, his feet bare upon the deck. A strip of scarlet cloth tied around

  brow and temple served to confine his unruly hair and keep sweat out of his eyes during the strenuous work of shiphandling.

  'You do not seem to relish the prospect,' said Springald.

  'I do not,' Conan admitted. 'I dislike Stygia and anything to do with the place. Its people are cowed slaves and it is ruled by priests and wizards. The whole nation is unclean.'

  'But it is the most ancient of lands,' Springald said, 'the heir to ancient Acheron and guardian of the mysteries of storied Python. We Hyborians are mere children compared to the Stygians. Our ancestors were crude barbarians mere centuries ago. Stygia measures its history in millennia!'

  'It is a history of oppression and enslavement,' Conan asserted. 'Better clean barbarism, however crude, than the lordship of magicians.'

  'Nonetheless,' Ulfilo said, 'to Khemi we must go.'

  Wulfrede joined them upon the poop deck. 'You speak of Khemi? I must tell you that it is no ordinary port. The Stygians do not like foreigners. Strangers are not allowed in the city after dark.'

  'How can they carry on any sort of commerce with such restrictions?' Malia asked.

  'In the harbour is an island called the Tortoise. It is there that foreign ships and foreign visitors stay. Only under close watch are some ships allowed to leave the Tortoise to unload at the wharfs proper. Any foreigner who is found in Khemi after sundown is instantly put to death.'

  'Stygia sounds as unfriendly a land as Conan says,' Ulfilo commented.

  'But rich,' Wulfrede said. 'The kings and nobles of Stygia were ever a grasping lot, and little of the wealth that has made its way to Stygia has ever made its way out again. Stygian kings have been buried with more gold than most kings ever own.' True to the nature of the Vanir, Wulfrede's eyes burned with excitement when he spoke of great treasure. 'Were their curses not so damnably potent, I'd have led a few Vanir longships to Stygia years ago, just to go tomb-robbing.'

  'A pity they are so xenophobic,' Springald commented. 'I had hoped to take advantage of our sojourn in Khemi to see some of the marvelous sights I have read about. I had even hoped to obtain passage upriver to Luxur, where it is said that the tombs and temples are of a size and splendour to defy imagination.'

  Malia shuddered. 'I think the sooner we are away the better. Let us transact our business, inquire about my husband, and get on with our voyage.'

  'That is by far the best course,' Conan said.

  'More than that, the Stygians will leave us little choice,' Wulfrede added.

  Flanking the muddy flow of the Styx, two craggy headlands of black rock thrust into the sea. The top of each was crowned by squat, black stone castles, some very ancient and abandoned, others very much in use, their ramparts manned and armed with great war engines designed to sink unwanted ships. Sea Tiger lowered sails and ran out the oars.

  Before they were well past the harbour forts a red-painted craft bearing a ram in the shape of a crocodile's head sped toward them, driven by many pairs of black oars.

  'Do they intend to sink us?' Malia said, alarmed.

  Wulfrede laughed. 'That is just a customs cutter, ugly as it looks. Believe me, if you ever saw one of their war galleys come for us, you'd grab an oar yourself to get away the faster.'

  The cutter drew alongside in a spray of foam Sea Tiger shipped oars as a gangplank was laid between the two vessels. A number of men crossed from the cutter. Most were dark, stoutly built men of the lower classes, but one was a tall man of the ruling caste, his hair and eyes very dark, but lighter complexioned than the others.

  'Your license, please, merchantman,' the tall man demanded.

  'You've seen it often enough before,' Wulfrede muttered, handing over a copper disk engraved with hieroglyphs.

  'All Vanir look alike to me,' the man said. 'You could be

  any other redbeard.' He looked over the passengers as haughtily as if he were a great lord instead of a government functionary. His gaze lingered upon Conan. 'What race are you?' he demanded.

  'Cimmerian,' Conan said. He stood with arms folded, staring down the customs official.

  'Never heard of them,' the man said. 'What is your business here?'

  'We sail for the Black Coast to trade for ivory, feathers, and such other goods as we can find,' Wulfrede said. 'We need to top up our cargo with trade goods here.'

  'You understand that you can make payment in gold and silver alone?' the officer said.

  'Aye,' Wulfrede answered. 'I have traded here before.'

  'But foreigners are foolish and sometimes forget,' the man retorted. 'And there are certain Stygian merchants who are willing to engage in illicit trade with foreigners. Avoid them. Their punishment is severe and would be far worse for you.' Now he looked at Malia. 'Does this one go to the Black Coast as well?'

  'I do,' she said. He ignored her, addressing Wulfrede instead.

  'She will just die there. You might as well sell her here. Such colouration is extremely rare in this land, and she will fetch a good price.'

  Malia's cheeks flamed and Ulfilo's hand went to his hilt, but Conan and Wulfrede each laid a firm hand upon his shoulders.

  'We shall consider it,' Wulfrede said.

  'Then turn around to be blindfolded,' the official ordered.

  'What?' Ulfilo demanded, incredulous.

  'It's the law here,' Wulfrede said. 'One of their pilots must guide the ship into the harbour. The bottom here is a hedgehog of iron-shod stakes and bronze claws. No one from outside is allowed to know where the safe channel is. Every year they change the arrangement of the ship-killers, just in case. The slaves who do the work are killed afterwards.'

  They resigned themselves to temporary blindness as the black silken tapes were bound tightly over their eyes. The sailors were treated likewise and had to row blind. For the better part of an hour there was nothing save the creak of oars in the rowlocks and the quiet voice of the pilot, calling instructions. Then the blind
folds were taken from them.

  Blinking in the sudden light, they surveyed the harbour. The greater part of the city lay on the southern shore, its temples rearing gigantically behind the low warehouses of the wharfs. On the north side was the military harbour, where a hundred great war galleys lay in the shelter of a massive stone boathouse larger than any palace of another nation.

  Before them was the Tortoise, a humped island no more than a hundred paces in extent, crowded with wharfs and an assortment of warehouses, taverns, and business establishments. In its total lack of temples or statuary, it could almost have been a town of another land.

  'I leave you here,' the official said, walking toward the gangplank. 'Obey the law and pay all your fees.' With that he left and they all breathed a little easier.

  'Never before has a man spoken thus to me and lived,' Ulfilo said.

  'That would have meant death for us all,' Wulfrede said. 'There are some men who just have to be permitted to live, I fear.'

  'When do we go onto the island?' Springald asked.

  'I must see to anchoring and making the ship fast,' Wulfrede said. 'Then we will take the boat ashore.'

  For the next hour the shipmaster busied himself with securing his vessel, then he ordered the ship's boat lowered to the water. Half the crew would be permitted ashore at a time, the rest to stay and guard the ship. There was little grumbling at this. Khemi was not as tempting a port as many others.

  As the ship was secured, Conan scanned the harbour. The great majority of the craft were Stygian river or coastal vessels. There was an Argossean ship, a foul-smelling slaver. Near it

  was anchored a Zingaran vessel that had the look of a pirate. Pirate vessels were welcome in many ports, so long as they did not come to raid. They usually had rich cargoes to be sold cheaply. Another ship drew Conan's particular attention. It was Stygian-built, but with none of the ornate touches common to that land's naval vessels. It was black-hulled, low and lean, with two masts and a pair of furled black sails. He had never seen such a vessel of Stygian make. It looked new-built, riding at anchor with no sign of crew aboard. He noticed that Wulfrede was studying the vessel as well.