The Conan Chronology

by J. R. Karlsson

  At the sign of the Wyvern, they descended the stair to the door and stood upon the landing, surveying the scene. The tavern entertained its usual villainous clientèle, who surveyed the newcomers in turn. The two elicited only a passing interest before they descended to the main floor and secured an empty table in a corner. A large bloodstain on the wall behind one of the chairs identified the table as the scene of a disagreement earlier that evening. A candle guttered in a holder carven in the form of a naked Stygian dancer.

  At their order, a server brought wine for Maxio, ale for Conan. The two men clinked their vessels together and drank. Maxio was first to speak.

  'I do not believe we have met, and you are not the sort of man I would readily forget. Who are you, stranger?'

  'I am Conan of Cimmeria.' He took a long drink. The brewing had just been broached, and it was excellent ale.

  'I have heard of you. You've made a reputation for yourself in a short time. So tell me: How did you happen to drop through our hole in the storehouse roof just in time to warn us of the ambush?'

  'Your woman Delia got wind of it and asked me to go warn you before Bombas laid his hands on you.'

  'Delia!' he said, amazed. 'Well, perhaps the wench is not as worthless as I had adjudged. She's a beauty, but she drinks like the public drain and talks far too much. And I cannot abide her cats. I half expected her to sell me to Bombas. How did she find out about the ambush?'

  Conan shrugged. 'I've no idea.' He would not complicate matters by inventing a story for her. Doubtless the woman would dream up one of her own.

  'Why did she choose you to send?' Maxio asked.

  'She saw me kill those three men of Ingas's the other day. Tonight she needed a man of courage and skill and so she sought me out, knowing that I am not working for any of the gang lords. And I expect to be paid.'

  'Be assured of it,' Maxio said. 'I would not let such a service go unrequited.' He gazed into his wine cup. 'I will pay you . . . that is, as soon as I have restored my fortunes.'

  'Did you get away with nothing from the royal storehouse?' Conan asked.

  'There was nothing worth the stealing in the place,' Maxip

  said, sounding mystified. 'Just bulk goods, no precious metals or jewels.'

  ' 'I thought I heard the sound of voices arguing before I dropped in,' Conan said.

  'Aye. The men wanted to hold me responsible for the dearth. But the royal warehouse should be full at this time of year. The king's share is taken to Tarantia at the beginning of the new year, which is not far off.''

  Conan smiled to himself as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. 'Tell me, why was there no watchman at the storehouse?'

  'Because he was long gone ere you arrived,' Maxio said. 'He's just another of Bombas's drunken old beggars. I'd been paying him for months to hold his tongue, and tonight I gave him his final payment. He was to flee town with it.' Maxio nodded and stroked his chin. 'It was probably that old sot who tipped Bombas.'

  'Perhaps,' Conan said. 'But doesn't it seem strange to you that the King's Reeve would set fire to the royal storehouse just to smoke out some burglars?'

  'I didn't think of that in all the excitement,' Maxio admitted. 'The way the place was going up when we left, it must be naught but glowing embers by now.'

  'And no way of saying what was in it before the fire,' Conan pointed out.

  A look of sudden comprehension suffused Maxio's lean features. 'That fat, scheming pig! He's looted the place himself! Now he'll report that he went there to catch the thieves and that they set the fire to aid their escape.' He glared and called for more wine. 'Bad enough to be thwarted after so much work. Far worse to do Bombas such a good turn. Who would have thought that hog-eyed barrel of suet could be so clever?'

  'It does not pay to underestimate men just because they look stupid,' Conan said.

  Maxio drank deep of his second tankard of wine and slammed it to the scarred table. 'And Ermak! He's always hated me, but

  Id work for Bombas just to catch me! That's it, then. From now on, it's to the death between me and Ermak!'

  'Brave speech,' Conan said, 'but he is a professional, with . pack of trained killers. You probably lost half of your band might, and your men are just second-story burglars. How do you propose to deal with Ermak?'

  'I will think of something,' Maxio said. He dipped his fingers into his wine and flung a few drops to the floor in token of a vow. ' 'There are many in this town who would aid me in ridding ourselves of those strutting bandits who call themselves soldiers.'

  'Good fortune, then,' said Conan, 'and do not forget that you owe me for tonight.' He began to rise, then remembered something. 'By the way, what know you of a man named As-.Iras?'

  Maxio's eyebrows rose slightly. 'You mean the man who was lurked out back in the alley a few nights ago? I diced with him a few times, as did nearly everyone in the Wyvern. Just another second-rate gambler and would-be adventurer, from what I saw, getting by mainly on looks and luck. Why do you ask?'

  'I am not truly interested in him,' Conan said, 'but he is supposed to have come here in company with a young woman, little more than a girl, named Ylla. She is small and fair-haired. I lave you seen aught of such a lass?''

  Maxio shook his hooded head. 'Neither seen nor heard.' He considered the question further for a moment. 'Asdras didn't talk much about himself, but from what he did say, it seemed to me that he was waiting for a woman to arrive. Once I heard him say that she was a beautiful black-haired wench, and as dangerous as a viper.'

  'Did he speak her name?' Conan asked.

  'Alta? Altena? I think it was something like that. I paid little heed at the time. There's small profit to be had in another man's problems with women. I've enough troubles with my own.'

  'So you have,' Conan affirmed. He rose and bade Maxio farewell, then left the Wyvern. Stretching and yawning, he made his way through the deserted streets of Sicas. As he passed the Square,

  the moonlight glinted silver upon the marble monuments. To the north, a reddish glow proclaimed that the fire was not yet extinguished.

  In the temple, he passed the nave by way of the second-floor gallery. Below, a handful of acolytes kept up their chanting before the statue of Mother Doorgah. As the Cimmerian returned to his quarters, he entertained himself with the thought that very soon now, all that chanting would stop for good.

  XI

  The Tavern Of The Iron Skull

  He awoke with light streaming through the single window of his room, but it was the light of late day. He rose and stretched, then crossed to the basin of water that stood in a corner. He splashed his face and towelled vigorously. Through the window he could see a large part of the Square beyond the temple roof. The stall-keepers were dismantling their tables and awnings. From a dis-lance, he heard the great bell toll above the city gate. It would ring thrice, at intervals of about half an hour, and upon the third ring, the gate would be closed for the night.

  He did not regret having slept the day away. In fact, he decided, might be the best thing to avoid moving about in broad daylight for a while. He was acquiring enemies at a great rate. The Cimmerian armed himself and left his room. As he passed along the upper gallery, his attention was drawn to the service in progress in the temple below.

  The crowd was larger than usual, and he noticed that not all those present wore the robes of an acolyte. There were about twenty newcomers. They were of both sexes, and all of them were

  richly attired in silks and velvets. Here and there he saw the furs of marten and sable.

  The air was thick with smoke, and a group of acolytes sat cross-legged behind the huge idol, making a clangorous, tuneless music with flute, drum, cymbal, and stringed instrument. Andolla stood before the idol, at his feet a golden basin, steaming over a green flame. With hands raised, Andolla sang in a wailing, high-pitched voice and in a language that Conan had never heard. When the priest turned to face the worshippers, his face bore a sheen of sweat and a rictus of ecstasy.<
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  Just below the statue's dais, Oppia clapped her hands rhythmically, leading the acolytes and the newcomers in their chant. Andolla turned and took a great two-handled cup from the lap of the goddess and held it high. Instantly the music, clapping and chanting ceased. He bent low and dipped the massive silver vessel into the steaming pot. Once more he raised it, white drops falling from it back into the cauldron.

  'Behold the milk of Mother Doorgah, with which she nourishes her children! Drink of this, and gain enlightenment!' Andolla drank from the cup; then Oppia ascended the dais and took it from his hands. She drank likewise before carrying the weighty vessel to the worshippers below. She took the cup from one to another, giving it to the newcomers first. As the vessel was passed, the music resumed, now quieter and at a slower tempo. Twice Oppia returned to the dais and refilled the cup as Andolla, now facing the idol once more, resumed his high-pitched song. Conan noted that the newcomers drank with some trepidation, making faces at the taste, while the acolytes snatched eagerly at the cup, as men dying of thirst will snatch at a cup of water. On more than one occasion, Oppia had to pry the vessel away from an acolyte with some force.

  When all had drunk of the potion, the chanting resumed again. Conan set his back to a wall, stood in the shadows, and waited. Nearly an hour passed without incident, but he did not lose patience. He had a feeling that he was about to see something cruel here, the secret of these people's hold over their all-too-willing victims.

  A shriek pierced through the chanting. The Cimmerian saw one 'I the newcomers, a young woman, pointing upward, toward the idol's face. He felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. The Closed eyelids of the goddess had opened, and the exposed orbs glowed as if from an inner fire. In fact, now that he looked closely, lie saw that it was an inner fire. Low flames burned within the idol's head, behind the glass eyes. From somewhere in the temple, lights trained on the idol's countenance were being shifted, causing shadows to move, giving the semblance of changing expressions flickering across the face.

  Conan looked back to the worshippers and saw that their eyes were raised ecstatically, tears running down the cheeks of many. A slight creaking announced another change in the idol. Slowly, I lie arms raised from the sides and swung forward, as if in benediction. From his vantage point, the Cimmerian could see that there were lamps placed in wells beneath Andolla's feet. These, lamps, invisible to the worshippers, began to wobble subtly. The effect was to make the huge breasts above seem to tremble.

  It was an elaborate and fairly impressive display, Conan thought, but it should not have convinced a child, or even the sort !' fools who thronged the temple . . . unless the fools were drugged. He knew that there were many drugs that could bring about illusions. With the tedious, mind-numbing chants to soften the audience's mental resistance, a clever magician, using a bit of impressive stage managing, could easily control the suggestible minds of onlookers and assure that they saw the visions he wished to bring about.

  Either Andolla and his wife were immune to the effects of the drug or they had only feigned drinking from the cup. Neither shared the glassy-eyed stare of the others. After a few more minutes of the show, the idol resumed its wonted posture and the lights returned to normal.

  'Mother Doorgah blesses you, her children!' Andolla cried. 'All things are possible to Mother Doorgah. There is no earthly

  difficulty that she may not solve. You need but bring your sorrows before her and she will take them unto herself. Give thanks and obedience to Mother Doorgah. Make your offerings of the worthless material goods of this passing, ephemeral world to Mother Doorgah, and she will ...'

  Conan was not about to waste any more of his time listening to the priest's mindless drivel. He made his way to the kitchen. He found it deserted, since the acolytes were all in blissful communion with Mother Doorgah. He ignored the pots of bland gruel intended for the novitiates. Obviously, Oppia and Andolla did not live on such.

  He found a separate pantry containing the private stock. It was not locked; mere acolytes would never violate so holy a place. On a cutting board lay several roast fowl and a large joint of beef. He helped himself to a roast duck and carved off a generous slice of the beef. Beneath a cloth he found fresh-baked loaves, still warm from the oven, and appropriated one. He helped it all down with a flagon of the excellent golden wine of Poitain.

  Appetite satisfied and in excellent spirits, Conan went back into the temple. Andolla still led his flock in their endless chants, but Oppia was no longer among them. He found her in the vestibule, speaking to one of the newcomers, who was making an unsteady departure. The young man's over-refined face was filled with rapture and near-worship for Oppia. When the wealthy youth was gone, she turned and saw the Cimmerian.

  'What have you been doing?' she demanded. 'You were away all night and then you snored the day away.'

  'I have been looking out for your interests,' he said, 'as you hired me to do. A good thing for you, too. Last night, in the Pit, I heard talk of this place.'

  'Oh?' she said. 'And what was the nature of this talk?'

  'It seems that Rista Daan is hiring men to make a raid on the temple and fetch his daughter back to him.'

  'I told you, we have arrangements with all the gang leaders here. They are well paid to leave us alone.'

  'Apparently one of them thinks he is not paid well enough,' Conan said.

  'Which one?' she demanded.

  'Ingas.'

  'Him! I settled with him just last week, and he has raised his bloody extortionate rates three times this year! I detest that robber! Well, if there is any more to this than mere talk, I know just I low to deal with a man who refuses to stay bought. I had hoped in avoid such trouble, but other hard men have crossed me to their regret.'

  'This temple is a maze, and it is hard to get from one place in another quickly,' Conan said. 'I think you should give me a room on the same floor as the girl, so I can keep a closer eye on her.'

  'I think not,' Oppia said. 'I want no one on that floor save her. The ... the evil spirits are especially strong near her, and you would not be able to sleep. You might even come to harm.'

  'As you will,' he answered. 'But I feel that I cannot guard her properly where I am. I go now to see what I can learn in the I'll,'

  'See that you do not stay absent for long,' she ordered. 'You me away from the temple too much. When you are not here, you are of little use as a guard ... or for any other use I might have for you.'

  'Be assured, you are always in my thoughts. You'll not regret vim hired me.' He turned and left the temple, descending the steps to the pave below.

  The broad, monument-studded Square was almost devoid of people at this late hour, but there was a lively commerce beneath the colonnaded portico, where the ladies of the evening plied their indolent trade. Sconce-held torches provided light by which the women paraded their wares and lesser merchants peddled the roods that always seemed to go with such traffic: drink, trifling small items, medications and potions guaranteed to restore flagging powers. A few dancers postured and pirouetted for tossed coins. Fortune-tellers offered their services to the gullible.

  Feeling in need of a little diversion before getting down to the deadly serious business of the night, the Cimmerian ambled across the Square toward the colonnade to watch the human parade. As he neared, he saw a familiar form standing on the steps of the portico talking with a pair of gaily dressed women, their overused features disguised by heavy cosmetics and flattered by the soft, flickering torchlight. It was Nevus, his acquaintance from Ermak's troop. The man smiled when he saw the Cimmerian approach.

  'Conan! Come join me. These two ladies would very much like companionship for the night. I confess that I have reached an age at which two women present a challenge that two swordsmen would not. Join us.'

  'I regret to tell you that I have business to attend to this night,' Conan said. 'Another time, perhaps. But I would speak wit! you.'

  Nevus turned to his companions. 'I will r
eturn presently, my lovelies. Seek no lesser company in the meanwhile.' He left amid soft laughter from the women.

  'I thank you,' Conan said as the two stepped into a shaded alcove provided with a stone bench where citizens could take refuge from the sun in the broiling days of summer. 'Tell me, Nevus, where do Ingas's men disport themselves of an evening?'

  The soldier gaped. 'You want to stay well clear of that place! The redbirds harbour little love for you since you slew three of them just a few paces from this spot. I wish I could have seen that. Ermak spoke highly of the feat, and he is a man sparing of his praise.'

  'Nevertheless,' Conan said, 'I wish to call on them.'

  'It is upon your head, then,' said Nevus. 'Most nights they keep to a dive called the Skull. It is in the Pit.'

  Conan nodded. 'I've seen the sign. Tell me, Nevus, what do you know of your leader's dealings with Xanthus? I heard a rumour that he raided the miners' village for Xanthus and took away the women and children.'

  The man would not meet his eyes. 'I know little of that. It was before I came here and joined the band. The others will not, I'm sure of it.'

  'Little wonder,' Conan said. 'It is not worthy of a warrior to do so. That is work for slavers.'

  'Well, I had nothing to do with it!' Nevus insisted. rejoice to hear it,' Conan said. 'Thank you for your aid.' he turned to leave when Nevus spoke.

  'Conan. You should not go down to the Skull alone. Do you want me to go along?'

  'No, but I thank you for the offer. Nevus, you seem to be a in honourable warrior. I advise you to break your connection with Ermak and leave this town. Things are about to get very bad in here.'

  'I do not know what you mean, Cimmerian. Bad times are when a warrior prospers best. And when I take service with a man, I stay by his side until he is dead or fails in his side of the bargain. Ermak has not yet failed to pay his men on time.' It was a mercenary's highest commendation, and there was no arguing with it.

  'Farewell, then, Nevus.' The Cimmerian turned to leave.