'They are pre-Pythonian?' Malia said. 'But they must be. Are they perhaps Atlantean?''
Springald shook his head, his expression growing more alarmed by the second. 'These are pre-Atlantean. By Mitra! I think they are prezwmao!'
XII
The Valley of the Treasure
'Let us not waste time on old marks carved into stone,' said Ulfilo. 'If those squiggles are as ancient as you think, then surely they have lost whatever potency they may once have had.'
'Aye,' agreed Wulfrede. 'They may not be magical. Many kings place stone carvings upon their borders, warning intruders of whose land lies beyond and praising their own greatness.'
'You may be right,' said Springald doubtfully. 'No man now can interpret this ancient, uncanny writing, but there are hints and legends—'
'Enough,' Ulfilo barked. 'We must go!'
And so they set off. This time they were not in a long, straggling line, but in a compact group, all but huddling together amid the unknown perils of the pass between the Horns of Shushtu.
At one point, they encountered a block of stone that half blocked the gorge. It had fallen from a great height, but it was clearly a carved block, as huge as a base stone on one of the
Stygian pyramids. Springald measured it as three paces wide, live paces in height, and fifteen paces long. In the moonlight that now spilled into the gorge, they could just make out the rectangular hole from which it had fallen, far above them.
'Another trap for intruders,' Conan said. 'I'll wager we'd find flattened bones under there, were we able to lift this.'
For the rest of their walk through the pass, they cast nervous glances overhead.
At the eastern end of the pass Conan called a halt, for he had seen something white upon the path just ahead. Going forward to reconnoitre, he found a heap of bones. The others came up behind him and gazed apprehensively at the mass of remains.
'Human?' asked Wulfrede.
'Not quite,' Conan said, holding up a skull. Its apish, lowbrowed profile was unmistakable.
'Bumbana!' said Ulfilo. 'Then they inhabit this mountain too?'
'Look at this,' Conan said. He held up a handful of ornaments: an arm ring, a pair of wristbands, all of copper, and a silver chain with a pendant. 'Stygian. This was one of Sethmes's servants, sent with Marandos's expedition. There was enough curse left to kill this one.'
'It might have died naturally,' Ulfilo said, 'or been killed by its companions.'
'Look at the condition of these bones,' Conan said grimly. 'Something flayed every bit of flesh off this creature.'
'Scavengers ...' Wulfrede hazarded.
'Look at them!' Conan insisted. 'All in one place, exactly as it fell. Not the tiniest bone has been gnawed or scattered. And I do not think that it has lain here long enough for decay or insects to clean the bones thoroughly. Hair lasts after the flesh has been consumed, and the bumbana are covered with hair, but not one remains with these bones. They might have been polished by an artisan.'
'Why just one, then?' Ulfilo mused. 'Why not the whole party?'
'The curses have lost strength,' Springald said. 'And Marandos had counterspells. I think the pass is safe now.'
'I hope you are right,' Ulfilo said. Fearlessly, he strode the last few paces to the end of the pass. The others watched in suspense, but he passed through unharmed and they followed him.
The moonlight revealed a broad valley east of the mountain, but its pale light brought out no details. A gentle wind blew up the slope from below, its warmth welcome after the unnatural cold of the pass.
'I cannot tell whether there is a road on this side,' Springald said. 'We dare not press on through this uncertain darkness.'
'Aye,' Ulfilo said unwillingly. 'We must abide here until daylight.'
'There seems to be wood hereabout,' said Wulfrede. 'Shall we kindle a fire to warm our weary bones?'
'No fires,' Ulfilo ordered. 'We know not who abides in yonder valley, and I'd as lief not advise them of our arrival.'
'That would be wisest,' Conan said. 'Wring the water out of what is left of your clothes and hang them on the bushes. If this breeze holds, they should be dry by morning.'
They followed his advice, the sailors bemoaning their hardships, the rest stoically, then they sat or lay down to wait out the hours of darkness. One by one, they dropped off to sleep, only Conan remaining wakeful. He sat with his back against a smooth boulder, a spear slanted over his shoulder, his sword close to hand. He had cleaned it and left it bare while its sheath dried. A wise warrior took care of his weapons first.
He was not greatly wearied, and he did not wish to sleep until he knew that they were safe. In the silence he kept all his senses open and receptive, but he heard nothing save the rustlings of tiny animals, and he saw nothing save a few, flitting bats. This indicated safety to him, for there were no men or large predators nearby, even though the bright moonlight made for excellent hunting conditions. Satisfied, he nodded off to sleep, ever ready to spring to full wakefulness at first hint of danger.
The moon had fully set by the time Conan awoke. The stars still shone, but the dawn was no more than a thin grey stripe on he eastern horizon. He unwound to his full height, stretching and walking the stiffness out of his joints as the grey stripe became a rosy glow that spread upward, causing the stars to wink out in its path. He began to recognise shapes, then colours glow. When it was possible to see details, he began shaking shoulders and prodding backsides.
'Get up,' he said 'Morning is here and you must see this.'
Ulfilo sat up, rubbing his eyes. 'Eh? Daylight already? Why did you not rouse me an hour ago?'
'I was asleep an hour ago,' Conan growled, 'and there was nothing to see then anyway, so there was no reason for any of us to be awake. Now quit complaining and look down there.'
One by one they stood, then stared dumbfounded down the slope of the mountain.
'Mitra!' Springald said. 'Does the climate and terrain of this land change every time one crosses a mountain range?'
Spread below them was a vision of paradise. The land to the east lay on a higher plateau than the desert to the west. The mountain sloped gently and rather briefly to a valley of surpassing greenness. It was not the dark, ominous green of the jungle, but rather the brilliant, orderly green of the more temperate lands. They could see that much of it lay under cultivation, with straight-rowed fields outside the clustered huts of villages. A number of streams flowed through the valley and herds of what appeared to be cattle drank and waded in the waters. Neat orchards were surrounded by fences or barriers of some sort. They could not make out the composition of the fences.
Much of the land was still wild, although nothing like what they had come through. Upon some of the low hills they could see small herds of wild game, including a few elephants and giraffes.
Far to the south they could just make out something that looked too large to be a mere village, but it clearly was not a natural feature.
'A city?' Malia said, wonder in her voice.
'Ruins, perhaps,' said Springald, 'left from the days of the Pythonians.'
'We'll know soon enough,' said Ulfilo. 'Is everyone ready?'
By this time all had redonned their clothing and slung their weapons about them. 'Then let us be on our way.'
Their hearts were lighter as they began what they all hoped to be the final leg of their long, long trek. The slope promised none of the hardship they had endured thus far, and the valley below was as inviting as a lively port city.
Conan was not so sure. It looked like a fine land, but it had been his experience that the best lands were inhabited by people adept at defending their lands against all comers. A long stretch of peace could soften the dwellers in the easy lands, but such places excited envy and their borders seldom remained untroubled for long.
'Look!' said Malia when they were halfway down the mountain. She pointed at a hulking creature a few dozen paces off the trail they followed. The beast looked something l
ike a rhinoceros, but the blunt horn of its nose forked sideways, and a pair of stubbier horns blossomed farther up its snout, just below the piggy eyes. It placidly munched a mouthful of grass and paid them no attention whatever.
'Have you ever seen its like?' Springald asked Conan.
'Never,' the Cimmerian said. 'I'll wager this land holds many surprises for us.'
'May they all be pleasant,' Springald intoned.
The path they trod bore no trace of paving, but Springald assured them, in his pedantic fashion, that this was not to be wondered at, for it was obvious that this side of the mountain got far more rain than the other, and this water would long since have obliterated any traces of man's work after so long a time.
As they reached the lower slopes of the mountain, they began to see traces of cultivation. Bushes grew in straight lines along the slopes, and vines were similarly arranged upon props. Now it seemed to be tending them and monkeys frolicked freely among the foliage. They decided that these crops were not to be thus unattended.
'When will we encounter people?' Malia wondered aloud .is they neared level ground. The answer to her question came almost immediately.
The man stood on a grassy sward, leaning on a long spear. He gazed up the lower slope of the mountain, and he straightened when he saw the approaching travellers. Because of the distance they could tell little about him save that he was tall and thin. He turned slightly and raised a curved object to his lips. They heard the high, piercing note of the horn, then the man resumed leaning on his spear.
'There is only one,' said Springald, optimistically.
'He blew that horn for someone's ears,' Ulfilo said.
'And he does not look afraid to see many armed strangers approaching,' noted Wulfrede.
'Because he knows he has little to fear,' said Conan. 'Look.'
A double score of men trotted up to the lone watcher, and their spears made a fierce glitter in the sunlight. As one, they began to run toward the newcomers. They made no warlike show, but ran silently, in an orderly, disciplined fashion.
'Keep your hands away from your weapons,' Ulfilo ordered. 'They are too many for us, and this valley may be full of their like. Remember, we are peaceful travellers and I'll kill any man who hints otherwise.'
Minutes later the warriors were all around them. They were all tall men of light brown colour, with handsome, regular features. Their hair, reddened with ocher, was worked into varying shapes, and most had patterns of tiny scars worked upon their skins. All carried broad-bladed spears and small, oval shields.
'They all look like Goma!' Malia gasped.
'I knew that rogue was hiding something from us!' Ulfilo said indignantly.
'And here we are without an interpreter,' sighed Springald. 'This could prove to be awkward.'
All of the warriors wore white plumes in headbands of leopard skin. Most had one or two. A man stepped forward who wore three. He also wore golden armbands and anklets. He said something in a stern voice.
'This must be their officer,' Conan said. 'I'll try Kushite on him.' He essayed a few words, but the man just stared blankly. The Cimmerian tried other tongues used sometimes in the black lands, with no greater success.
The officer barked something and gestured with his spear. The others formed a square around the newcomers and all faced in one direction.
'I think we are about to be escorted somewhere,' Springald said. 'I advise that we go along with them.'
'That would be best,' said Ulfilo. 'They have not turned hostile, and have made no move to disarm us.'
'Suppose they want to eat us?' said a sailor.
'You are too skinny,' Wulfrede assured him. 'They will want to fatten you up first.'
And so, for lack of any alternative, they marched away, within the hollow square of their warrior escort. The road they took was not paved, but it was level and well tended. They began to see many people working in the fields flanking the road. These dropped their tools to come nearer and gape at the passing newcomers. These workers were both men and women, some of the latter carrying infants slung to their lithe bodies in reddish cloths. Of the men, none bore weapons. The crops they tended resembled nothing the westerners knew, but they seemed to include both grains and vegetables.
Once they passed a tiny village that contained nothing but warriors. These were identical to their escort, save they wore blue feathers in bands of lion skin. They glared malevolently, but Conan had the distinct impression that their hostility was not toward the newcomers. Rather, it was directed at the white-feathered warriors. This was a thing to be considered.
'We are headed toward that city,' Springald observed.
'If city it is,' said Ulfilo.
'At least,' Malia said, 'there is no desert here, and no jungle, and no horde of attacking apemen. I'll not complain if the place we are going turns out not to be the equal of Tarantia or Melverus.'
'That's the spirit,' Conan commented. 'Keep your guard up, and take the good as it comes.' His laugh boomed out, startling some of the escorting warriors.
The walk was lengthy, but not unpleasant, especially in comparison to their recent hardships. They passed a number of tiny villages, each consisting of no more than ten to twenty huts. The huts were beehive-shaped, covered with dense thatch. They were uncommonly clean and neatly kept for primitive settlements. The people were of a sort difficult to read, Conan thought as he walked by one village after another. They did not seem to be downtrodden, brutalized serfs, for their interest and curiosity concerning the newcomers was lively enough. But their attitude was guarded, as if they were afraid to exhibit enthusiasm. There was no laughter, and the people did not sing as they worked, unlike most people south of Stygia.
The Aquilonians seemed not to notice this, but the Cimmerian knew that aristocrats seldom noticed anything about their inferiors as long as they were not insolent or hostile. He could see that Wulfrede's sharp blue eyes noticed the oddity, though.
'I think there is trouble in this land, my friends,' the Van said.
'How so?' asked Ulfilo.
'The villagers are afraid of our warrior guards.'
'When are toilers not afraid of warriors?' Ulfilo said.
'The blue-feathered warriors we passed dislike them as well,' Conan pointed out.
'Jealousy between regiments is common,' Ulfilo said.
'I think our friends are right,' Springald put in. 'Something feels ... I do not know, something feels just wrong. This seems a fair and bountiful land, defended by sturdy warriors and
worked by diligent peasants. These are all the ingredients for a happy nation. But these folk are uncommonly subdued and it is not from fear of us, for they can see that we are few and are encompassed by their own warriors.'
'Civil unrest, perhaps?' Stubborn and arrogant as he was, Ulfilo did not lack astuteness when it came to the exercise of power. 'All people are unhappy and uncertain when it is not clear who governs.'
'That may be it,' said Wulfrede. 'I have been in lands on the verge of civil war where the air sang silently with this sort of unease.'
'No sense speculating until we know our position,' Conan said. 'But we must be on our guard.'
'I see no signs of the treasure we seek,' said Malia.
'Aquilonia is rich,' Ulfilo said, 'but the common folk there do not go about decked in gold and jewels. The rulers here may have it hidden in vaults.'
'They may not even know of its existence,' Springald said.
'How so?' Wulfrede queried.
'These people much resemble those Captain Belphormis described encountering near the coast. They may have migrated hither in recent centuries. If so, they may be as ignorant of the treasure and its bearers as the people who now live where Python once stood.'
'Then the treasure may be untouched!' Wulfrede said happily.
'It may be unfindable,' Malia said. 'Who knows what it might be buried under?'
'The instructions given by the Stygian priest to Marandos were quite explicit,' S
pringald said. Conan took careful note of this. It was the first he had heard of such instructions.
Malia laughed. 'Springald, it is you yourself who are always reminding us of the vast gulf of time that separates us from the fall of Python! It was the greatest city in the world, but no man now is even certain where it lay. Yet you expect all here to be as the treasure-bearers left it?'
'Well, I, ah . . .'
' suggest,' Conan said, 'that we have enough to concern if. at the moment. Let us see to assuring our own lives before we worry about the treasure.'
'You ask a great deal,' Wulfrede said, 'if you ask me to keep my mind off treasure!' At this, even his sailors raised a laugh. Malia laughed louder than the others.
'You seem in good spirits, sister-in-law,' said Ulfilo, as if In- considered this to be a deficiency in character.
''I have not lost my sense of humour. Look at us! Ten ragged, ill-starved scarecrows on a fool's errand in a savage wilderness mid we speak as if we could hoist a great treasure upon our backs and walk home with it! Does no one besides me underhand the folly of this?' Her voice grew ragged in speaking the final words, finishing with a near-sob.
'Now, my dear,' Springald chided, 'there is no need to crow so exercised. We shall find the treasure, and doubtless these simple natives will consent to furnish us with bearers. We an pay them with trinkets when they bear the treasure back to where we cached our trade goods. And, do not forget, you may soon be reunited with your husband!'
'Oh, yes,' Malia said. 'I must not forget that.' Conan could have laughed at her tone, were their situation not so serious. He loll back a few steps and spoke to Wulfrede while the Aquilonians chattered among themselves.
'Think you these 'simple natives' will be so easy to deal with?' he asked.
'What?' said Wulfrede in mock horror. 'Do you expect me lo disagree with our aristocratic leaders? For shame, Conan!'
The Conan Chronology Page 531
