'Do you believe that it does?' Conan asked.
'I did when I was a boy, but as a wandering warrior I encountered many witch doctors, and I saw how easily they duped people into believing their great powers. Some of them had small powers that came from spells, and some could call upon the spirits of the jungle, but most had nothing but conjurer's tricks. I no longer even think that the thing in the lake is a god. I have seen the sea and the great creatures that swim therein. The lake-thing may not even be a thinking creature. If it is a god, why is it imprisoned in the lake? Why must it have people to feed it with the blood it craves?'
'You have gained wisdom in your travels,' Conan commended.
'When a man must live by his own wits he must learn to think for himself. I found myself without a tribe and its traditions, and I took no other man's word as truth until the truth was apparent to me. Now I have returned, and I find that many of the things my people have always believed without question are foolish. I do not think that the lake monster can be killed, but I see no reason why we must feed it.'
'Khefi said your father neglected the sacrifices,' Conan said.
'And thereby he earned the enmity of Aghla.' Goma spat again.
'Slay her and half of your problems are solved.'
'I intend to. And I will kill my uncle, and take my kingdom back.'
'If it is to be war,' said the Cimmerian, 'you may count me in.'
'It is not your fight,' Goma said.
'I am a warrior. Besides, Nabo still holds my companions, if they were not slain tonight. I undertook their service until I found the errant Marandos, and I have not done that as yet, so I am bound to fight for their freedom.'
'You have a strong sense of obligation,' Goma said. 'That is a good and a rare thing.'
'It can be a burden. I'd as lief take spear and sword and be away from here on my own. But I undertook this task and I will see it out.'
'Very well. When we march against Nabo, you shall be at my side.'
'Excellent. Speaking of the mysterious Marandos, have you any idea where he might be?'
'In the morning you shall see,' Goma said. 'For now, get some sleep.'
'I could use it,' said Conan. 'A long day topped off by food and beer is wearying even to a warrior of Cimmeria. It is a good thing that I reencountered you, my friend. I might have had difficulty speaking with these rebels otherwise.'
Goma clapped his hands and spoke instructions to the youthful warrior who entered. 'This young man will take you to a vacant hut. Sleep well, my friend. We have much to do in coming days.'
Gratefully, Conan followed the youth, who in turn eyed this outlandish apparition with amazement. The hut Conan entered was like all the others, enclosing a tiny, circular room with piercings in the walls for ventilation. With his hilt close to hand, the Cimmerian drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
The morning dawned bright save for a thin mist rising from the lake. Conan emerged from his hut and stretched. The village was awakening as well, its inhabitants blinking in the sunlight, then blinking harder when they saw the Cimmerian. Chattering and gesticulating, they crowded around him, the children touching his strange-coloured skin, the women fingering his long straight hair. Their curiosity lacked the hostile, cruel edge of the town people's. Since they were the same tribe, he attributed the difference to the baleful influence of the lake.
When Conan came to the entrance of Coma's large hut, a warrior on guard called inside, and Goma emerged. He spoke
to the crowd at some length. Then, at a clap of his hands, they dispersed.
'I told them that you are my friend from beyond the mountains,' he informed Conan, 'and that we have fought side by side against enemies. I told them that you are from far to the north, a cold, cloudy country where lack of sun has bleached men white and made their eyes blue. You are to receive the same respect they would accord one of my senior commanders.'
'I thank you,' Conan said.
'Now, come with me. I must inspect my warriors, and we will talk as I do so.'
As the rebel king made his inspection of the guard posts and his military encampments, Conan explained the situation he had left in the town. Goma hissed when Conan spoke of Sethmes and his small army.
'The Stygian! Think you he has any real sorcerous powers?'
'The wizards of Stygia are reputed to be the most powerful in the world, and I have reason to believe this is true. But this priest is something very unusual, a descendant of the ancient kings of Python. Whether that makes him more or less powerful I know not. What I have seen of him thus far shows that he is a schemer and plotter, not a fell wizard.'
'And his men. Are they a considerable force in the field?'
'They look like seasoned professionals to me. As such, they should not be underestimated. They will fight in ranks, with shield, spear, and sword.'
'That is no way to fight,' Goma said contemptuously. 'My warriors will fall screaming upon them and wet their spears in Stygian blood.'
'Discipline can be overwhelmed by ferocity,' Conan said. 'But you will lose many men thereby.'
'Warriors are born to die fighting. That is as it should be.'
'I did not see the bumbana after we entered the town,' Conan said. 'They will probably fight like the ones we met in the pass—fiercely and stupidly.'
'My uncle probably would not allow them in the city. Beast-men are too low even for him.'
'They were carrying our dead,' Conan said grimly. 'I think I hey were given the slain for their dinner.'
'We will kill them all,' Goma said confidently.
They inspected warriors who wore yellow, red, and green leathers. The men were fierce and eager for the fight. After years as exiles and outlaws, they lusted for the blood of their enemies. Goma had been among them no more than three days, yet they seemed to invest him with perfect confidence. The Cimmerian remarked upon this.
'For all these years,' Goma explained, 'they nourished themselves upon the hope of my return. Had I not returned a true warrior they might have doubted, but I am and that is enough for them. The leaders of the regiments regarded me with suspicion at first, but I slew one who questioned me and the others agreed that I am their rightful leader.''
'That is the simple way of settling things,' Conan said. 'How do your numbers compare with Nabo's?'
'He has more men, perhaps a fourth more than I have. But the support of the blue-feather warriors is lukewarm. If we prevail early in the fighting, I think they will come over to my side.'
'And the people of the countryside?' Conan asked.
Goma shrugged. 'That is unimportant. The toilers will toil no matter who rules over them. Only warriors count.'
The Cimmerian had no arguement with this primitive order of things, which prevailed in most parts of the world. Those who would not fight for what they had, deserved to have nothing. They should be grateful to be allowed to live and eat. A son of a great warrior race, Conan had little sympathy for those who chose the passive life.
'You said last night that you would tell me of Marandos,' he prodded.
'Aye, so I did. Come with me.'
The Cimmerian followed Goma into the stone keep. Like the
surrounding wall, the structure was plain, undecorated, and functional. At ground level it had a single entrance; a low, narrow doorway that had long since lost its wooden door. The entrance made a virtual tunnel through the thick wall, debouching into a single room no more than six paces on a side. Illumination was provided by six small windows that pierced the walls about ten feet up. A stone stair gave access to a room or rooms above. In the centre of the room a man sat upon a thick slab of stone. He wore little but rags, and his body was reduced to skeletal emaciation, but his eyes burned with luminous intensity. He looked up and glared from one to the other of them as they entered.
'You are a northerner!' he said as Conan approached.
'You are not blind,' said the Cimmerian. 'That is a good sign.'
'Have you come with my brother
? Did you bring men to bear away the treasure?' His skeletal face was alive with eagerness and greed. Conan could see that this had once been a fine-looking man, with a strong resemblance to Ulfilo.
'Aye, I came with him. As to bearing anything away, that must wait.' At these words the man lapsed into despondency.
'How long has he been prisoner here?' he asked Goma.
'Prisoner? No man detains him here. You saw yourself that there is neither door nor guard to this place. Some months ago he came here, raving mad. He walked straight into this old rockpile and embraced that slab as if it were his mother. My people respect the mad. He seemed harmless enough, so they merely took his weapons and left him to his own devices. The women leave him food and drink at the entrance, but he takes little. Folk passing by hear him raving, but no one understood his words. I have not had leisure to do anything about him. It must be the white woman's husband, but I think she was well rid of him.'
'What happened?' Conan asked the wraith who had been a captain of mercenaries. 'Where are the men you brought hither on your second expedition?'
The man seemed to collect his thoughts. 'Men? Yes, I had men. Men and half-men, what the jungle people called bumbana. They were to help me bear away the treasure, but they did not.' He grinned slyly. 'They are gone, and the treasure is mine now.' He patted the stone slab upon which he sat.
'But what happened to them?' Conan asked patiently.
'Oh, some died in the jungle, and some on the mountains. We lost many fighting the wild bumbana in the hills. Then there was the desert—' His eyes grew haunted. 'Many died there. The bumbana saw no reason why they should perish of hunger and thirst when the flesh and blood of men would serve them.' He was silent for a while. 'But they never threatened me.'
'And the curses in the Horns?' Conan asked, masking his revulsion.
'The great storm struck. Lightning slew men and bumbana alike. I had one man left to me when the great stone fell.' He looked up at Conan, his eyes full of grief. 'And yet the spell should have prevented it! Could it be that the priest lied to me?'
'Could a sane man believe him?' Conan demanded.
The madman ignored him. 'But I have the treasure now.' He continued to pat the stone slab.
'It is under that stone?' Conan said.
'It must be, but the stone is too heavy for me to lift.'
'You mean, you have not seen it?' Conan said, astonished.
'But it can be no other place!' Marandos all but screamed.
'I've been among madmen since Asgalun,' Conan muttered, turning away from the man. 'I should have known I'd find another at the end of the trail.'
'You see that he is out of his head. We waste time here, Conan. There is much to do. My presence here will not remain secret for long, and when he knows, Nabo will march against me.'
They turned and walked from the chamber. Behind them, the madman crooned songs to his putative treasure.
'Why has Nabo not crushed the rebels ere this?' Conan asked when they were once more in the clear sunlight.
'Because they held this fort. It is not a way my people like to fight, but it allows the few to stand against the many. Nabo would have almost certainly prevailed, but his losses would have been far too great to bear. Some subchief would have taken advantage of the popular discontent and deposed him. Nabo does not love his lake god so well that he wishes to be eaten by it. People will make great sacrifices for their true king. But Nabo is a tyrant and a usurper. As such, he must have only swift, easy, and cheap victories, or his followers will turn on him.'
'It is that way everywhere I have been,' said Conan, 'and I have travelled farther than most men. Will you fight him in the open field, away from this place?'
'I must. It sickens the heart of a warrior to fight defensively, behind walls. And more than royal blood is necessary to bind the loyalty of men. To be a king is a thing of spirit, almost of magic. I must stand before my army and challenge the usurper openly, then crush him in hand-to-hand combat.'
'And yet it will be a costly victory,' Conan warned.
'I know that well. I fought in many wars in my years of wandering. I know so much more of war than does Nabo that I could crush him here without great difficulty. But my kingship would be tainted. Always, there would be those who whispered that King Goma is no true warrior, that he defeated Nabo with craft, not with courage. Among warriors such as these, those words would in time accomplish their work, and I would spend my reign putting down petty rebellions.'
'You come to kingcraft with a serious mind,' Conan said. 'I shrink from no battle, hard or easy. Will you march immediately?'
'First we must establish our situation exactly. But we cannot wait long. Come, I have called a meeting of my chiefs. We must know how lies the strength of my uncle. Only a fool fights blind.'
They walked to the open yard before Goma's hut. There they found gathered a double score of men who bore the look of senior warriors. These had many scars and some were grizzled f hair and chin-beard, and all bore the look of lions. Besides I lie coloured feathers that identified their regiments, they wore armbands and kneebands of long fur, variously coloured. Their shields were snow-white. They raised their arms and shouted a greeting to their king.
'Stand by me,' Goma told Conan as he seated himself on a folding stool draped with leopard skin. Others stood beside or behind the king, and these few wore black ostrich plumes in their headdresses. Conan assumed that the black feathers marked the king's personal guard.
Goma spoke a few words and with great speed and dexterity I he men assembled a map of the valley. The skull of a cow became the city by the lake, that of a lion, the fortress. A spread of river-mussel shells was the lake itself. Black stones marked the villages, and ovals made of antelope ribs were the encampments of Nabo's warriors. The river and streams were marked out in blue-tinted sand, and a fence of spears, thrust into the ground by their butt-spikes, became the encircling mountains. Conan was impressed. This was sophisticated war-making. A Nemedian general could not have asked for better.
For better than an hour, Goma conferred with his chiefs in language the Cimmerian could not understand. From their tones and gesticulations, he could tell that some were urging immediate actions, others wanted more caution. He noticed that younger warriors were not invited to speak.
While this parley went on, Conan made a careful study of the map. He had seen many fine armies go down in bloody ruin because their leaders did not know the terrain amid which they campaigned. He saw that the lake town was situated near the southern end of the valley, and that was where the bulk of Nabo's forces were concentrated. The rest were spread northward in small military encampments. He and the other foreigners had passed a number of such encampments on their march down the valley to the lake.
Goma turned to Conan. 'I know that you could not follow this, Conan. Have you any questions?'
'The outlying military camps,' he said, 'are they just to defend against rebel raids?'
'They are there partly to defend against cattle-raids by royal forces.' He emphasized the last words sternly. 'And partly because it is our ancient tradition to send the newly made young warriors to live in units by themselves for a number of years, guarding the cattle and entering the town and the villages only on special days, for dances and ceremonies. But his main reason is to keep the countryside pacified.'
'He has made no move to call them in, to concentrate his forces near the town?''
'Not as yet. That is another reason why I must strike swiftly.'
Conan smiled. 'What say you to a plan that gives your men a good blooding, some quick, easy victories, and cripples Nabo badly at the same time?'
'I will listen to such a plan,' Goma said.
Conan took a spear from the encircling fence. With its butt-spike he scratched his battle plan into the dirt of the map. As he spoke, Goma translated his words for the others.
'First, you must divide your forces. This is always risky in the presence of the enemy, but it is wort
h the risk. While keeping the bulk of the forces with you, the smaller unit, one third or perhaps only one quarter, will make a quick forced march northward, along the foothills of the eastern mountain range.' His spike traced a long path to the northern end of the valley.
'This march should be completed at night, for the sake of secrecy. The men must be young and very fit, for they will get little or no sleep. At dawn, they must move south, sweeping the whole valley. They must fight at a run, eating up the military encampments piecemeal, giving them no chance to rally or to spread warning. For this reason, specially picked runners must run ahead of the main body, to kill any messengers trying to spread warning to other camps.'
'This sounds very good so far,' Goma said. 'Continue.'
'On the morning of the day chosen,' Conan said, 'but not too early, you must lead the greater part of your force against Nabo. If you are well spread out, making great noise and show, he should believe that you are in full strength. As you position yourself before the city, drawing in and tightening your lines'— he drew a series of lines before the cow skull—'the fleeing enemy from the encampments will appear in your rear. You may stand where you are, but for the sake of confusing Nabo I suggest you about-face your men and march away from the city. The fleeing warriors will be crushed between the two forces.' Conan knelt in the dust and clapped his hands together dramatically, scattering twigs and pebbles in a powdery cloud. He got to his feet.
'Then, reinforced by the rest of your army, you about-face again, march up to the city, and issue your challenge. Now, if my estimate of his numbers is correct, you are of about equal strength. You may be even a little the stronger. Plus, your men are fresh from an easy victory, while he he still stuck with those blue-feather warriors who, by that time, are having second thoughts about who they wish to follow.''
Through this recital the chiefs listened carefully. Some showed enthusiasm, others showed doubts but, when it was over, none spoke for or against it. All looked to their king, with whom the decision rested.
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