The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  It was a short walk from the temple to the palace gates. The healer reached the gates quickly. Below him, in the palace's dungeons, Salvorus was dying slowly as Conan moved through the winding dungeon corridors.

  Madesus persuaded the bored-looking guards at the palace gates to admit him. One tall, lanky guard, his breath reeking of cheap spirits, led Madesus to the palace's main double doors, standing like huge monoliths of wood and iron in the moonlight. The guard drew his sword and pounded the flat of its blade loudly on the left door, three times in succession. Set at eye level in the door was a small panel that slid open. A gruff voice called out to the guard in a thick Zingaran accent.

  "Gevaro! Get ye back t' the gate! 'Tis not dawn yet, by Erlik's black beard, ye lazy sack o' dung! Eh? What's this, a visitor at this hourhand a priest from the temple o' Mitra, by the look. What do ye want, priest?"

  Madesus smiled wanly at the man's banter. Zingaran buccaneers were seldom seen this far east of their homeland. "I am on urgent business concerning the king. Please admit me at once!"

  "Ha! Me, admit the likes o' ye, what with no papers an' such, in the wee hours o' the mornin'? I'll admit no man without reason, priest or no!"

  "Listen to me carefully, Zingaran," Madesus said slowly, gripping his amulet and wrinkling his brow in concentration. "You will open the door for me. Then you will send this guard back to his post. After I enter, you will forget that we have ever met." He spoke in a voice imbued with authority as he evoked an enchantment that would convince the stubborn doorkeeper to let him in.

  "I-I-I'll open the door for ye, priest. Gevaro! Get back t' yer post, afore I nail ye up t' keep ye there!"

  Madesus could hear the Zingaran's keys jangling, and moments later, the door swung open. He stepped in, wondering if getting to the king would be even more difficult once he was inside the palace. Still concentrating on the spell, he spoke again to the bewitched doorkeeper, obtaining directions to the king's chambers. He traversed several of the palace's long, narrow corridors, hoping that the doorkeeper had given him the right information. He would have expected the king to live on one of the palace's upper floors, but the Zingaran had told him that Eldran preferred to dwell on the ground floor.

  So far, he had seen no one else in the halls, not even guards or servants. The whole palace must be dozing peacefully, at least until daybreak, when the corridors would be full of the clamor and bustle of a typical day. Madesus was surprised by the apparent desertion, but pleased that he had not been seen. After making just a few more turns, he would be at the door to the king's outer chambers. His heart began to pound, anticipating a battle to release Eldran from the curse of the Mutare. He could expect resistance, and he could not be sure of the outcome. Would the priestess's powers prove greater than his own? He would soon find out.

  He reached a short, wide corridor that the doorkeeper had described. He would have to go through the door on the right. He noticed two doors on the left. One stood wide open, hanging crookedly on bent hinges that were barely fastened to the corridor side of the door. The latch-and-bolt mechanism, also on the corridor side, appeared to have been torn apart, their stout iron plates ripped like sheets of parchment. This seemed odd to Madesus, since the rest of the palace was kept in very good repair. His curiosity aroused, he moved toward the damaged door to take a quick look and nearly cried out in surprise when he felt himself being seized from behind. A huge hand clamped over his mouth and pulled him backward, so abruptly that he almost fell.

  "Sssst! Madesus!" a rough, familiar-sounding voice whispered into his ear. " 'Tis Conan! Do not make a sound. I need your help!"

  Madesus nodded, quietly wondering what the Cimmerian was doing at the palace. He felt the hand lift from his mouth as Conan freed him. The tall barbarian gestured toward the wrecked door and motioned to the priest to follow him. Madesus noticed that the other door, closed only moments ago, was now open. The Cimmerian must have been concealed behind it. The priest marveled at the catlike stealth of which this black-haired giant was capable; Madesus had not heard a sound, and even the slightest scrape would have echoed in the empty hallway.

  The priest hesitantly followed Conan into the room beyond the ruined door. He could see now that this had been the outer door to some sort of dungeon, explaining why the hinges were on the corridor side of the door. He suspected that the damage was more of Conan's handiwork. He had healed the barbarian's broken wrist only a few days ago. Surely, these Cimmerians possessed remarkable strength and powers of recuperation. Judging from the damage, he surmised that Conan had been imprisoned here.

  Inside the room was another open door, in similar condition to the outer door. The crumpled forms of two palace guards, their limbs twisted, lay slumped against the doorway in pools of blood. Beyond the door, a narrow stone staircase led down, presumably into the dungeon.

  Conan took a few steps downward, again beckoning Madesus to follow.

  Frowning at the sight of the dead guardsmen, Madesus stepped past the bodies to the top step, where he halted.

  Conan wedged the door in place as much as possible, but its badly bent frame would no longer fit the doorway properly. The light at the top of the stairs was considerably brighter than the light in the hall and the rooms, owing to the two lanterns hanging on the walls above the top steps. Madesus noticed for the first time that Conan's body was covered with gashes and swollen patches of bluish-black flesh. Several minor cuts still bled, but the stalwart, blue-eyed giant was oblivious to the pain of these injuries.

  "Conan! Fate's loom has again woven the threads of our destinies together. As I recall, you were trying to avoid any contact with the city guard. What brings you to the palace?"

  "I was seeking Hassem, the thieving scum who framed me for the murder of the princess. Instead, I nearly found death. This city is a pit of corruption and lies. Erlik take these civilized men and their dishonorable ways! By Crom, I have seen more honor among Pictish savages than I have seen among the men of this accursed city. The dogs trapped me, then chained me in one of their stinking dungeon cells. I was to stay there until dawn, when my neck was to be cloven by an axhtheir idea of justice.

  "Salvorus, the captain of the city guard, was dragging Hassem into a cell next to mine. The thief was to be taken to the block also, if Salvorus had not sent him to hell a few hours earlier. The worm slipped out of Salvorus's grasp and planted a poisoned dagger in the captain's back. He would have gutted me like a trussed pig in a slaughterhouse if the captain had not shaken off the poison long enough to toss a dagger through Hassem's back. What a throw it was, by Crom!

  "Now, as we speak, Salvorus lies dying from the poison in Hassem's knife. You must save him! Before Hassem died, he spilled his guts to me, and unknowingly to Salvorus. He told a tale of treachery that led to this palace. The Zamoran said he was working for General Valtresca, and this news had Salvorus foaming at the mouth. Hassem claimed that the king's own general had the princess killed, in some plot to further the general's foul career. Come! You must tend Salvorus. I know the wayhfollow me!"

  Madesus paused to consider. He believed Conan's brief and jumbled retelling of the events of the past few hours, but if Valtresca was a traitor, they were all in great danger. The priest had never met the general, but he had heard tales of him: ambitious and cruel, an unscrupulous but ingenious man. Yet no one would have questioned his loyalty to the throne. Such a man was deadly to his enemies. What role did he play in the king's affliction? Was he connected in some way to the Mutare priestess?

  This possibility troubled Madesus deeply. He believed that he could face the priestess alone and best her, but to overcome Valtresca as wellhthat was a task for a skilled warrior. The priest disapproved of Conan's methods, and had been saddened by the sight of the dead guards in the dungeon antechamber. Their only crime had been to follow orders and oppose the Cimmerian's escape.

  Still, Conan was well suited to the task of fighting Valtresca, and the visions Madesus had seen earlier clearly indicated th
at the barbarian's fate was somehow tied up with Madesus's own. In his heart, he knew he must heal the dying captain anyway. Mitra took a dim view of priests who turned away from the sick and the dying. Sighing, Madesus spoke to Conan swiftly.

  "I will heal the dying captain, but once again I have a price you must pay. We have become entangled in the web of perfidy and intrigue pervading this city. Mitra has charged me to banish an ancient enemy lurking here, and Valtresca may be a link in the chain of evil that I must break. Against one such as Valtresca, my powers are limited at best. The malevolent creature I seek to vanquish will use the general as a weapon to destroy me. Valtresca would be a blade both keen and deadly in the hands of this creature. In return for healing Salvorus, I would ask you to shield me from Valtresca, and slay him if need be.

  Tonight I must reach my enemy and cast it back to the dank bowels of the pit it crawled from. Will you accompany me?"

  Now it was Conan's turn to think. The Cimmerian's decision was made quickly; his barbaric code of honor instinctively chose his course for him. "Had Salvorus not acted on my behalf, I would be burning in the pits of hell now. Heal him, and I swear by Crom to stand by you. Enough of thishfollow me!"

  Without further words, Conan turned and descended the stairs rapidly, knowing that with every stride, Salvorus's life was ebbing. Madesus was hard-pressed to keep pace, but his quest had stoked a fire within him and he somehow managed to match Conan's speed. The unlikely pair of warrior and priest hastened together through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace dungeon.

  The journey seemed to take hours. Conan bent occasionally to look for the traces of blood on the floor, while Madesus gathered in his willpower for the upcoming tasks. On the way, he learned that Salvorus was dying from a wound poisoned with black lotus. The priest knew that the poison could not be made purely of black lotus blossoms, which would instantly kill a victim on contact. Hassem had most likely purchased blossoms that were cut or plucked improperly, and therefore had lost some of their nocuous powers. Madesus knew how to bring a man back from the lethal dreams of the lotus. He had once seen the ritual performed, and curiosity had prompted him to learn it himself. He hoped his memory would serve Salvorus.

  Finally they reached the captain. Madesus grimaced at the sight.

  Salvorus was clearly in the throes of a painful death. Rivers of sweat ran down his feverish face, and his lips were black and swollen. His eyelids would snap open, only to shut as quickly. He moaned and trembled, and his breath came in gasps that rasped like a shovel digging gravel from a pit. Working quickly, Madesus knelt and extracted a phial of salve from his pouch. He removed the cloth Conan had jammed into Salvorus's gashed side and rubbed some of the salve into the nasty wound. This brought screams and thrashing from Salvorus. "Hold him down quickly!" Madesus ordered as he was nearly knocked into a wall by the delirious captain. Conan pinned Salvorus to the floor and held him steady as Madesus continued to work.

  The priest began a slow, rhythmic chant while passing his hand before the amulet. Heartbeats later, a scintillating purple aura began to shine around his hand. He placed his palm on Salvorus's forehead, continuing to chant. The amulet blazed with a bright purple glow, and the aura from Madesus's hand began to grow until it encompassed Salvorus's body. Conan drew in a sharp breath and drew back, overcome by his instinctive dread of magic and the supernatural. Salvorus had stopped thrashing, and his moans had subsided to murmurs.

  Finally, Madesus ceased the chant, and the purple glow subsided. The priest dusted Salvorus's face with a strange, dull silver powder. Conan sniffed at a refreshing but bittersweet odor in the air, which dissipated quickly. When the captain's face soaked up the powder, Madesus clapped his hands loudly.

  Salvorus's eyes opened slowly, his lids fluttering. His breathing was steady, and the black swelling in his lips had begun to recede.

  Painstakingly, he sat up and groaned. "My veins are afire, by Mitra!"

  His vision blurring, he blinked and stared at Conan. "Conan? Is this hell, then? Were you slain, as I was? But noh" he shook his head as he glanced at Madesus "ha priest of Mitra would not be here if this were hell."

  "Nay, Salvorus, we are all alive, by Crom!" Conan bellowed, overjoyed that the captain had been revived. "This healer dragged you back from the abyss, so the devils in hell will have longer to wait before they gnaw your bones!"

  "I live! I know not how, but I am deeply indebted to you. Great is your skill, healer. I must rise to bear news of Valtresca's treachery to the king, and serve justice upon the general's villainous, tainted body."

  Salvorus lurched to his feet, wobbling. Steadying himself against the dungeon's hard, cold walls, he slowly regained his senses. Madesus eyed him, assessing his condition.

  "Slowly, Captain, slowly. Your body is still fighting the black lotus, but I say now that you are healed. With every step, you will regain your strength. I, too, have urgent business with your king, but you must not tax yourself too strenuously, or your recovery will be short-lived."

  "I have no time, healer! We must go now. I gain strength from the image in my mind, of Valtresca's vile neck on the headsman's block!"

  As Salvorus finished speaking, a sneering laugh sounded from the corridor far behind him. "Enjoy your deluded fantasy, my young captain," said a familiar-sounding voice mockingly, "but I would be more mindful of your own neck than of mine!"

  The three men whirled in shock. At the end of the passage stood General Valtresca, laughing, his polished sword and armor gleaming in the lamplight Behind him were over half a dozen heavily armed palace guards. The guards in front had crossbows, loaded with wicked-looking steel bolts. Valtresca and his troop were less than twenty feet away, in easy crossbow range.

  Salvorus snarled at the general while inching his hand toward the bag of Hassem's knives, still tied to his belt. "Deceiver! Have you no shred of honor or decency left, that you would kill us in cold blood?

  King Eldran saved your life once, and you were close friends. Now you take his friendship and spit it back into his face. For this foul treason, you will pay dearly. Die, spawn of hell!" In a smooth, sweeping motion, Salvorus drew one of Hassem's knives and hurled it with all his might, straight for the general's breast.

  Stepping back reflexively, Valtresca twisted his sword with inhuman speed and deflected the razor-sharp missile. "Slay them!" he shouted to the men around him. The guards with crossbows let their bolts fly, and the others rushed down the corridor to attack.

  Eight

  Rats in a Trap

  As the archers released their deadly missiles, Conan dived into the open cell, pushing Madesus ahead of him. His swiftness saved them.

  Madesus felt the air from the bolts rush past his head as priest and barbarian fell to the filthy stone floor of the dungeon cell. Hassem's stiffening corpse broke Conan's fall. He quickly rolled off and sprang to his feet, firmly gripping his sword.

  Madesus was not as fortunate. His head cracked loudly against the frame of the iron cell door, and an instant later, his face impacted with the hard floor. His vision swam in blurring circles, and he barely managed to turn over before losing consciousness. Conan did not see him pass out; he was already charging the attacking guardsmen.

  Salvorus escaped injury by falling quickly to the floor as the bolts were loosed. Having no sword, he jumped to his feet and drew two more of Hassem's daggers. If he could cut through his attackers, he could reach Valtresca. At least these traitorous guards would provide him with a sword, he thought grimly.

  "Conan!" he called to the Cimmerian. "Two apiece, but save the general for me!"

  The barbarian grinned. "Rush the bowmen next. Those bows are slow to reload!"

  "What of Madesus? Was he hit?"

  "Aye, but not by a bolt. He cracked his skull on the door as he fell."

  Conan looked as if he was going to say more, but the two men had no time for further talk.

  Although the corridor was wide enough for three men to walk abreast, only two could
fight in it side by side. Salvorus engaged one guard while Conan attacked another. In the crowded passage, the battle raged.

  Salvorus parried the crude slashes of his foe with Hassem's knives, but he could not press the guardsman or risk a lunge with the short blades.

  The two exchanged a flurry of blows, and the sound of ringing steel filled the air.

  Conan made short work of his opponent, aiming a series of dizzying cuts at the man's unprotected arms. He drew the guard off balance, then lunged in, plunging the heavy blade through his foe's armored midriff.

  The man grunted in surprise and tumbled to the floor, dropping his blade.

  With a wet, ripping sound, Conan tugged his sword free of the guard's guts, then kicked the corpse's sword over to Salvorus. While a third guard stepped up to engage Conan, the barbarian made a backhanded slash at Salvorus's foe, giving the captain time to pick up the sword. The Cimmerian's new opponent made a wide slash with his curve-bladed Kothian sword, aiming for Conan's head. The Cimmerian parried the slash effortlessly and dived forward, lashing out with his hammerlike fist.

  The miscued blow crunched painfully into the guard's iron collar instead of his chin. Conan hastily withdrew his throbbing hand and readied his sword for another parry.

  The guard was an accomplished swordsman, but his confidence had been shaken by Conan's ferocity. He now attacked more cautiously, and Conan was able to drive him back several paces by sheer force. Eventually the man lost his resolve and raised his blade for a sloppy overhand cut.

  Conan swung his huge sword with all his strength. It connected with the guard's descending blade, shattering the thinner metal into a dozen shards. Conan's blade continued its deadly arc, hacking through the man's chain mail shirt to his breastbone.