'Aye,' said Conan, now eager to see a new land, whatever might befall. 'Show us this wild country. I am keen to hear the wind in different trees.'
Stolidly, the bearers shouldered their burdens. With Goma in the lead, they walked into the trackless wilds of an unknown land.
VIII
The Great Plain
The forest continued for many leagues, in some places relatively open and easy of traverse, in other places swampy and dense, but the general trend of the land was upward, and as they ascended the dense places grew fewer and farther apart. The wildlife was abundant, but it was primarily of the smaller species, and most of these were arboreal. There were an infinite variety of birds, monkeys, and cats. Malia exclaimed with delight over each new oddity until even this variety began to pall with sheer abundance.
There were many small forest deer and ground-dwelling fowl, so the travellers never lacked for fresh meat. The northerners refused to eat monkey, but the natives esteemed them a delicacy. Ranging ahead of the column, Conan plied bow and sling, leaving the carcasses hanging in trees for those behind to collect and clean.
Whatever the irregularities of his employment, Conan found the life very agreeable. He had been in civilised lands for too
long. Always, he chafed under the strictures of city life, and none of those applied here. His natural savagery began to assert itself as he spent his days scouting the land ahead of the column. From Goma he got a sketchy description of what each day's march would be like, the land and obstacles to be traversed, and then he was on his own.
Too fine a woodsman to need a path, he could cover vast distances in a day, ranging far to both sides of the route as well as far ahead, always on the lookout for other humans, who in this land must always be considered hostile. But he found nothing save the remnants of old hunter's fires. In some spots he found neatly laid hearthstones forming a square. These he thought to be left by Marandos on one of his treks inland.
The insects did not swarm in this upland forest as in the lowland jungle, so by the third day Conan had discarded shirt and breeks, to move the more silently. Each morning, dressed only in loincloth and sandals, his sword and dirk belted to his waist, bow and arrows cased across his back, a native spear in his hand, he faded into the forest as silently as a ghost.
His companions seemed nonplussed to see the redoubtable Conan, already a hard-bitten warrior, thus transformed into a wild creature more primitive than the natives. The blacks were tribal folk who rarely went into the wild save in groups and pined when separated from their kin. Conan seemed to revel in the solitude of his new existence. Of the travellers, only Goma smiled at this metamorphosis, as if he knew something about the Cimmerian the others did not.
Conan did not notice their puzzlement, nor would he have cared greatly if he had. He felt as if he were coming alive for the first time in years. Life alone in the forest demanded the utmost alertness, and at every step he took, his senses were fully open. Knowledge of his surroundings poured in through his every faculty in a way that would have been impossible for his companions with their civilisation-dulled senses. Each change of scent that came to his nostrils, each sound, every hint of movement, even the feel of the air upon his skin, told him of
subtle alterations in his environment, of opportunities and possible dangers.
civilised men learned to shut out all such sounds and smells and sensations in order to be able to concentrate more fully upon the tasks at hand, upon war or profit. Thus they rendered themselves three-quarters deaf and blind and senseless. Conan suppressed such faculties when he was among civilised men, but he never lost them. In a pause while stalking a woodland antelope he would track the flight of the birds overhead, smell an herb crushed by a passing hoof, and hear the slither of a serpent through the weeds ten paces away, all simultaneously without losing his concentration on the beast he hunted.
On the evening of the ninth day in the upland forest, Conan returned to camp, greeted by the savoury smell of roasting meat. As always, the sentry jumped with fright at the Cimmerian's sudden appearance.
'By Set, Conan,' said the sailor who had sentry duty, 'can you not hail the camp from a little way off to let us know you are coming in? Half the bearers think you are some sort of woodland spirit disguised as a man, and I am not sure they're wrong.'
'If you need a hail to stay alert, you fail in your duty,' Conan answered. He found the Aquilonians seated around a fire, perusing one of Springald's maps. They looked up at his approach and he took an object from his belt-pouch and tossed it to Ulfilo. The man caught the thing and examined it by firelight. It was a small bronze buckle with a broken tongue.
'This is Zingaran work,' the Aquilonian said.
'Aye,' Conan answered. 'Cast off when it was broken. I found it by the remains of a fire. It must have come from your brother's expedition, one of the times he passed this way.'
'A native might have got it in trade,' said Springald.
Conan shook his head. 'A native would never have thrown away a good piece of metal. He'd have saved it to work into something else. All metal is precious here.'
'Then we are still on course,' Malia said. Surreptitiously,
she examined the Cimmerian by the flickering firelight. He seemed a creature entirely different from the rough-hewn adventurer they had encountered in Asgalun. This near-naked wild creature was more like one of the tawny, spotted cats she had glimpsed prowling near the camp. Massive as he was, the great muscles rolled and slid beneath his supple hide like those of a dancer, and his silent grace was akin to that of a great predator. Even the gaze of his lambent blue eyes now had the impersonal ferocity of a lion's.
'How much farther?' Springald asked. 'These maps are exceedingly vague, and the written accounts are more concerned with incident than with specific detail as to distance. Here it says: 'That week we visited diverse villages and traded for ivory at a profitable rate.' But whether they travelled two leagues or a hundred in that week, whether they visited four villages or twenty, they do not say.'
'Goma says that tomorrow we will come to the end of the forest,' Conan said. 'After that, a long stretch of savannah before we reach the desert. We still have a long way to go, and a great train of men like this travels at the speed of the slowest bearer.'
'Let us hope it is not too much farther,' Malia said. 'The sailors grow restive. They mutter that they did not ship for an endless march.'
'Say they so?' Conan said. 'Would it be all of them, or just the one called Umu?'
'He is the ringleader, no doubt of that,' Springald said. 'I do not understand why Wulfrede does not curb the insolent dog.'
'I have wondered that myself,' Conan said. 'But I'll not have an unreliable man behind my back in country like this. If Wulfrede will not see to this matter, then I must.' He jammed his spear into the ground by its butt-spike and slid his cased bow and arrows over his head and laid them upon the ground.
'What will you do?' Malia asked apprehensively.
'I will have a few words with the sailors,' said Conan. He
walked casually to the long fire at which the sailors lounged, talking among themselves in low voices. Umu sneered in his direction, saying something inaudible that brought a laugh from his sycophants. Wulfrede looked on with cool amusement.
'Greetings, brothers,' Conan said. 'Are all well content here?' He did not look directly at Umu. The others avoided his gaze and said nothing.
'Behold!' brayed Umu. 'The naked savage deigns to speak to us! By Ishtar but this Cimmerian mountain goat has grown more a savage than the black dogs of the coast.'
'You do not keep good order among your men, Wulfrede,' said Conan.
Umu stood, grinning evilly. 'At sea our captain's word is law, but not on land. That is the sailor's custom. And why should we owe you any respect at all, Cimmerian? You are a barbarian without land or kin. And you are a landsman, for what sailor can live in the woods like a beast?' He looked to the other sailors for support, but most of them kept s
ilent counsel. Conan knew what he meant: they had worked and fought beside him, but this was a test of supremacy, and they would back whoever won, at least until another challenger should arise.
'And you,' Conan said, 'are a troublemaking ape who whispers behind my back to rouse these my comrades to treachery.'
Umu's ugly face turned crimson. 'I challenge you to your face this time, Cimmerian!'
'And about time,' said Conan. 'A stupid swine like you has no business trying to talk like a man anyway.'
With an inarticulate cry Umu drew his long, heavy knife, the firelight glinting from its serpentine blade. Conan's sword was out as swiftly and the two blades flickered together so quickly that to the onlookers they were nothing but a blur. The bearers chattered excitedly and the sailors growled encouragement. All seemed pleased with this rare sport except for the Aquilonians.
'Can you not stop them, Captain?' Malia cried.
'Why should I want to do that?' Wulfrede demanded.
'When men thirst for each other's blood it is best to let them settle it.'
Conan's sword was longer and somewhat lighter than Umu's knife, but the seaman's great length of arm made up for the slight disadvantage. He was also immensely strong and amazingly quick for a man so bulky. Neither man fought with great craft or fencer's learned skill. It was strength, speed, and endurance, and the two were well matched. In the end, it was balance, steel-trap reflexes, and endurance that tipped the balance in the Cimmerian's favour, especially the latter. Umu began to puff and wheeze, unused to this sort of exertion. Conan's breathing was even, his limbs working smoothly and without slowing or trembling despite the great effort demanded of them. In time Umu's blade began to wobble from its formerly lethal paths and Conan's darted under it to skewer him through the body. Conan jerked the blade free and thrust it again, this time beneath Umu's chin. The point pierced tongue, palate, and brain, and the man toppled stiffly, like a falling tree.
Conan stood looking at the sailors, blood dripping from his sword. His body shone with sweat but his breath was still steady.
'Does any wish to take up Umu's fight?' he asked.
A sailor spat on the corpse. 'He was no friend of mine.'
'Aye,' said another. 'I was cheering for you the whole time, Conan!' Others hastened to protest their loyalty to the Cimmerian.
'Good,' he said. 'We are all friends again. And there will be no more grumbling about your sore feet. When we return, you will all be so rich you will never have to walk again. Now drag this carrion out of here. Leave it in the bush somewhere a safe distance away. It will be gone by morning.'
He strolled back to the other fire, cleaning his blade with a handful of grass. Ulfilo came up and clapped him on the shoulder, an uncharacteristically comradely gesture from the stiff nobleman.
'Superb fight, Conan,' said Ulfilo.
'Aye!' said Springald excitedly. 'Those rogues will be obedient now!'
'So they shall,' said Conan. 'Until next time. What's for dinner?'
The next day Conan came to the end of the trees. They did not thin out gradually, but stopped as abruptly as the border of an orchard. The trees grew up to the crest of a ridge line. The other side of the ridge bore nothing but long grass, and the land sloped gently away all the long distance to the horizon. The change in terrain was dramatic and total. The land was covered with long grass, and the few trees were not the vine-draped giants of the forest but for the most part low, spreading trees with oddly flat tops. There was bush, but it was not spread evenly, as it was on the forest floor. Rather, it grew in dense clumps that studded the plain infrequently, nowhere closer together than several hundred yards. But it was not the vegetation that drew the Cimmerian's enraptured attention. He stood leaning on his spear until, an hour later, Goma led the Aquilonians and the shipmaster to the crest of the ridge. For a few moments they stood gawking in silence. Malia was the first to break it.
'Mitra! Am I dreaming? This cannot be real!'
'It is real,' Springald said with near-ecstasy in his voice. 'I have heard many traveller’s descriptions of this, but never did I think it could be so magnificent!'
What they looked upon was easily twenty thousand head of wild game. The vast herds began no more than a hundred paces away, where a few hundred spiral-horned antelope placidly cropped the grass, and the vista stretched all the way to the horizon, where the beasts looked tinier than the smallest ants.
As surprising as the sheer number of creatures was their tremendous variety. Unlike the west and north, where herd animals were all of a kind, here herds of many sorts mixed together in apparent amity. There were many varieties of antelope, from small, delicate impala with lyre-shaped horns to massive topi the size of warhorses. There were many others they had no names for, although Goma could supply the native names. Wandering among them like tall, stately trees were towering giraffes in small, family herds. Massive black buffalo with curling horns rooted around with their noses in the muddy spots while birds perched nonchalantly on their backs, picking vermin from the glossy hides.
There were several varieties of wild horse, with the dazzlingly striped zebras predominating. Others had brown foreparts and striped rumps. There were dwarf, spotted horses no bigger than mastiffs disputing passage with grotesquely snouted warthogs, and rival bands of baboons pelted on another with sticks and pebbles. Dominating them all, gigantic elephants moved placidly among them, like great boulders set in motion. Some of the old males were so massively tusked that they had to carry their heads higher than the others to keep their ivory from scraping the ground.
'So many!' Malia said. 'And yet it is so quiet! It is like a great temple!' Unlike the animals of the forest, those of the plain rarely vented forth their cries and trumpets and bellows. Except for the occasional screech of an angered baboon or the call of a bird, the whole vast assemblace generated less noise than a small crowd of men in a town square.
'So many plant-eating beasts!' Ulfilo said. 'Where are the predators?'
'The big cats are the great meat-eaters here,' Goma said. 'But most of them hunt in the early morning or just after dusk, some of them in the night. In the afternoon, you may see the cheetah, swift as lightning, chasing down his prey. But in the daytime, most of the beasts are safe to eat and drink.'
By this time the rest of the column had caught up with them. The sailors exclaimed in astonishment at the amazing vista. They were mariners, accustomed to wide horizons, but not so crowded. The blacks murmured unhappily. They were jungle folk, accustomed to the closenesses and shadows of the forest. They did not like these open, exposed vastnesses populated with innumerable animals.
'Are those mountains far in the distance?' Wulfrede asked,
pointing to the eastern horizon, where a dim, blue-grey line stood just above the horizon. 'By Ymir, but there are no landmarks to navigate by upon this ocean of grass!'
'Fear not, white man,' said Goma. 'I will guide you across this and stranger places.' He favoured them with another of his superior smiles. 'And have no fear of the beasts, for I will protect you with my axe.' He twirled the weapon around his head for effect, so swiftly that the shiny head formed a glittering circle.
Goma led off and the others followed. Wulfrede grumbled as he walked: 'If we did not need that brown rogue to guide us, I would slay him on the spot of his insolence!'
'But we do need him so leave him be,' Ulfilo said.
'He is a strange creature,' said Malia, 'unlike any of the other native folk we have encountered. And I do not speak of his colour or his markings. He is a savage whose only garment is a wrapping of cloth and his only possession an axe, but his bearing is as proud as yours, brother-in-law. Prouder, even.'
'It is damned impertinence,' Ulfilo said, 'but I suppose in his primitive way, he considers himself well born.'
Springald went to speak to with the leaders, his short legs pumping to keep up with the long-striding Goma and Conan.
'Tell me, Goma,' said the scholar, 'what people may we think
to encounter upon this plain? Indeed, it seems hard to envision humans living upon this sea of grass with its abundance of wild beasts.' Even as he spoke, a family of giraffes sauntered by them, paying the tiny humans no heed. This was of a variety they had not yet seen; cream-coloured and dotted all over with small spots. Unlike the short, knob-ended horns of the others, these had wide-spreading, palmate horns like those of some mighty elk.
'The Fashoda often graze their cattle upon this grass,' Goma said. 'They are great fighters and love to raid one another for cattle. They count their wealth only in cattle, and their god is a cattle god. They are excellent spearmen, but they have no good dances. Sometimes you will encounter the Zumba, the folk of
the great shield and the short spear. They are very dark, and are hardy warriors as well. They farm the land and raise many goats. Their villages are small and mean, but they wear fine decorations, and their songs and dances are splendid.'
'Might they prove hostile to us?' Springald asked.
'Every man's hand is against the stranger here, but if you are strong and wish to trade, they will let you pass.'
'Are they man-eaters?' Conan asked.
Goma hawked and spat in disgust. 'No! That is an abomination everywhere except the coast. Here under the great sky in Ngai's land, men are men, not scavenging beasts!' He pointed to a pack of skulking, spotted hyenas. 'The people of the coast are like those, beneath contempt. The men of the plains are like the lion, fierce and proud.'
'That is comforting to know,' Springald said. 'Whereas we may be killed, at least we will not be eaten.'
'Not so,' said Goma, grinning.
'What mean you?' demanded Springald.
'It is true that you will not be eaten by men. But you will be eaten, like the man Conan slew yesterday. Here the bodies of the dead are not wasted by burying or burning. They are left in the bush to go back to Ngai, as food for Ngai's beasts. Beasts eat grass, men eat beasts, other beasts eat men. This is what pleases Ngai.'
'How comforting,' Springald said.
The Conan Chronology Page 523
