The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  Azora now stood before the outer walls of the stronghold. Monumental gates sagged in ruins on broken hinges. All around her were the vast, impassable steppes of Shem's parched, lifeless desert. She stepped through a huge gap in the shattered portals.

  Ahead, the ancient stronghold rose from the arid wasteland like the stump of a long-dead tree. Its walls were greenish-black, sandblasted by hot, desert winds. Cracked and chipped, they stood defiantly, facing the reddish-yellow desert like silent sentries of stone. They were roughly circular, made up of eleven immense stone slabs. They tapered near the top, several hundred feet from the ground. The stronghold had no windows, and only one door: a tall, narrow portal of black iron.

  Weathered stone steps led up to this door, flanked on both sides by large statues, whose only recognizable features were heads, legs, and wings; the wind had worn everything else away. Knee-high drifts of sand had piled up on the steps, where they partially blocked the door. Even the most stubborn of desert life forms had forsaken the place.

  As she walked up the steps to the iron door, Azora took one last look into the Augur. She smiled cruelly at what she saw there. Tucking the orb carefully into her cloak, she pushed the black doors open and stepped within.

  Beneath the Targolian temple, Madesus remained outwardly calm, but inwardly his mind was a turbulent sea of thought. "Conan!" he said urgently, ignoring his previous warning regarding the use of names, "can you bend the bars of the portcullis?"

  Wordlessly, the brawny Cimmerian seized the portcullis and heaved mightily, bracing himself against the bronze doors for leverage. Sweat broke out on his furrowed brow, and his ropelike muscles bulged in knots beneath his skin. Even Conan's superhuman strength was no match for the inch-thick bars of bronze. He released his grip, flexing his fingers to loosen them. The blood continued to fill the corridor with frightening speed; it lapped greedily at his knees.

  Kailash had begun to hurl himself against the bronze doors, but he was faring no better than Conan had fared with the bars. The double doors gave slightly, but they were held securely by an oversized bronze padlock clamped around each of their outer handles.

  "Madesus!" the hillman called out breathlessly. "If there is anything you can do with your amulet to get us out of this, do it now! In a few minutes, the blood will rise over our heads!"

  Madesus shook his head despondently. 'The amulet has power to heal, but-it cannot save us from this trap!"

  Kailash pounded the bronze doors with his fists. "Then we are beaten!

  The priestess has won!" He looked down dejectedly, where the crimson flood had crept up past his knees.

  Only Conan refused to give up hope. In desperation, he pulled one of the black metal torches from its wall moorings. He reasoned that the clublike torches might be strong enough to smash the bronze padlock.

  With all the force he could bring to bear, he swung the heavy torch down on the lock, striking it squarely. Stubbornly, it refused to break apart.

  "Wait!" Madesus said. "Instead of trying to smash the lock, use the bar to pry it apart!" The priest's voice had taken on an edge of anxiety; his calm demeanor was fraying as the blood crept up past his belt of rope.

  Conan quickly inserted the rod of heavy black metal into the gap between the bronze hasp and the latching bar. The strange torch's tapered end was just narrow enough to wedge into the space. Conan pulled down on the torch with a supreme effort and nearly snapped the black metal bar.

  The Targolian torch proved to be stronger than the bronze lock. The hasps gave in, torn into halves of twisted bronze. Although badly bent, the black metal torch continued emitting its strange, bright green glow. Conan dropped it. Its glow faded as it sank into the blood.

  The bronze doors, no longer held by the lock, were immediately pushed open by pressure from the crimson tide. Needing no urging, the three blood-soaked men dashed into the chamber beyond. Once inside, Conan and Kailash strained to shut the doors behind them and cut off the macabre crimson flow.

  Madesus's amulet flared up, illuminating the entire room. As if voicing everyone's thoughts, Kailash groaned in dismay. Conan swore with earsplitting force. "No exit, by Crom! We are cut off!"

  Kailash struggled to keep the doors closed behind them, putting his back against the portals and digging his feet in against the floor to keep from sliding. "I cannot hold the doors closed for long," he said through clenched teeth. "Whatever we do, we must do it soon!"

  Madesus and Conan looked blankly at each other, out of ideas. They surveyed the room, searching for a way out. The chamber had five bare walls, identical except for the wall with the bronze doors.

  Extinguished candles of black wax were arranged with strange symmetry along the red granite floor.

  An ugly pool of blood had gushed in between the double doors before Kailash had closed them. Madesus marveled at the fit of the doors, so exact that no blood leaked through them. It was, however, the object in the center of the chamber that drew Madesus's attention. He had seen a likeness of it in an ancient book of lore, from the Corinthian temple's library.

  "By Mitra! Behold the altar of the Mutare!" he exclaimed as he stared at it, horrified and yet fascinated. The altar was covered with stains of indeterminate origin. Grotesque symbols had been etched into its broad base; above it, badly rusted chains dangled, suspended from the high ceiling. Madesus noticed something familiar about the pattern of the candles, then warned the others.

  "Beware of where you step in here. Hold a moment, while I extinguish the amulet's light." In a few seconds, the light from the amulet went out, plunging the room into total darkness.

  Conan's eyes adjusted. Then he could see a faint, glowing red line, traced around the base of the altar in the shape of a five-pointed star. A circle had been drawn through the points of the star. Ten candles had been placed along the circle, one at every point of the star, and one between each point.

  "Do not cross the lines," Madesus cautioned as he bent to examine them more closely, illuminating the room again with bright light from his amulet. Behind him, Kailash continued to struggle with the doors.

  "I cannot hold these much longer," he said, his voice showing the tremendous strain he was under. Conan moved over and joined him, grunting in surprise at the overwhelming weight pressing against the doors. Kailash evidently possessed considerable strength, to have held them shut for as long as he had.

  Bracing his feet on the floor, Conan placed one hand on each door and pushed. "I'll help," he told Kailash. From the weight pressing against them, it felt to him as if the corridor outside was now filled to the ceiling with blood.

  Madesus finished his examination of the lines, which had disappeared when the light of his amulet shone upon them. A growing feeling of doubt was gnawing at him. At first, when he had been walking through the passage, he had felt the presence of the Mutare so strongly that he was certain she was nearby. Now the feeling was fading, as if they had moved away from her or as if she had moved away from them.

  "I am a fool!" Madesus burst out. "We have been misled! Oh, she is a crafty one, this priestess."

  Conan and Kailash eyed him dubiously. "What?" Conan demanded gruffly.

  "What are you saying?"

  "She has fled, after luring us into this trap. I know not how she escaped, or where she has gone. Indeed, she must now be very far from here, or the feeling of her nearness would not have faded so quickly.

  As I feared, she must have discovered we were after her, and laid this snare for us before absconding!"

  Conan listened to the priest's discouraging conjecture but refused to succumb to despair. He saw no way to prevent the jaws of this trap from closing upon them, but he would not give up hope while he still lived.

  Their most immediate problem was keeping the doors closed against the red tide that threatened to drown them. A desperate thought crossed his mind.

  "Madesus!" he called to the priest, who was still berating himself.

  "That altar looks heavy enough to hold bac
k these doors. It's less than a dozen paces away. I must try it!"

  "Wait!" the priest said warily. "You cannot move it without crossing the invisible lines. If you cross the lines, you may die."

  "I will die anyway. We are wasting time. I must move the accursed altar!" As if to confirm Conan's statement, the doors buckled inward slightly, allowing a thin stream of blood to jet through before the two men could force the portals shut again.

  Madesus nodded reluctantly, gripping his amulet tightly. He knew that the lines on the floor formed a pentagram, a magical barrier often drawn to summon a powerful creature and keep it at bay. When he stepped across the lines, Conan would open a hole in the barrier. If the Cimmerian was quick enough, he might reach the altar and push it to the doors before the creature could discover the hole and escape through it.

  Kailash shifted his weight to bear the pressure of both doors, while Conan looked dubiously at the immense altar. If it was solid stone, its weight could easily be thrice that of his own. Inhaling deeply, he strode up to the altar and shoved against it with the force of a charging bull.

  Madesus and Kailash watched in astonishment as the Cimmerian passed right through the altar. "What in the Nine Hells of Zandruhungh!" Conan exclaimed as he lost his balance, falling to the floor with a resounding thump. He got up slowly, eyeing the altar suspiciously. He reached out to touch it, but his hand simply passed into it. Quickly, he snatched his hand back, rubbing it.

  As Conan did so, a sudden transformation came over the phantom altar.

  It began to rise off the floor like a cloud of black, oily smoke, shifting in shape until it resembled something vaguely humanoid. Its color was a deep, impenetrable black, darker than a Khitan tar pit on a moonless night. Its body was thick at the top, tapering to a shadowy point near the floor, with long, thick arms of black smoke. Wisps of smoke extended from the arms, forming enormous three-fingered hands with long, sharp talons. A faceless head rose from its neckless body; the smoke had thinned in places to give the sinister impression of a wide, slitted mouth and two slanted eyes.

  The mouth moved, issuing a deep, echoing laugh. The hollow, booming sound reverberated in the chamber. Conan in stinctively began to back away from the creature. "Run!" the shadowy form said in a murky, thunderous voice dripping with malevolence. "You cannot escape me! Your souls are mine! But before I take them, I hunger for a taste of your flesh!" Moving with lightning-fast speed, the creature reached out with a huge hand and wrapped it around the Cimmerian's neck.

  Conan felt himself being lifted from the floor. He twisted and thrashed, trying to break the shape's unearthly grip, but was baffled as his hands encountered nothing but air. His thick neck muscles were all that saved him from a crushed windpipe.

  Without any apparent exertion, the creature flung him against the granite wall of the chamber like a child's toy. He slid to the floor, dazed and filled with dread. Conan knew they faced no earthly foe, but some vile demon with unholy powers. By Crom, he longed for a foe made of flesh and blood! He hoped that the priest could do something against this beast.

  Madesus regained his senses, having been momentarily overcome with surprise. At the sight of the creature, his throat had suddenly become dry, and his stomach had rolled queasily. The form before them was a shadow demon, a terrible beast from the abyss. According to legend, the shadow demons' inhuman strength was matched only by their unquenchable appetite for human flesh. A loremaster had once told Madesus that only nine demons of shadow existed, all of them serving one master: the Demon Lord Balberoth.

  Madesus raised his amulet and hastily recited verses, hoping that he correctly pronounced them. "Masquim Xul nar marratu, ia Balberoth! Ia Balberoth! Xizul absu marratu, nar marratu, ia Balberoth!"

  The priest's voice became rough and deep as the strange, unwieldy words stumbled haltingly from his tongue. The shadow demon snarled at him, started toward him, but was unable to cross the pentagram's lines. In a clear, commanding voice, the priest said: "Begone, formless one! Return to the pit from whence you came, in the name of Almighty Mitra!"

  The demon shrieked and began to disappear, becoming more and more transparent until its voice was a distant wail. Finally it faded into nothingness. Madesus breathed a sigh of relief as Conan got to his feet.

  Kailash groaned and shifted his hold on the doors. Sweat was pouring off of him in rivulets, but he stood stubbornly in place. His muscles ached from the strain. "What now?" he managed to gasp.

  Madesus was about to respond, when the room was engulfed in darkness.

  Seconds later, the priest felt the temperature drop to an icy, bone-numbing cold. Slowly the amulet pushed away the darkness, until once again it lit up the room. All three men gaped at what had appeared in the center of the pentagram.

  Facing Madesus was a manlike being with sapphire-blue skin, clad in a high-collared cloak of metallic black fabric. He was taller than Conan by a head, but much thinner. His eyes had no pupils; they were stark white, like his thin lips. Covering his head was a short, triangular patch of silvery-white hair, with razor-edged points at the center of his forehead and on both sides of his neck. In one hand, his long, ashen-white nails gripped a staff of crystal.

  He shifted the staff to his other hand and spoke in a resonant voice.

  "I greet thee, son of Xuoquelos, and thy companions from Cimmer and Brythun." His accent was odd, but his tone was compelling. In spite of his bizarre appearance, Conan and Kailash took an instant liking to him. He repelled only Madesus, who recognized the blue-skinned entity right away.

  "Balberoth. I should have known your shadow-demon brat would come crying to you after I chastised him."

  The priest's attitude was outwardly confident, but doubt gnawed at him inside. The Demon Lords were among the most dangerous of all supernatural foes. Madesus knew that he did not have the power to destroy Balberoth, but he could weaken the demon and force him to retreat to his kingdom in the abyss.

  "Amusing, Madesus." Balberoth paused for effect. "Yes, I know thy namehand Conan, and Kailash." He pronounced the names with sarcasm, which went unnoticed by all but Madesus. "Now that we are acquainted, we can relax. Let me ease thy burden, hillman." The Demon Lord gestured with his staff, and Kailash realized that the pressing weight on the other side of the doors was gone.

  Tentatively, the hillman backed away from one of the doors, but stood ready to shut it again. It remained closed. "Out of danger now," the Demon Lord said reassuringly. He gestured, and the doors swung slightly inward, revealing an empty corridor beyond. Kailash regarded the passageway in amazement. The walls and carpet were dry; there were no stains of blood anywhere, though the portcullis still blocked the corridor a few feet beyond the doors.

  Madesus looked down at his robes. Where there had been red stains before, there were none now. He clapped his hands in mock applause. "A clever trick, Balberoth. Perhaps you will juggle for us next, or walk a tightrope."

  Conan and Kailash were confused by the change that had overcome the priest. His words were uncouth and insulting. In contrast, the blue-skinned man was friendly and polite, his words comforting. Surely they had nothing to fear from him.

  "Thy jealously dost not become thee, Madesus. Dost not thy philosophy dictate that thou should be forgiving and kind, not harsh and cruel? I regret the hostile manner in which my shadowy minion conducted himself earlier, and I forgive thee for upsetting him so. I assure thee, I was in no way responsible for his rash deeds. He was under the power of a creature who stole him away from me, and most unfortunately forced him to attack thee."

  "Then why are you here? To apologize to us, to bestow your unwanted sympathy upon us? Or, more likely, to finish the task your lackey was ill equipped to accomplish!"

  "Thine accusations are unfounded, priest. I have come to join thee in a common goal, that of finding and destroying the Mutare priestess. She abducted my minion and forced it to fight with thee and thy companions.

  Such a wanton act cannot go unpunished. Together, we wi
ll find her and put an end to her misdeeds!"

  Conan and Kailash were now convinced that Madesus had been wrong about Balberoth. He was not a demon, but some otherworldly creature sent by the gods to help them. They were satisfied that he was reaching a hand out in friendship. Had Madesus gone mad? Could he not see that Balberoth could help them all?

  Madesus shook his head, but he was unaware of the effect that Balberoth was having on Conan and Kailash. "Save your lies, hell-spawn. You pretend to offer us help, yet I perceive only your burning desire to slaughter us like cattle. Enough of this! By the will of Mitra, Father of Light, I command you to cast aside your staff and return to the bottomless depths of your slime-filled spawning-pit! Masquim Xul ia marratu, yar Balberoth! Balberoth, absu yar alaxul! Xizul absu marratu, nar marratu, yar Balberoth!"

  As the priest spoke, his amulet flared up, sending a ray of blinding light straight at the demon.

  Before the ray could reach Balberoth, it bent unnaturally, curving away and striking his crystal staff instead. The beam bounced off, producing an impressive shower of multihued sparks. Rebounding, it missed Kailash by inches before colliding with the bronze doors. The colossal slabs shivered; tendrils of bluish-white light crawled over them, and then they crumbled into small shards. Balberoth looked Conan straight in the eye and pleaded with him.

  "Conan! Thou must help me! Madesus has gone mad; he nearly slew Kailash!" He turned his gaze to the hillman next, his eyes glowing like white beacons. "Quickly, wield thy sword and cut him down before he murders us all in his madness!" The demon's bone-white lips drew together in a ghastly smile. He grinned malevolently at Madesus, who shuddered involuntarily at the unholy demon's gaze.