The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  Ah, Tuanne! I thought you might return. I have several new pleasures in mind for you upon your arrival. You departed without bidding me so much as a simple farewell. I am injured.

  Neg's mental voice hardened, the crack of a psychic whip. I am injured; so shall you be ....

  With that, Tuanne's hopes dwindled to a pinpoint, buried under resignation so heavy that a mountain seemed light by comparison. To be Neg's slave for a thousand years, the object of his ire for once escaping, loomed over her blacker than the darkest cave under any heaven.

  Along with souls of the others ensnared in his curse, Tuanne continued to walk.

  There was no longer any need for the village that had sustained him for centuries. As a test of his power, Neg sent a wave of his new troops into the hamlet.

  Those villagers who did not flee shortly became part of his new army.

  As the evening deepened to violet and then black, the flames of the burning village made a nice light to view the several thousand zombies who gathered outside his moat.

  "Speak my name!" he commanded.

  With one voice, they spoke. Because some were farther away than others, the sound swelled and droned into a roar like a breaking wave upon a beach.

  "Neg! Neg! Neg!"

  His chest swelled with power and pride.

  "NEG! NEG! NEG!"

  "NEG-NEG-NEG-NEG-NEG-NEG-NEG-NEG . . . "

  Yes. Neg. Master of the world.

  Chapter Twenty

  The jungle steamed around them, deep green, and the light that filtered through the thick canopy above seemed as normal as that of the land to which they journeyed. No longer blue, the sun, when he glimpsed it, burned yellow and hot. Conan's sweat attested to the heat. Next to him, Elashi removed her outer garments, to tie them around her shapely hips.

  It was an odd jungle. No insects swarmed the air, no sounds of beasts hunting in the distance reached their ears. For all the dangers that Tuanne had warned them of, nothing came to interrupt their journey.

  Two hours walk into the sodden bush, and they came to the end of their quest in the magic lands.

  "You were right," Elashi admitted. "That must be how we are to reenter our own world."

  Ahead lay what appeared to be the grandfather of all trees; on its side, a wooden gate hung, twice the height of a man. Standing guard over this portal was a large and muscular man holding a sword, clad only in a loincloth and boots.

  The man looked familiar. He was easily as large as Conan, had square-cut black hair to his shoulders, and stood with a kind of arrogance.

  Crom! It could not be!

  "By Mitra!" Elashi said. "It it is-is-"

  "Myself," Conan finished.

  "It cannot be."

  "A fair copy, then. Although methinks he looks too insolent."

  Elashi said, "Oh, no, he is the exact image of you."

  Conan looked at her. "You should get along as well with him as you do with me, then." His voice was very dry.

  "I think not," she replied, pointing.

  The ersatz Conan stalked toward them.

  "Ho," the real Conan said.

  The copy stopped and looked puzzled. One might say almost stupidly so, Conan thought, then shook that idea away. Natural wonderment.

  "What do you want?" the fake Cimmerian said.

  "To pass yon gate," Conan replied.

  "You may not. I am charged with preventing any entry."

  "Does this include yourself?"

  "Nay. But," the fake continued, "you are not me. You are some demonish illusion. Magic!" He spat.

  Conan resisted the urge to expectorate in agreement. Instead, he said, "It is you who are the illusion. Let us pass, and you may continue to wear my form."

  "Nay, demon. And I shall see your true shape after I cut away your magical veil." So saying, the gate guard drew his sword and took a stance.

  Conan's grin was wolfish as he replied with his own blade, matching the other's stand. He strode forward, raised his weapon, and cut at the other's head, hard.

  The block offered could not have been better placed; more, it carried every bit as much power as Conan's strike. A bad sign.

  The counterfeit Conan looked surprised again.

  Surely, the genuine Conan thought, surely I do not offer such an expression to the world? I must find a looking glass someday.

  Not now, however, he thought, as the fake slashed at his arm. Conan danced back and parried, then circled the move into a stab at the thick chest. The imitation leaped back fleetly, and the strike fell well short.

  Two more minutes of thrust and counterthrust ended in a draw, neither man having touched the other. How could a man defeat himself? Conan worried the thought as he feinted a broad sweep and bore in for a short cut to the neck. His move was anticipated, blocked handily, and in a comic touch to the already comic proceedings, then duplicated exactly by the false Conan. As was Conan's next block.

  "Crom!" both men said at the same instant.

  "Perhaps you can reason with him," Elashi offered as the paired Conans stood facing each other two spans away.

  "Reason? You jest," the real Conan said.

  The other Conan laughed.

  Then again, who better to reason with than yourself?

  The genuine Cimmerian-although he wondered if perhaps the other man might not think he was the real article too-lowered his blade.

  "If one of us is a fake, he is a good one," Conan said.

  The tree gate guardian nodded. "I'll allow that."

  "But what if we are both real?"

  "Unlikely."

  "Granted, but possible in this land of magic, you must agree."

  "Aye. Possible."

  "Then if that is true, to allow me to pass through the gate would be no dereliction of your duty."

  Grudgingly, the other nodded. "True enough."

  "Then allow me to pass, for I know I am real."

  The ersatz Conan pondered upon that for a moment. "Even if what you say is true, what about her?"

  Conan was stumped for a reply.

  Elashi said, "I? I am merely an illusion."

  "An illusion?"

  "Aye. A phantom. Not real. A ghost."

  "Hmm. Were that the case, you could pass. But I would have to determine the truth of it."

  Elashi smiled. "Easily done. Touch me. Your hand will pass through unimpeded."

  The real Conan stared at her. Had she gone mad? She was no illusion! His hand had never passed through her warm flesh!

  Elashi took a step forward, turned her head slightly, and winked at the real Conan.

  Ah. Now he understood. "Yes, touch her," he said, sheathing his sword.

  The fake Conan lowered his blade, now that the threat seemed to be gone. He took two steps toward Elashi.

  She chose that moment to lift her thin undershirt, baring her full and tanned breasts. "Here," she said. "Feel."

  When the copy Conan extended his hand to stroke those perfect globes, the real Conan leaped, and clouted the other behind the ear with a powerful hammerblow of his knotted fist. The fake Conan dropped, his consciousness knocked from him.

  Elashi grinned, and covered herself.

  "I would not have been duped that way," Conan said.

  Her grin grew larger.

  "I would not have," Conan insisted.

  "Of course not," she said. But she did not stop smiling.

  As they moved to the gate, the vision of the half-naked Elashi as she had stood there lay heavily upon his memory. He could hardly blame the other Conan, who sprawled sleeping on the soggy ground. It was a fine sight, truly it was. Not that he would have fallen for such a trick. Really.

  Neg discovered yet another trick given him by his new powers. He could, if he so desired, "see" through the eyes of a designated zombie. It required merely his willing this after making mental contact, and he became instantly able to be in two places at once, one fully and the other in a kind of dreamlike state. Depending upon his intent, the "real" sight cou
ld be either place. More, he could shift his mind into the bodies of the Men With No Eyes, and that proved to be most interesting. Though blind, their other senses were so acute so as to render the sightless state only a minor annoyance. He tried the technique on one of the living villagers brought to him as a test subject, but could not make the shift. Ah, well. A small matter. Upon the quick death of the villager, the deed became possible.

  Soon, his army would be large enough to send sweeping all before it. He merely needed to decide upon a direction. Should he go north, into Corinthia, Nemedia, and Brythunia? Or perhaps farther west, taking Ophir and Aquilonia, to the sea state of Zingara? Koth and Shem lay southward, and beyond them Stygia and Kush, and to the east, Zamora and Turan . . . .

  Ah, such decisions! Not that it mattered which way he chose to conquer first; in the end, it would all be his. With each battle, his army would grow; every fallen soldier would become his man, every civilian slain another. The greater the defenses, the faster his forces would grow. An invincible army of dead, never needing sleep or food or rest, would sweep all before it, as a wind moved dry leaves.

  Then, once he ruled the entire world, he could do anything. Anything! He would rule for ten thousand years!

  The last man alive in a world filled with dead servants.

  The door though the tree led to a dark corridor. Conan led, his sword probing ahead, while Elashi clutched onto his belt from behind.

  After a moment, they saw a dim light ahead.

  Another moment, and the light proved to be a guttering fat lamp on the wall of a quite ordinary stone corridor. Conan felt a coldness as he passed through the portal into the necromancer's castle. When he turned to look at the exit, he saw nothing but a blank stone wall.

  "Are we here?" Elashi said.

  "So it would seem."

  "Now what?"

  "Now we find Neg and kill him."

  Five zombies walked through the In-Between Lands as a unit, five who had been Men With No Eyes. The sixth now rested, if somewhat uncomfortably, within the bowels of a creature the size of a terrestial whale. This monster had burrowed up through the road on which the six traveled and engulfed the zombie in a single bite. If the taste of dead flesh reanimated bothered the creature, it gave no sign, but sank back into the land as if it were water, and disappeared, bearing its most recent dinner with it.

  The five continued on without their colleague.

  Unbeknownst to Elashi and Conan, Tuanne had taken the same route into Neg's castle, albeit before the counterfeit Conan arrived to take up his post. It was to this portal that the five remaining trackers unerringly moved.

  At the giant tree they met the false Conan.

  "I have been tricked once," he said. "It will not happen again. Leave."

  The zombie priests had no such intentions. They started toward the gate.

  Whichever god or demigod who had duplicated Conan, whatever his, her, or its reasons, had done an exceedingly good job. The rage that smoldered and flared within the construct erupted like a human volcano. He flew into the five priests, sword blurring back and forth, up and down, this way and that, and abruptly, the air was filled with a rain of dead flesh. Hands, arms, feet, ears, a head-everything the cold sharp iron could find it severed and flung hither and yon. Some of the more mobile pieces-hands, especially-tried to return to their owners, scrabbling along like fleshy insects, but the flashing blade never let up long enough to allow it.

  Even the rage of a fake Cimmerian is an awesome sight.

  When the man finally exhausted even his great strength, the clearing by the giant tree lay deep in bloodless, butchered flesh. Instinctively, the simulacrum of Conan seemed to know that if he scattered the pieces far enough from each other, they would not be able to reunite. A kind of life would exist, but more akin to flora than fauna. To this end, the copy of a man kicked the scored sections of his attackers for a mile around the jungle. The fake Conan then returned to his assigned post, glowering at the jungle through fire-blue eyes.

  The zombie Men With No Eyes had come to the end of their journey in a way they had never begun to expect.

  Five thousand enthralled zombies stood gathered outside in the darkness. Neg stared at them from the ramparts of his castle. Half again enough to begin, he decided. And northwest seemed a good direction. He waved his left arm.

  "Go. Kill all men in your path until you reach Numalia. Await there my pleasure."

  Half of the force turned and shambled off in the darkness. What would the good folk of Numalia think when they saw an army of dead stop on their doorstep? What would they pay to be rid of them? Everything, eventually, but Neg would start by demanding wagons full of precious stones, gold, assorted virgins, and rare baubles as he decided upon at his leisure. Perhaps he would have a castle built of gold, with sidewalks of rubies and emeralds. An interesting idea.

  The rest of the zombies he wished to keep close to home, for the moment. Any attacking force sent by those who might discern where the zombies originated would have to deal with his reserve, and they were formidable enough.

  He turned away from the sight of the departing troops.

  His conquest of the world had begun.

  Had it been possible, Skeer would have been red with anger. As it stood, he showed no external sign of his rage, and that was just as well. Neg's power was such that should he become irritated, what he could or might do was unpredictable. Not that Skeer had done so well in predicting his master's behavior before he had grown so strong. Skeer the fool, Skeer the jester, Skeer the slackwit, to fall for such an old trick as poisoned wine. Why, he had used the same himself!

  He walked through a lower portion of the castle, and the skitter of his dog spiders stayed the same as it had been since they had joined him. He had grown accustomed to it, especially since there was nothing to be done for it.

  Ahead of him, he saw Tuanne walking his way.

  "Ah. We meet again."

  She did not speak, but continued walking, albeit slowly.

  "Going to see our mutual master?"

  "Aye," she said.

  "Give him my regards: a pox upon him for a thousand years."

  "Fallen out of favor, Skeer?"

  He turned and began to walk next to her. "He calls you, eh? I would see your meeting, would he allow it. "

  "Can you think so badly of me, now that you suffer the same affliction?"

  Skeer walked unspeaking for a few steps. Finally, he said, "Nay, I admit that I cannot. I can understand why you did what you did. Would that I could retrieve the talisman. I would put an end to this quickly enough."

  "You know where it is?"

  "Aye, for all the good it does. It is well guarded, and all of his enthralled are forbidden to even think of entering the saferoom."

  "We are not forbidden such a thing," came Conan's voice from behind them.

  Skeer spun. Tuanne twisted her neck to see, though she did not stop walking. "Conan!" she said. "And Elashi!"

  "Aye. The salt, Elashi."

  Skeer straightened from his crouch. "You have salt? Here?"

  "Aye."

  "Then cast it upon me, as well!"

  Tuanne said, "It is ordinary salt, Skeer. It will not break his spell, it will only stop movement temporarily."

  "Anything, so that I might resist his call. Please."

  "I am not disposed to aid you, Skeer. You slew my friend. "

  "I can take you to the talisman," Skeer said. "You can stop Neg if you have that."

  Conan looked at Tuanne.

  "Yes," she said. "Please."

  "Very well. Here is the water bottle, Elashi. Add your salt to it."

  The woman complied, and in a moment, held a small amount of saline solution. She cupped her hand and poured the brine into it, then flung it at Tuanne. Tuanne stiffened, and Conan caught her before she fell. He laid her gently upon his cloak, upon the flagstones. "We shall return for you when this is done."

  She could not speak, but he saw the sparkle i
n her eyes.

  "And me?" Skeer said.

  Conan looked down at the spiders, who seemed unperturbed at their presence. "After you show us where the talisman is held."

  "Come, then, before Neg decides he needs his boots polished yet again, and calls for me."

  With a last glance at Tuanne, Conan and Elashi followed Skeer, staying far enough back to avoid treading upon the spiders between them.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  "There are six guards," Skeer said. "Men With No Eyes. One of them is like I am, the others living."

  "We shall deal with them," Conan said.

  "First, we must reach them. Listen."

  From around the bend in the corridor just ahead came the sound of voices approaching.

  "Quickly, in there!" Skeer pointed at a nearby door. He led the way through it, with Elashi behind him and Conan following her.

  Once inside the room-it was a storage area, with dozens of tapers hung by double strings and dark wooden barrels stacked two high along the walls-Conan left the door ajar a crack. He held his sword ready as he peered through the narrow opening.

  Outside, half a dozen men moved past the impromptu hiding place. They all had that pale, wan look of the reawakened dead.

  Next to him, Skeer said, "Neg has allowed many of the assembled throng inside, as a security measure. The halls are likely to be full of his new slaves."

  "Then we shall have to be careful," Conan said.

  "Could we not pass for more of the same?" Elashi asked.

  "Nay. We recognize our own," Skeer replied.

  "Perhaps we could pretend to be your prisoners," Conan said.

  "Yes, that might work. Although I am no more than a lackey to Neg, many of the newly enzombied ones know I am at least a close lackey."

  "Then let us proceed," the Cimmerian said.

  Something was amiss, Neg felt. What, he could not say, but it was as if some worrisome itch troubled him, in a place he could not quite reach. There could be no need for alarm, not with the thousands of loyal nightwalkers gathered outside, along with the dozens of new ones within. He was invulnerable to ordinary attack, and he could draw not only upon the physical strength of his followers, but upon their stored minds, as well. What they knew he could know; he merely had to seek the answer.