The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  The migration held them up for two days. The animals kept passing so endlessly that they began to suspect that the creatures were circling around them and going by over and over again. But in the end the herd became small enough that they could actually see across it, then it tapered rapidly until there was only a staggering remnant of the old, the sick, and the weak. These unfortunate beasts were perishing on their feet as the animals ahead of them devoured every scrap of grass. When the travellers set out once more it was across a plain cropped as close as it might have been by a palace gardener. It was also abundantly carpeted with dung, which would promote the next season's grass. Jackals, hyenas, vultures, and other carrion-eaters swarmed over the plain to feast upon the abundance of carcasses.

  Before the mountains, though, they encountered yet another

  native people. These were somewhat shorter than the Fashoda, hut of a sturdier, more muscular build. Their skins were glossy and so dark as to approach true blackness, unadorned by paint. Their body-covering shields were made of cowhide with the hair left on, and the men wore short kilts of animal pelt. Bands of luxuriant monkey fur decorated their arms above the biceps and heir legs below the knee.

  These redoubtable warriors streamed out from a village of circular huts and formed a double line with shields almost touching.

  Ulfilo sighed. 'Must we do this again?'

  'So it would seem,' said Springald.

  'Then break out the presents. Goma, what are they saying?' A grizzled warrior with a stubby chin-beard was speaking to the leader of the Fashoda escort.

  'The Zumba captain says: 'Do you come to steal our cattle, our women, and our goats?' The Fashoda answers: 'Your cattle are skinny, your women are ugly, and no true warrior has anything to do with goats. We escort these white people safely to the mountains.' '

  The captain now looked toward the strangers, triple ostrich plumes nodding above his head as it turned. Goma spoke.

  'The captain says: 'More white people?''

  Malia gripped Ulfilo's arm. 'They have seen Marandos!'

  'Be ready,' said Conan. 'There may have been fighting between them.'

  But the Zumba did not seem threatening. They were more apprehensive of the Fashoda than of the pale foreigners. After a bit of palavering, a trading session was agreed to and the by now customary negotiations began. The Zumba farmed and thus were able to present a greater variety of foodstuffs to their guests. As Goma had indicated, they were far more musically inclined than their neighbours, and their complex, harmonic songs filled the evening air, interspersed with frenetic dances to the accompaniment of drum and flute. The Fashoda looked on aloof, leaning on their spears.

  In the midst of the celebration, a bizarre figure appeared. At his arrival the singing tapered off to a ragged silence, the dancing slowed, then stopped and the last drum was silenced in mid-beat. He was a small man, draped all over with strings of bones, claws, feathers, and carved fetishes. He carried a staff that rattled with similar adornments. His face was painted white, with the eye pits left unpainted to give his face the aspect of a skull. The Zumba drew aside at his approach and he levelled his staff at the newcomers.

  'You go across the mountains!' he said in the trade language they understood. 'Only death awaits you there! Beyond is the sacred place of the gods of the land. You must not go there! I forbid the Zumba to go with you!'

  'Who is this?' Ulfilo demanded.

  Goma questioned the chiefs and supplied the answer. 'This is Umbaso, the head witch doctor of all the Zumba tribes. He lives far from here. I do not know how he knew that we would be here.'

  'Has he the power to forbid these people to supply us with bearers?' Ulfilo asked.

  'We shall know soon,' said Goma. The shaman began to harangue the people, and their expressions changed from mere apprehension to outright fear.

  'Surely these people do not have wizards of true power,' Springald scoffed. 'After all, they have no books. How can sorcerous knowledge be compiled, stored, and passed on by people who have not the craft of letters?'

  'So long as they fear his curse,' Conan said disgustedly, 'that will prove sufficient. They care not if he can summon great demons or perform high magic. If they believe he can strike them blind or lame or make their parts wither and fall off, that is power enough for them.'

  One of the chiefs spoke rapidly to Goma, who translated: 'He says that by no means can he give us men to carry our burdens, so long as Umbaso forbids it. They will not molest or hinder us, but we go on only at our peril and by ourselves.'

  Ulfilo glowered ominously at the shaman, gripping his hilt. 'I would greatly enjoy hewing this filthy mountebank down.'

  'As would I,' Conan said. 'But I cannot advise it. We may have to go from here more lightly equipped. What of it, Goma? Will this make the balance of our journey unfeasible?'

  Goma shrugged his broad shoulders. 'True men can endure anything. Those who cannot make their way in the world without their comforts should not start on ventures that call for a warrior's heart.'

  'I believe we have just been challenged,' Springald said.

  'I for one need no servants to look after me on campaign,' Ulfilo said, stung. 'And I can bear hardship as well as any man.'

  'And what of the woman?' said Wulfrede.

  'Have I complained thus far?' Malia said haughtily.

  'Yes,' Conan said. 'But mainly about the insects, I'll own. Wulfrede, what of the sailors?'

  'They will obey me,' the shipmaster asserted. Conan had his doubts. If the piratical crew were willing to face such conditions, it could only mean that Wulfrede had revealed to them something of the treasure, and that was bad.

  'We go on to the mountains,' Conan said to the leader of the Fashoda escort. 'Will you go with us now?'

  'We do not fear this Zumba wizard or his curses,' the man said. But the Cimmerian could detect his unease. The other warriors cast sidelong glances at the shaman, unwilling to show open fear of a mere Zumba, but frightened nonetheless.

  Conan rose and went to confront Umbaso. 'Why do you seek to hinder us from crossing the mountains?' he demanded.

  The wizard smiled slyly. 'I did not say you could not go. What care I what happens to strangers? The gods of that place do not need me to protect them. They will make you suffer as they will.' His eyes glowed weirdly in their dark pits. 'But I would not have my own folk offend them.'

  'Why are the gods of the mountain and of the land beyond

  ' '

  different from those of the plain, who do not resent us?' Conan

  asked.

  'The powers there are not of this land, nor of its people.' He rattled his staff and recited his words in a near-chant. 'Long, long ago came the men and the half-men to this land, and they passed through the mountains and went beyond. They brought with them a new god, a jealous god who tolerates no others. When the men and half-men died, they were transformed into spirits to guard the land of the new god. If you meet them, they will slay you and eat your souls.' Again he smiled. 'But who am I to deny them their sacrifice?'

  'And yet white men like us came hither, and passed beyond. And some returned, and came back yet again. That does not sound like the action of men who feared gods and spirits.'

  The smile became a crooked leer. 'Aye, white men went thither, and a very few came back, and they were not as they had been. And now they have lured more of their fellows to the forbidden lands. Perhaps the spirits savoured the taste of these souls, and crave more.'

  'And what is the name of this foreign god?' Conan asked.

  'It is called Ma'at,' said Umbaso. When he pronounced the word, the Aquilonians shifted nervously.

  Conan did not like the air of wizardry, and he did not like the talk of gods and spirits and the eating of souls. But he had a powerful urge to see what lay beyond the mountains. When he had a chance, he took Springald a little aside from the others.

  'The wizard called this god Ma'at. Have you heard of such a god?' Conan asked.

  'Ah .
. . well, yes. Ma'at is a god of Stygia, and is regarded as one of the most ancient of that land of many gods. Unlike other gods, Ma'at has no form. It is never depicted as human or animal, and is the least defined of gods. In the oldest of texts, Ma'at is said to be a judge of the dead, determining the fate of each individual. If Ma'at was pleased with the deceased, he was allowed an afterlife much like that he had enjoyed on earth, but without its sufferings and fatigues.'

  'And if Ma'at was not pleased?' Conan asked.

  'Well, the souls of the unworthy were fed to a monster called the Devourer of Souls.' He cleared his throat. 'Still, one must not allow oneself to be upset by the words of an unwashed, hone-bedecked savage medicine man. What knows he beyond crude tribal superstitions and a few spells of petty power? All this may be a folktale passed around by the local natives. After all, these people are seminomadic and undoubtedly dwelled far away when Python fell.' He sounded as if he spoke to reassure himself.

  'Perhaps that is so,' Conan said. 'But this has become something other than the simple manhunt and treasure hunt it was when we began. I'll not tolerate more surprises, bookman!'

  'I quite understand your indignation, my friend, and I assure you that you need have no apprehension of unpleasant revelations! Why, the very concept that an ancient and rather ill-defined pre-Stygian deity could still be guarding the treasure, not to mention its minions, who began their vigil already handicapped by the disadvantage of being dead, is absurd by all standards of knowledge and scholarship, both of the natural and the supernatural worlds!'

  'Springald,' Conan said ominously, 'if I did not like you, I think I could kill you just for being so long-winded.'

  When the next morning's trek began, all were subdued except for the lowland bearers, who knew that soon they would be released to return to their homes. The others wore looks that were downcast to varying degrees, except for the always cheerful Wulfrede. Conan looked merely grim, the Aquilonians anxious. Most sullen of all were the sailors. Once again, they were scowling and muttering among themselves. Conan wondered whether another salutary killing would become necessary.

  Two days later, they stood at the foot of the mountain. The great, rocky spine loomed far above them. Its lower slopes were densely carpeted with greenery, its upper reaches a forbidding series of bare crags. The bearers dug a pit in which to cache

  such goods as could not be carried farther. That accomplished, they turned their steps toward home, escorted by the Fashoda, who had agreed, reluctantly, to accompany the lowlanders to the edge of their territory.

  Now the much reduced group eyed the mountain with grim determination.

  'We accomplish nothing here,' Ulfilo said. 'Let us go.'

  'Aye,' Wulfrede said. 'For what need have men such as we for tents and suchlike fripperies? We wear our weapons as always, and we can carry such necessities as are called for on a venture of this sort. All else we shall find along the way.' His men seemed to have no such optimistic confidence, but his glare of warning silenced any opposition.

  'Lead on, Goma,' Conan said.

  Their guide grinned. 'That I shall. Bid farewell to the easy days, for here begins a man's work.' With that he led them up the slope.

  The change from grassy plain to forested mountains was sudden and dramatic. The trees were not giants such as they had encountered in the lowlands, but they grew thickly and were of many strange varieties. The animals were likewise of smaller sorts; monkeys, apes, small deer, and many types of wild pig. Along with these were the expected predators to eat them. Clouded, spotted, and striped cats prowled the shadows, and great serpents glided through the leaf mould and across the branches.

  Their path followed an ancient watercourse, and ascending its rocky length from boulder to boulder was not unlike climbing a titanic stairway. Before they had made an hour's progress, their legs were screaming with fatigue and Ulfilo had to order a halt.

  'Is there no better way?' he demanded of Goma.

  'This is not a route commonly travelled,' the guide assured him. 'Not even by animals. Such few men as have passed this way have left few traces. But is it not known by any wanderer that water takes the easiest path across any land?'

  'That is true much of the time,' Springald gasped, his thighs

  trembling from the effort. 'But such a path, while the most direct, is not always the most efficacious for the human frame.'

  'And yet this is the way we must go,' Goma said. 'For there is no other upon the first half of this slope. Under the trees the ground is as steep, and the footing treacherous as well. Men would slip and be injured. And there are many venomous serpents there.'

  'We engaged him because he knows the way, Ulfilo,' said Malia. 'He has not guided us wrong thus far.' In deference to her sex and rank, Malia bore the lightest load, and she was not as fatigued as the others. Even so, she displayed numerous scrapes and bruises from the heavy going.

  'What think you, Conan?' Ulfilo asked. Unlike the others, the Cimmerian was as fresh as if he had just arisen from a restful night's sleep.

  'I was raised among hills as rough as this,' he said, 'although they were by no means as green. Goma speaks the truth. Even so, I intend to range ahead and to both sides, as I did in the lowland and in the forest above the escarpment. It may be that I will find things of value, for we do not know whether Marandos followed this route.' His piercing gaze swept the Aquilonians. 'Or Jo we?'

  'He speaks of the mountain,' Ulfilo said, 'but not of how he ascended it.'

  'Very well,' said Conan. 'I shall range ahead, beginning after this rest.' He turned to Goma. 'Are there good campsites on this slope?'

  'None you would think comfortable, but tolerable.'

  'We are not concerned with comfort,' said Malia. 'We are concerned with getting to our destination.' Something in her words gave Conan pause. She spoke of their destination, not of her husband. Was it just a slip of the tongue, or was she more interested in the treasure than in the man? If so, she would not be the first wife to arrange her priorities thus.

  Without waiting for the others to regain their strength, Conan left them where they sat and faded into the forest. The relatively

  small trees allowed abundant sunlight to penetrate to the forest floor, allowing dense undergrowth to flourish. Brush and high grasses were everywhere, demanding that the Cimmerian proceed with great caution, for death could hide anywhere.

  Twice he saw gorillas, the huge, manlike apes that legend held to be fierce, terrifying creatures. But these proved to be shy and retiring. Each time he encountered a group, an immense male glowered at him from below heavy brow-ridges until the others had fled into the brush, then the big male would turn and go as well. Conan did not confuse this antisocial flight with weakness. He knew that even the smaller females were stronger than any man, and one of the big bulls had more power in one arm than the Cimmerian had in his whole body.

  Smaller apes swung through the branches overhead, distinguishable from the monkeys by their generally more manlike appearance and the absence of tails. These hooted and jabbered at the newcomer but showed no fear, as if they thought little of the ability of a ground-dwelling creature to hurt them.

  Wild pigs were everywhere, and Conan knew that these beasts, if threatened, could be as dangerous as any lion. The upcurving tusks of a boar could gut a man in an instant, and the very fact of their relatively small size made them that much quicker and that much more difficult to stop. He saw none of the bigger cats although once, surprisingly, he came upon a small group of rhinos. Why these plains animals should be in the mountains escaped him, but he found traces of passing elephants, so apparently the high slopes were not utterly eschewed by the larger animals.

  He was far more interested in evidence of human presence. He knew that the tiny men who hunted game with poisoned arrows lived in the forested mountains, driven there by the taller, more warlike peoples. Far more dangerous would be outlaws, cast out of the flatland tribes for transgressions and living a desperate, animal-lik
e existence in the wooded slopes. Such men could be far more difficult to handle than the usual tribesmen, for they were not bound by tribal custom, and their behaviour could not be controlled by negotiating with tribal chiefs. Conan had himself been an outlaw, and he knew the breed well.

  As he scouted the land, he saw no signs of organised groups of men greater than small hunting bands. There were remains of numerous campfires, most of them years old. He found broken arrow points of flint, but no sign of the passage of either of Marandos's expeditions.

  When he returned to the others late in the day, they had made little progress. The climb up the steep slopes was far more strenuous than anything that had gone before. Even Wulfrede sat on the ground, wincing as he massaged the cramping muscles in his tree-trunk thighs.

  'You Cimmerian mountain goat!' he called when he saw Conan. 'How dare you come here looking like a boy after a morning in the cliffs hunting eiderdown!'

  'Time was when the Vanir had a reputation as climbers,' said Conan. 'The sea cliffs of Vanaheim swarmed with men hunting birds and eggs and down.'

  'Aye, but twenty years on a ship's deck have robbed me of my squirrel's limbs.'

  'Saw you anything, Conan?' Malia asked. She was drawn but seemed to be holding up well.

  'Just more rough country. No sign of men other than hunters.'

  'There will be few but the half-men on these lower slopes,' Goma said. 'Up higher, it may be different.'

  'Do outlaws dwell in the upper reaches?' Springald asked.

  'Aye, we may encounter outlaws there. Or far worse,' Goma said darkly.

  That night they slept fitfully on the slanting ground, and the next morning they awoke stiff and sore. Their progress that day was even slower than the day before, but by the third day they began to grow accustomed to the brutal terrain and even the sailors began to regain their good spirits.

  As they ascended the flora changed dramatically. Instead of the broad-leafed hardwood trees they began to see tree-sized

  ferns, and flowers of unearthly size and colour. The eerie landscape took on the aspect of a world in the process of creation, its disparate elements not yet divided into their own spheres. Here flowers seemed to spring from bare rock. Crystal formations had the aspect of plants. A plant appeared that had a twenty-foot trunk covered with bark, but from its crown branched the fleshy arms and sharp spines of a cactus.